Always Looking For Excuses

I keep crying. I'll be driving down the road and start crying. Or take a walk and cry. Or surf the internet and cry. Or mop the floor and cry. Watch TV and cry. Organize a cabinet and cry. Pet the cat and cry. Listen to music and cry. Cry, cry, cry.

When I'm not crying I have a constant lump in my throat and I know that with just one wrong move,  I'll start crying all over again.

I hate crying. Mostly because I know that it will bring on a sinus headache from hell the next day that no painkiller can touch. But also because it seems weak. And pathetic. And pointless. It doesn't ever solve anything (and with that headache it seems to only make things worse). It doesn't seem to propel me forward in any way or give me any relief. I end up in a big, sad heap of mush wishing that I could just disappear.

I find myself excusing the tears. That song was sad. That movie was a tearjerker. That floor was really dirty. That cat was really shedding.

I do the same thing with my feelings and emotions too. Always trying to explain them away. Always trying to talk myself out of them. Always berating myself for feeling them. Always telling myself that my period must be coming or that I need to get more sleep or eat better or exercise more or BE STRONGER RACHEL.

Here's the truth though. The truth that I don't want to deal with. The truth that I don't want to be true. The truth that brings me to my knees...

My heart is broken.

It is utterly, miserably, irrevocably broken. Just...broken. Shattered. I am someone who is heartbroken.

And I don't want to be heartbroken. I want to be whole. In one piece. Strong. Above it.

I'm not.

I am heartbroken. For some of the obvious reasons that anyone who knows anything about me, knows about. (The deaths or impending deaths of many loved ones will break your heart - OBVIOUSLY.) But also for reasons that I can't discuss here. Or anywhere. That are locked inside of me and that I am alone with. Not because I want to be, but because that's my only choice. There are some things that cannot be out in the open and the isolation of them makes me feel completely hopeless and adrift.

So, I cry. And try to make excuses for all of the crying - to myself mostly. And I try to take that next breath and that next step, and hope that each time I do it, it will bring me closer to putting one piece of my heart back together at a time. I don't have a lot of confidence though. I don't think it's possible. But I'll keep breathing and walking and trying.

It's the only option there is.

Sunday Blessings

I'm grateful.

1. The beautiful weather for the last few days.
2. Elmo.
3. My long legs that carry me through life.
4. When Harry Met Sally.
5. Nail polish.

The Problem With Radio Silence When You're Me

As part of my radio silence decision, I deactivated my Facebook account. I've also cleaned up my e-mail account by unsubscribing to most of the sites that send me so much junk mail every day. (I'm so sick of people trying to sell me stuff.)

I figure that this is a good time to take a step back from things, streamline my life a bit and spend some time thinking and hopefully figuring a few things out. My husband is out of town indefinitely for more storm work so I have a lot of time to myself.

I was just talking with one of my best friends, T. We've known each other since sixth grade and our primary activity together is laughing. I treasure her for that. Also for her kindness and compassion.

At some point in the conversation she asked me if there had been any fallout from deactivating my Facebook account.

Uhhhhmmmmm...

Now that you mention it, NO, there hasn't been any fallout. AT ALL. In fact, I don't think anyone has even noticed that I'm missing. That's the problem with being a 5'9" invisible woman. No one notices when you're there, and no one notices when you're gone. You think you're making some dramatic statement when in fact no one is even listening.

No wonder I'm depressed. I've got a lot to figure out. Who are these people in my life? These so called "friends" - whether in the ridiculous world of Facebook, or in my (equally ridiculous) real life. Why do I continue to engage with people that really don't seem to give a shit whether I engage with them or not - EVER??

On the other hand, what did I expect? I mean, really. What did I expect? That people would fall all over themselves missing me and then beg me to come back into their lives? History has taught me better than that and I really need to start paying attention to those lessons.

