trying to be fearless

Some of my fears are irrational. I've got a terrible fear of dinosaurs-- specifically re-creations that look realistic, movies that suggest they could come back, not-so realistic representations that show up when I least expect them. I used to be so afraid of the shower drain that I made my little sister stay in the bathroom with me whenever I took a shower. I'm afraid of large bodies of water through which I cannot see. If the bottom is visible, I'm good anywhere. One piece of seaweed grabs my unsuspecting leg, though, and I'm out. I've had these fears for as long as I can remember. I'm making some progress on conquering them, but there will always be something terrifying to me about dinosaurs, shower drains, and murky water.

When I was a teenager, I thought I was scared of rejection. I thought the feeling keeping me in unhappy relationships and stopping me from trying harder and putting myself out there was a fear of being rejected. I got rejected. Multiple times. Now, years later, I've been rejected more times than I can count. It's not a fear of rejection, and it never was. It's just a normal dislike for rejection. The fear is behind it. The fear is of being rejected to the point where I become, ultimately, in all aspects of my life, alone.

The next step in my life requires me to face loneliness. Not just being alone, being away from family and friends, being far from everything I know and have come to count on, but being completely and totally lonely. I am walking into this knowing full well that I will cry myself to sleep for a while, and that it will be a long long while before someone comes around to clean up the mess. I'm not expecting anyone to clean it up, honestly. I am expecting tear-soaked pillows for the foreseeable future.

Every piece of the potential next step sounds like it could be a wonderful adventure. I'll learn more about me, about what I want to do with my life, about what I am capable of, and of course, what I'm not capable of. But I'm doing it alone. I'm trying to frame loneliness as part of the adventure... but this is a tough one, even for me. I can't let my fear of complete loneliness keep me from moving forward, though. I have to keep going. I'm scared of the drain, but I still spend an hour in the shower. I'm scared of the water, but my favorite place in the world is still on a boat in the middle of the lake. I'm scared to do this alone, but maybe something amazing will come of it.
I think I'm going to face this dinosaur.
L

two nights

About to fall asleep, I reach for the other pillow, because I know he was the last person to sleep on it. It doesn't smell like cologne or his soap or sweat or sex, it just smells like him, even though he showered in my shower, with my soap, my towels, moments before hitting this pillow last night. It smells like him. I hope the smell never wears out. I am almost afraid to sleep on it, I don't want to ruin it with whatever smell I might rub off. So instead I take a deep breath, blink hard, and hope to drift to sleep without too much trouble.

Every time I hear a sound I wake up. I hope the sound is coming from the hallway. What single girl living alone hopes for people in the hallways in the middle of the night? One with a low, deep, heartache. That'd be me. The sounds, though, never reach my door. The telltale clink of the key in the lock never comes. Another deep breath, a blink, force a smile, and I try to drift back to sleep.

When he came in last night he put away my clean dishes before he even came into the bedroom. I was mostly asleep, but I knew he was doing it because of the sound of silverware and drawers. When he came into the bedroom he took my computer off the bed, turned off the movie I'd fallen asleep to, set the alarm on my phone, and put everything on my bedside table. I remember a kiss on the forehead before he went to take a shower. I fell asleep again when he disappeared into my bathroom and the water started running.

Tonight he said he'd see me tomorrow. Why not tonight? He takes full responsibility for being rude in not seeing me tonight even though this is our usual night. Come by after he closes the bar? He says maybe. We've all known what maybe means since we were 7. 'Maybe' is a nice way of saying 'no' an hour later. I should know a tease like 'maybe' when I hear it. But I'm a dreamer.

He sneaks into bed beside me. Puts a hand on my hip and a kiss on my cheek. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and lays his head on the pillow. (Yep, that pillow.) I can't help but shiver a bit and scoot closer to him. Suddenly I'm not nearly as tired as I'd been an hour ago. I could stay awake for days if he'd keep holding me like this.

I knew he wouldn't be here, on the inside. I can face bad news in most situations, and, if I do say so myself, I usually face it with amazing grace. When it comes to heartache I am at a loss. I would rather tease myself to sleep than face the horribly obvious reality that he won't be here tonight. He isn't with anyone else, that isn't the problem, he just isn't with me. In a way that might be worse. It really is worse. It is worse.

He's not here, and tonight he won't be. Tonight is nothing like last night, but really it is only different by one serendipitous moment: the moment at which he turned left instead of right. He chose to go toward me and away from home, toward company and away from loneliness, toward inevitable heartache and away from total independence. But tonight he went right. He went home. No call, no message. Leaving me here to smell the pillow.

Slowly waking up with my back to him, I take a minute to turn over. His eyes are closed, but he's not asleep. If he were asleep he couldn't have kissed me. "Is that my goodnight kiss?" "No, I'll let you take care of that one." So the next kiss is my job. If I could freeze this moment I would. One minute I can be so close to sublime, and the next I'm light years behind again. But right now that barely matters. This is the first minute. We fall asleep facing each other, inches apart, breathing in unison. He notices me drifting off. He gives me the goodnight kiss. I fall asleep, with him and a smile.

