I. It’s been a long time since I’ve wandered in here because Facebook, Patreon, and Insta have been feeding my need to see and be seen. This morning, though, I am nursing a shattered heart and I need something quieter and more spacious. Something I can shape and plump like a pillow to fit the contours of this thing that my face is doing now.
II. I am starting to take 2020 very fucking personally. I’ve started imagining that it’s after me. Whether that’s true or not, it is changing me. I want to keep the faith, but it seems the universe is done keeping faith with me. Yes, I’m whining. See above re: shattered heart. I’ve earned the right. Pass the wine.
III. There are parts of my life that feel charmed, so I am not entirely bereft but neither can I just rest and grieve. I have set it up so that every day includes a list to slay – a considerable one – with obligations and ways to pay the rent and the care and feeding of creatures and all the yeses I say in order to find my people. What I really want to do, though, is crawl into bed and refuse to get out of it until someone invents a time machine. That’s what I want. A time machine. I want to rewind.
IV. There’s no such thing though, and I have dogs so there’s no such thing as staying in bed all day either, so I’m up. I unpacked two boxes. I cleared my inbox. I hid the wish jar he gave me for my birthday because looking at it made me cry. I deleted contacts from my phone. I zoomed with a girlfriend. I dusted off my blog. I added a bunch of songs to a playlist I’m building just in case maybe one day I get to dance with someone in my living room with the candles lit and the bed waiting for the way dancing leads, one thing to another. Just in case. There’s the hopeful girl. Dumb, but hopeful.
VI. It is pouring down rain right now, complete with boom crash and lightening and I appreciate the pathetic fallacy. I appreciate the way the sky feels in cahoots with me just now, as though it has decided to hold up the perfect mirror. I can hear him whistling that goddamned song he always does when I’m in a bad place, and I just flipped him the bird because he was the bright side of life, and the thunder boomed so loud it shook my tiny little house, and that works for me.
VII. Dove’s blood ink and Dragon’s blood ink. The soft and the fierce. This is what drives me to write. This is how this witch prays. I don’t want to hear about how I should keep it to myself. I don’t want to be told that grief is a private thing and we should spare others the discomfort of witnessing ours. Fuck that. Every awful thing that’s happened to me in the last decade and a half of my life happened because I kept my mouth shut until I couldn’t keep it shut any longer, until the pressure of carrying everything I was carrying became too much to bear. I’m not carrying anything alone anymore. I used to think that my silence was the rent I had to pay so I would not be abandoned. Maybe a part of me still thinks that, but the louder part of me is done with that. If I’m not okay, I’m not okay. If I want to whine, I’ll whine. If it drives people away, well, they are not my people.
VIII. Because, look. There’s Dragon’s blood ink, but there’s Dove’s blood, too. I can hold both, and I can share both. I write to inspire all the damned time. My programs are full of that. Every word I write for my students is written with the intention of uplifting them somehow, edifying them somehow. But this is also my voice. This is also true. I want to choose all of me, not just the shiny parts. I want to take up space with all of it, not just the parts that fit in a pretty square photo on Instagram.
IV. Therapy has been kicking my ass lately. So much floating up from the depths about how I was made complicit in the harm done to my little psyche, my little body, how I believed because I was brainwashed to believe, that I was in on it. An equal partner in pure evil. This lie has shaped my life ever since, and I didn’t even know it until two weeks ago. Two weeks ago. This is what I’m carrying along with the breakdown of my entire family, a global pandemic, the daily fear that psychosis might kill my son, the fact that I’m going blind, depression lurking like a black bitch just down the block and I can hear her snarling, and…
He left me.
X. So that’s a thing.