People, in general, are rather self-involved. And I include myself in that group of people. It was rather self-involved of me to think that I would disappear and that it would have any real effect on anyone. Everyone has their own lives and whether or not I'm on Facebook anymore, or whether or not I am texting/e-mailing/calling/IM-ing/Skyping/tweeting anymore is really of very little concern to anyone.

Geez, it's overwhelming.

What I've concluded in the last few days is that if I'm going to take a step back for a bit to figure some things out, then for heaven's sake RACHEL, go figure some things out! Stop worrying about if anyone is noticing you figuring things out - JUST GO DO IT. The story here shouldn't be about who noticed you disappearing for a while to figure things out. It should be about WHAT DID YOU FIGURE OUT??

And always, always remember: radio silence doesn't work if no one was listening in the first place. The key is to figure out how to say something worth listening to.

Radio Silence

I was watching some mindless show the other day with an interview between a pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist and a pseudo-celebrity reality star. (Actually, the pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist is also a pseudo-celebrity reality star herself. Oh, Hollywood...what a tangled web...) They were discussing the reality star's earlier courtship break-up with her now husband and what a tough time that was in their relationship. The journalist said to the reality star, "Did you go 'radio silence' on him?"

I honestly don't remember what the reality star's reply was, but I couldn't stop thinking about the idea of "radio silence." Of just...disappearing.

I need to disappear.

I want to disappear.

I don't want the life I'm living. No matter how much I try to keep my head in the game and stay on top of my life, my thoughts have become consumed with running away. I keep trying to shove these thoughts away because I have too many people counting on me right now, but they creep back in almost nonstop.

And it makes me feel guilty to think this way - about my marriage, about my daughter, about the rest of my family and friends. How hurtful would that be for me to just pick up and leave?

But it's all I want to do.

I want to live in a tiny house and create. That's all I want. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want anyone in my life.

I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous. And over the top. And over dramatic. And selfish. And mean.

And I could psychoanalyze the shit out of all of this because I'm really good at psychoanalyzing the shit out of things: I know that I've been hurt by the deaths of so many people I love and the rejection of so many others that are living. I know that part of my wanting to disappear is a way of protecting myself against more loss and rejection. I know that I'm facing a time of huge transition (empty nest, marital shifts, more losses from that bitch that is cancer, a probably move, huge career decisions). I know that it's mentally unhealthy to want to shun other human beings in your life. I know that I need to hold on. I know that I just need to get up each morning and put one foot in front of the other and breathe in and out and GET ON WITH IT. I know this. I know all of this. But knowing all of this doesn't make it possible to do. Doesn't make the unending, paralyzing, gut-wrenching, grip-my-heart-and-tear-it-out-of-my-chest pain, go away. The weight of that pain is getting heavier and heavier - and I'm buckling.

I want relief. I need relief. I want freedom. Freedom from the grip of pain that has owned my heart and mind for so long and is only getting worse. The pain is stealing more and more of me and it's threatening to consume me completely. The fight I've fought against it for nearly thirty years is a losing battle it seems and my knees are giving out. Feels like it's time to surrender. To escape. To go silent. To just go.

Radio silence.

Notsomuchste

Emma cracks me up. She doesn't usually have much to say, but when she finally does say something it's usually funny or clever or interesting or wise. I admire that about her. She doesn't have a need a fill the air with too many words like so many people do. She's content in her silence and confident enough to not babble away unnecessarily.

Emma and I often go to yoga class together. (If you knew me at all that last sentence would have made you laugh. I'm not athletic or flexible or physically strong. I am a bit of a spaz and am never quite sure how to coordinate these long limbs of mine.) We've been going fairly regularly as a way to get out of the house, do something physical and spend some time together - but mostly to escape from our broken hearts for an hour.

The teacher is just what you'd think a yoga instructor would be. She fits all the stereotypes you might have about someone who spends a great deal of her time trying to "find her center" and "achieve inner peace" while she "connects with her true self." Petite, fit, soft-spoken, meditative, very little make-up, bare feet.