I should know better. Once in a while is not worth the rest of the time. I am playing with hearts while waiting for him to stop playing with mine. But I love the game. Even when I lose, I still know I played with my all. I know I'm in the running for the prize, at least the wild card. I know my stats are improving, I know I'm practicing every time. I love love. I love romance. I love the beginning. I love infatuation. I love these silly butterflies swirling in my stomach every night, keeping me awake and completely rearranging my schedule. The little sting I get when I realize the sounds in the hallway aren't from him is completely worth it. Just a prick. A little pressure. Then it's gone. Takes a tiny bit of the virus to build an immunity.

Morning. He wakes me with a kiss as he scrambles to turn off my alarm. I never hear my alarm. He knows. He turns it off and tells me to get up. I get up, get ready, kiss him goodbye, head to work. Hours later I get home to find my bed made, and my stuffed animals hugging in front of the pillows. He thought of it all. My stuffed animals weren't even on the bed last night, they were in my closet. If he is trying to get me to stop falling, this is not the way to do it.

Tonight, when I reach for the other pillow, I remember last night. It plays out like a chapter of a story, of a great romance novel. But what great novel happens one night at a time? No great romance ends with the heroine alone 6 nights a week waiting for company. No great heroine admits to sleeping on the other pillow to feel safe, wanted, less alone. Am I not the heroine of my own story? Maybe I'm in the wrong section. This isn't popular fiction. This is autobiography.

Reality looks so different in Times New Roman.

L

Week two.

Two weeks and four days. (Feels like it has been months.) 

I have taken up a temporary residence with a friend. The couches are cozy and the backyard is perfect for absorbing all the Vitamin D the sun has to offer. Unfortunately, that is really all the house can do for me. The pain in my heart has spread to my head, an unrelenting headache that has kept me awake for 24 hours. 

The upside? (Always an upside!) The past few nights I've had very unpleasant dreams. Anxiety-filled dreams, I wake up throughout the night crying. Nothing scary is happening, and nothing realistic, but I am filled with anxiety and panic throughout the dream. Everything is out of my control and I am shaking with ...well... anxiety. I've never had dreams like these. So, if the headache wants to keep me awake, perhaps it is in an effort to get rid of the dreams. Bye bye dreams. (ah.. the irony...) 

I am trying to bury myself in work. If I stay concentrated on working, distracted by writing, I can get through the toughest part of this separation unscathed. I'm finding, though, that if I distract myself with writing I am not skipping this stage of the process, just prolonging. I am supressing it, dealing with it in the shower where tears blend in better, but not letting myself face it completely. This is going to last a long time if I continue telling myself how strong I am. It may be time to let people help me. To start leaning on the people who have offered to be a friend. To let go and stop trying to be amazing. Maybe I can't do this all on my own. 

(I'm no superman. Who'd have thought that Scrubs would be the answer?) 

A progress report: 

- about 5 days since i last cried. (not counting 10 minutes ago, of course.) 

- i have written 3 songs in the past 4 days, 2 of which have music written as well. 

- i have only gone without sleep 1 night. 

- i lost 7 lbs, and this week i gained back 1. 

- i broke the cork in a wine bottle last night and did NOT burst into tears. that is a big huge step forward, in my book. 

- i emailed J a few times today, and he's emailed back. we are having as close to a civilized conversation as possible. 

so far, so good. but it has only been two weeks. 

 

J mentioned today that after May we will probably never see each other again. I suppose this is right, as once May hits I plan to move two hours away, and I doubt this city will ever be my home again. Even so, that hit me like a ton of bricks. (Although, maybe like one or two bricks, as a ton would probably leave me without the ability to be typing this 30 minutes later.) Never see each other again. Wow. That is just a strong strong reality. One that I am not sure I can process! At the moment I feel attacked, on all fronts. Every time I turn, a new reality hits me in the face. I am suddenly unsure of who my friends are. I don't know what I can and cannot do. I am becoming the 'ex', the one I always laughed at, the one I was so much better than. Every day some new realization sneaks up behind me, attacks me, assaults me, leaves me crying and gasping for air, and I'm expected (I expect myself) to shrug it off, be strong, and keep living as planned. 

The first two weeks were about external factors: seeing him, seeing our things, talking about our choices, thinking of him with another woman- or another woman in my house, wondering what he says to his friends, sleeping alone. The next part, if I can guess, will be completely emotional. Little words and seemingly insignificant sentences will get to me. Fear of dreaming will keep me awake. Phantom pains will haunt me. Uncertainty and insecurity will plague my ability to function as I normally would.  Concentration won't be an option. Distraction won't come as easily, because I cannot distract myself from myself. I will go from being too strong for my own good to a mess of a girl in a heap on the floor clinging to her teddy bear and what's left of her self-worth. 

Like I said, it has only been two weeks. 

L