A Tale of Two Men

“Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

I met someone through a series of events not so long ago. He lives in New Jersey. I was in the middle of personal turmoil from which I thought I’d never escape. He listened and he understood. We talked on a daily basis and he supported me through things I never thought I’d get over.  

I’ve discovered I have a threshold when it comes to chaotic, sad or dramatic events. While this may not seem like a lot to you, reader, I assure you that it felt like the weight of a thousand basset hounds while I trudged through it. Within about the span of a month, I broke up with my best friend, I was told that the position I had temporarily filled would be given to someone else, I learned that this guy that had been consistently flirting with me was actually married, my car broken down and needed major repairs, and then October hit – and I freaking hate October.

In my mind, this is what October looks like.

I’ll break these down a little for the sake of insight. My former best friend and I had been super close for most of our lives. Despite how much it hurt, I still miss her sometimes. The position I wanted was something that I was thrilled to be a part of, even for a short time. I wasn’t disappointed about being let go, only how they went about it. I was working through a temp agency and officially applied for the position. I was then told that they had narrowed it down to five applicants; I was included and was given the date and time for an interview. When I went upstairs at the allotted time, there was no interview, only my supervisor there to tell me that they wouldn’t be keeping me. Ouch.

The attractive fellow flirting with me hit a little close to home because I found out he was married and had to practically pull his teeth out to get him to admit it. This emotional affair was initiated by him. It stung a bit deeper because I was unknowingly someone’s mistress once before and I still struggle to comprehend why human beings continue to treat one another like garbage.

The new term started and I was wrapping up my time with the employer that was letting me go. Despite their unsavory actions, I made an extra effort to get everything up to speed for the person filling my position. I updated the manual. The one that existed when I arrived was outdated by about five years. In a company of this size, policies and procedures are constantly changing.I even made a nicely organized file with all of the forms, signatures and templates that would be needed at some point. When I stepped in, I had to hunt those down myself. 

I felt like doing this more often than not. 

Just as all of this was ending, Mr. New Jersey made plans to fly out to meet me in person. I can say with full honesty that he is perhaps one of the nicest, patient, and generous people I’ve ever known. Despite his nature, I was tense during his visit. Little trivial things he did really got under my skin. The way he talked to me at times irritated me – it was as if he were speaking to a 4 year old child.

We went for a hike with my dogs. He wanted to hold my hand and stop every five minutes to kiss me. Again, this irritated me. 

Please. Stop. Touching. Me.

I chalked it up to the series of events that coincided with New Jersey’s visit. However, it’s been a little over a month since that visit and I’ve done nothing but try to pinpoint how I really felt towards him. Soon after his return home he began plans for a December visit and there was a constant feeling of anxiety every time we talked about his next journey to the west coast.

He sent me anywhere between five and ten text or facebook messages a day. For every one I responded to, three more were sent to me. I turned this over in my mind and thought that if it were me behaving in this way I would be told that my actions weren’t healthy and borderline obsessive.

While school genuinely had me busy (who has that kind of time to respond to that amount of texts?!), I distanced myself from him to sort out what was really going on in my mind.

Finding a place of emotional solitude is quite difficult when social media is constantly nagging at you.

My conclusion came to this: we’re just not right for each other. I don’t mind PDA. In fact, I rather like locking lips with someone I deeply care for in a public display that says, Yeah, ladies. Isn’t he fabulous?! I love him so much that I couldn't resist him for a moment longer.”  

What I originally chalked up to a chaotic series of events was my psyche telling me, "STOP!" He's serious and he's intense. I wish I could care for him. I truly do. He is a good person. However,  there are other good people in this world, and these things can't be forced. When I finally made the much dreaded phone call, I told him as much. It all feels superficial and fake to me; and that's the truth.

I kept waiting for the perfect time to tell him. Mr. New Jersey was effected by Hurricane Sandy. I felt like I was a horrible human being for not being supportive of him while he was sorting things out. I didn't want to have this conversation at the end of one of my exhaustive days; I didn't want to interrupt his life dealing with his hurricane torn house, his work, his family . . .  Most of all, I didn't want to hurt him. I have learned that there is no 'perfect time' for anything.

True to his nature, he understood and thanked me for my honesty.

I’ve apologized profusely because I don’t think this was very fair to Mr. New Jersey. Everything was falling apart when I met him. I was vulnerable, sad, lonely and confused and said things that I shouldn’t have. For that, I’m sorry. I'm the type of person that really needs time and space to consider something before I know how I feel about it - and sometimes that takes a while. For that, Mr. New Jersey, I am sorry. 