I struggle with the movements and poses because of my bum hip, twice-broken foot and old age. But I get out there and I give it a go, which I'm proud of. Emma is much better at all of it since she is young and a dancer.

At the end of class the teacher always says, in a very soft-spoken manner, "Honor others. Honor yourselves. Honor your teacher. Namaste." And it always makes us giggle. It just seems SOOO new age-ish and I'm afraid we're too sarcastic and cynical to take it all that seriously.

The other night, we were in class and the lights were dimmed and the room was quiet as we followed the teacher's instructions...Warrior's Pose, Tree pose, and then Downward Dog. I struggle with Downward Dog because my arms are not strong and my hip always wants to give out. Oh, and I struggle with vertigo too, so having my head down lower than my torso always creates dizziness. It takes a lot of focus for me and I work hard at it. Towards the end of class, we were in our Downward Dog pose while we all listened to some very bizarre, obscure, new age musical number with a lute playing and I believe what was the slow beat of a bongo in the background. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Emma loud-whispers to me, "Mom!" I didn't answer - I was too busy focusing on my arms not giving out as my face turned beet red and sweat formed on my upper lip with the effort. So she said again, in an even louder-whisper, "MOM!" Annoyed, I loud-whispered back, "WHAT?!" Then she said, "This is my favorite song."

Hahahahahahaha!!! I collapsed into a Laying Down Dog Flat On My Mat pose in a fit of giggles. Soon to follow were glares from my fellow yoga-mates and the teacher, oh the teacher did not look pleased at all. Emma just shook her head at me as if she were just an innocent bystander and all like, "It wasn't THAT funny, Mom."

LOVE her!

Words Cannot Suffice

Heart-bro-ken (adjective): Crushed with sorrow or grief.

Yup.

Bigger Than A Train Wreck

I had an upsetting dream last night. Typically when I have dreams, whatever happens in them can be traced back to some concrete reality from the previous days before I had it - just with a bizarre twist to it. Like, say, I drink a can of soda in real life (unusual for me) and then I'll have a dream about drinking a can of soda and blowing up like a balloon and floating off into the sunset. Or, I'll watch a documentary about Kennedy's assassination and I'll have a dream about jump-roaping on a grassy knoll - in Thailand. Totally bizarre.

But last night I had one that I can't seem to trace back to anything concrete from the past few days, but that I know for sure is symbolic of how my life is going lately. In it, a space shuttle had just launched and I was watching it from a high floor in a high rise building. People were cheering and in awe as they craned their heads skyward to watch it disappear into the atmosphere. As it got further into the sky, but still quite close to earth, there were suddenly orange flames flashing out from the bulbous nose of the spacecraft that quickly made their way on down the rest of the body of the shuttle, swallowing it until it was engulfed and coming apart. The separate pieces were falling to the earth onto the busy street below the building I was in and crashing into cars and greedily swallowing those up in flames as well. I looked up and the largest shuttle piece remaining was hurtling towards earth and I watched as it crashed into a building across the street and exploding causing utter and total devastation. I knew that in that second and the ones before, many people - innocent, good people - were killed, or maimed or burned. That their lives were destroyed or forever altered.

It seemed so real in my dream, so vivid, that I woke up from it thinking that I should turn on CNN to get more information about what was happening. Then, as I became more awake, I realized that it was just a dream but then I instantly realized somehow that that space shuttle bursting into flames and destroying so much around it was a clear symbol of my life at the moment. I started crying. That space shuttle was me and it fell apart and by falling apart it hurt what surrounded it - it hurt people's lives by not holding up and doing what it was supposed to do. By not being stronger. Something inside, deep within its being - a faulty wire, a weak bolt, a crack in the metal innards - gave way, and tipped the shuttle over the edge of what it should have been able to accomplish and manage until it just exploded and fell apart, taking down many others with it.

I, and my life, are way beyond a train wreck. We're an exploding space shuttle.