I am…free? Really? No more nagging or wheedling?
I sent my “no” out to Ben and have heard nadda back. I keep expecting another message; that’s the pattern with users in my life. They never really give up, not until I get the police after them or move to a new city or country. The silence is eerie; I do not trust it. I do not trust him. I did manage to make myself clear without justifications or explanations. I feel good about that. I feel good about saying no, about stopping something before it begins. Now I feel hyper-vigilant, like I must keep looking behind my back to make sure no one is trying to sneak up on me and pinch my ass or grope me. Still got that flinch reaction when a man comes too close. Don’t know that I’ll lose it; don’t know that I want to lose it. Let’s just keep it there for a bit – it’ll help to keep me safe. The memories that caused me so much anxiety and fear are asleep again, for now. I don’t feel like I addressed them or dealt with them at all, just wallowed through them for a week. Whatever. I’m glad enough to be able to go outside without crying, to feel like I’d LIKE to get out of the house again. I’ll take that.
Two days swimming in row bought me a solid 8 hour sleep. That’s eight hours without waking up, without tossing and turning, without churning my covers into a twist. Pretty much a fucking miracle in my life. But fuuuuuck! My body is tired. I’m not up to swimming every day, even if I want to (which I do). I’ll take today off. Tomorrow is a 7 to 8:30 a.m. swim. I’ll catch it and see how I feel. If I can barely make it through an hour and then die during my language class, I’ll know it’s too much. I’ll probably become that machine again: cool water, early hours, few people, and away I go. That’s ok. It’s okay if I use exercise to physically get emotions out of me right now. I’m not kickboxing anymore, so I won’t break too many bones. Everyone always said swimming would be the best for me because of my RA, because of how easy I can hurt myself. Well, here I go. Are you supposed to keep swimming when you feel like your lungs are gonna burst if you don’t breathe more? I do. Are you supposed to keep swimming even if you feel a cramp coming on? ‘Cause I do. I’m pushing swimming as much as I ever pushed anything else.
With my emotional turmoil last week, plenty of small tasks have gone undone. For most of them I need to go out among the human beings (translation: beings pretending to be human). So I’ll write them down and tackle them one at a time. I’m not ready for a full day out there, faking a smile and dealing with Dutch thrown at me like a native because the two words I say – good morning – are clear. One at a time. No rush. No deadlines, no big disasters ready to blow if I don’t do something right now. No pressure, other than my own head – which is more than enough to deal with, thank you very little. But I do feel ready to begin doing things again, to go out and try again.
My bro was busy during my spiritual malaise. The front hall now has two hangers for coats and shelves that hold a bunch of crap that was sitting by my computer desk. At this rate, we’ll actually be able to buy a dining table (a very SMALL dining table) and eat at it like real people within the next six months. Yeah. For the last year we’ve been eating meals at our computer desks ’cause there just wasn’t anywhere else. That’s ok; I don’t stand on ceremony. But having a real table and sitting down at it will be cool again. Right now I just get that when we eat out.
I feel great that my bro cleaned some stuff up. I feel shitty that I didn’t help at all or get to any of the crap I need to clean up.
I feel shitty for not working thru this last week, if you want honesty. Felt it was all self-indulgent, felt weak for doing it. I know; I know. I needed to rest and recoup. I really was back to crying at the drop of a hat; very shook up. I don’t want to be nice to myself right now. At all. I want to beat myself up because LOOK at all the stuff I’ve let slide that now I have to gather up and start again. Just look at that mess. A great big pile of goop. I’ve had two rejections come at me (oh, great!), so I need to dust myself off and re-send to new places. Gotta keep going. I MUST keep going. I’ve gotta be able to tell myself I’m still throwing punches, still putting myself out there no matter what. I don’t know…maybe it’s my mortality knocking at the door. Or poverty, ruin, despair. All of it is lighting a fire under my ass and making me move. Do it NOW, woman!
Somehow the week is at mid-point already. Wednesday? Really? Well, I guess so. Tempis fugit. I just don’t want to say that on my death bed. My dying words do NOT need to be tempis fugit and then I kick it. Fuck no. I want my dying words to be ‘thank you’. Thank you for some compliment, for some bit of honor to hang onto. Thank you for being there for me. Just thank you. What else is there to say when you check out? If you haven’t got your fuck you’s out by then, well, you ARE in the shit. Closing time is a time to say goodbye and thanks… So long and thanks for all the fish. 😏 That’s a good final statement.
Morbid line of thought, anyone? Fuck!
Okay. Life, not death. People, not isolation. Honesty, not subterfuge. Making the choice here. The obstacles I face are pimples on a flea’s ass that’s sitting on a fly that’s sitting on a dog that’s sitting three thousand miles away from me. Small shit. I am bigger and stronger than what I have to face. Didn’t I just prove that to myself? Didn’t I just stick to my guns and say ‘no’, then ‘no’ again?
Yes. Yes, I did.
Unity. If I could manage to do that and drag my ass through a week of bad memories, I can do anything. Fucking anything. I can count on myself. I can rely on myself. I can follow through and stick to my guns. More than that: I can take care of myself. With a little help from my friends.
❤ To all of you.