If you’re still reading I will now tell you about my latest epiphany. There’s a story behind this one as well.

Several years ago I met someone in my voice lessons class. Over time I became quite fond of him and didn’t realize how deep that fondness ran until he completely disappeared. I was crushed; I really was. I was also confused and self blaming because I felt as if the events in my life drove him away.

We reconnected and met up last week. I cried when he hugged me. True story. You've been missed, Old Friend.

My heart jumped for joy at the sight of him. 

He spent Thanksgiving with my family. He’s not a Portland native and has no family here. I can’t remember the last time I felt so unequivocally happy; I was afraid I had forgotten the emotion. I was happy because he was back in my life and being with him is the most natural thing in the world. Then it hit me: This is it. What exists between him and me - this is what I’m looking for.

His embrace is the most reassuring thing I’ve felt in some time and I am comfortable enough to be myself instead of some self absorbed neurotic mess.When he held me, the chaos in my mind subsided long enough for me to feel a calming peace. I confess it was hard for me to let go.

Is there anything beyond friendship for us? I really don’t know. Regardless, I am grateful. Even if he disappears tomorrow - I'll have had that experience that granted me clarity, peace, warmth and the inner glow that I thought was long gone. For these things, I am grateful.

Thank you, Old Friend. Thank you for showing me that I can be myself. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction because I was lost for a while.

“Let us be grateful to the people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.”  ~ Marcel Proust

The Void

“Pain is a pesky part of being human. I’ve learned it feels like a stab wound to the heart, something I wish we could all do without, in our lives here. Pain is a sudden hurt that can’t be escaped; but then I have also learned that because of pain, I can feel the beauty, tenderness, and freedom of healing. Pain feels like a stab wound to the heart. But then healing feels like the wind against your face when you are spreading your wings and flying through the air.” ~ C. Noybell

I’ve promised myself that I’d allow more time for creative expression. I’m not very good at keeping self made promises. Note to self: work on this.

I recently had a bad experience with one of my guided meditation albums. At first it was lovely: I was in a field and the night sky was faintly hued with purple and blue that swirled about. I could nearly touch it. Then I was back in a nightmare I had as a teenager that has stuck with me. I was in a field near where I lived and it was pitch black. There was a sinister presence near me and I felt it would pounce at any moment.

I opened my eyes and thought to myself, That was unpleasant. I closed my eyes and tried again. I was in a coffin with my father’s bones, then I was back in the pleasant field and my father was standing next to me. Suddenly everything went black and he was gone. I kept crying out to him, “Come back.”  

Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night. I cried until exhaustion. I woke up and started crying again. The lonely imagery even followed me to class the next evening. I had to leave in the middle of the lecture because I couldn’t hold back my tears and I couldn’t keep from shaking.

I miss him. I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like and I’m afraid of losing that. The experience leaves me wondering how the loss of one person could leave such a void. His early departure from this world left a hole in the hearts of many and I've witnessed its effects on others. 

I recently thought that I’d love to have all of those memories erased from my mind. However, a friend in neuroscience has proved that what I previously thought was just a cop out that we say to each other when there’s nothing else to say is indeed true: Our experiences make us who we are. There’s a very interesting scientific explanation behind this, but I wouldn’t dream of beginning to describe it because I’m easily confused and not very science minded.

If that’s the case, I’d settle for something to take the pain away. One of the hardest experiences I’ve had in life is dealing with the stigma and stereotypes that are tagged to things like depression and PTSD. Not all wounds are visible and just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean that it’s not real.

The harshest of critics are my family, particularly my adoptive mother. She seems to think the best way for me to deal with this is suppress it and pretend like it doesn’t affect me . . .   I’ve been doing that for years and this is where it got me. Whether it be a personality or generational difference, it is substantial and what comes across as callousness causes more harm than good to me. This is why I don't talk about such things with her. Instead, I admire her other qualities and herein we find our common ground.

 A little understanding goes a long way.

No one would chose to be sad, afraid or drowning in emotional turmoil. No one. I guess my point is to be patient with people like me. We all heal in our own time. Sometimes it resurfaces and the cycle repeats itself. Be kind. Be understanding and know that we are working through it as best we know how.

I have to stand and face the pain sometimes. I don’t like it. I used to think that someone would fill the void for me. I’ve finally realized that there’s no one and nothing that can achieve this aside from me.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~ Rumi