Loss and Love

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” – Maya Angelou

It is with deep and mixed emotions that I write these words. I didn’t know if I ever would share, but I can’t deny that I write to process things. And I hope that any woman with this experience will find some comfort in my words – if only to know that she’s not alone in her grief.

2 weeks after finding out we were having a baby I started bleeding. I had been out running errands, came back home and saw that my cotton pants were soaked.  Naturally I was freaking out. I called The One in hysteria. While he was on his way to see me I called the local hospital (and also where I work) in hysteria. We spent the next couple of days in and out of doctor’s appointments and diagnostics. The end result was that it was too soon to tell anything and we’d have to wait and see.

The doctor did observe the interactions between The One and I. He said we were obviously very supportive of one another and to take some comfort in that because he rarely sees couples on our level. Looking back on this experience, I still take comfort in this.

I waited. I was worried, anxious, and even neurotic at times. There were more visits, more diagnostics; even more blood drawn. My HCG levels had not gone up as they should have. It was not a viable pregnancy and I had experienced an incomplete miscarriage. I had to be scheduled for a D&C and wait another week before the procedure would be done. I guess my body was trying to hold on because psychologically I wasn’t ready to let go.  

I give him as much credit as I could possibly give another human being. The One was as supportive as he knew how to be. He acknowledged that he couldn’t quite relate to how I felt. It’s true . . . one can only really relate if one has experienced it – the slight changes my body was making: the mood swings, the increased heart beat due to a vascular system working even harder to pump blood down to a growing cluster of cells, the random cravings and the tiny little things that were uncomfortable and inconvenient – yet still brought a smile to my face because I knew it was all for one tiny growing baby bean sprout. Sure, it was just a cluster of cells; but it was my tiny little cluster. Sure, it’s a common experience for women; but that doesn’t make it any easier.

The One didn’t question me when I’d sob uncontrollably before drifting off to sleep. I never had to explain myself. Part of it was hormones and part of it was grief and sadness.

I had missed a considerable amount of work. I knew that life would carry on and I would need to carry on with it. When I’d start crying I looked at the clock on more than one occasion and told myself I had 5 more minutes to be sad. Five more minutes to allow myself to cry. Five more minutes to grieve and feel sorry for myself. It took a couple of weeks and an unnecessary amount of retail therapy before I stopped needing 5 more minutes.

It’s a form of sadness that has been genuinely difficult to describe. It’s a loss of the feeling of life and a loss of the excitement over what could have been. It’s a form of sadness that is understood only by other women who have experienced the same kind of loss. It was through this experience that I felt a sense of sisterhood I had not yet found among women. In fact, I had doubted that type of bond even existed. And it was this grief that somehow served as a conduit.

“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.” – The Beatles.

It was on my last memorable night of grief that I finally finished Women Who Run With the Wolves. For the public record, I’m reading the footnotes . . . and then I’ll probably start the whole thing over again from the beginning. Clarissa Pinkola Estes wrote a footnote on the 2^nd or 3^rd chapter about a figure in Mexican folklore that is known for collecting the souls of miscarried babies and planting their seeds in another womb. So the little one never really goes away, it’s just given a new home. It’s a nice thought. And maybe Baby Bean Sprout just wasn’t ready to join our world yet. I’m ready when you are, Little One.

I lit a candle for you. Until we meet again, Little One.

And it was through this experience that The One showed me just how many forms love can take. Love is when he held me because he knew why I was crying. Love is when he held me and had no idea why I was crying. Love is understanding my need for writing, biking and retail therapy. Love is accepting a cantankerous old hound because he knows how much I love that hound. Love is his amusement when I offer him a key to my bike lock instead of my car because I’m not paying attention. Love is picking me up on a rainy night because I managed to get lost on my bike. Love is finding the best possible attributes for my worst idiosyncrasies.

Love was dealing with my hormonal mood swings of tears and bouts of anger. Love was telling me I’m beautiful even though my breasts were tender and overly engorged. Love was (and is) checking me out when I’m cringing in the mirror at my stretch marks. Love is joking about how when we were young and cute and thought we’d stay that way forever.

Love is choosing to see me in the best possible light and this is a choice he makes every day. Rather than chalking my forgetfulness to an air-headed person, he tells me I’m forgetful because I’m a writer and I’m too busy remembering the very important details that most others won’t notice. And obviously there’s only so much memory one person can hold. 

"The best love is that kind that awakens the soul; that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds. That's what I hope to give you forever."  - Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Remember, Remember The Month of September

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the time will turn.” – Harriet Beecher Stowe.

There are times in life when it’s just plain hard to look up, despite how much you desperately want to. Sometimes it’s just not easy to see the positive or the good. I think that would about sum up the events of this last month. I feel as though I’m hanging on by a thread and so help me if one more thing goes wrong I may crack. Seriously. This month has given me a royal beating. 

Okay, September. I surrender. I raise my white flag to you.

My car broke again. My bike broke on me like three times in the span of three weeks. It’s still broken because I had so many other extra expenses pertaining to the hound, my own medical bills, etc. I’m also f*cking turning 30 in like 3 days and admittedly having a bit of a meltdown about it. I’m asking myself why I don’t have my act together. What’s wrong with me? Why did I never accomplish what I thought I would at this juncture in life?

Then the wonderful guy I was dating realized he just wasn’t emotionally ready for anything beyond friendship. His timing is horrid, but that’s just life, isn’t it? I’m very sad about it – because I thought finally someone good had come into my life and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a good and kind person by my side. I understand where he’s coming from but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, I think it hurts more because he’s so wonderful. Heck, I’ve been there before as well. I initiated something and realized emotionally I just wasn’t in it and I probably hurt him. I think he was a much bigger person than I was when it happened to me. I broke my moral compass regarding speaking out of anger and said a lot of terrible things. He didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. I can admit when I’m wrong and have done as much. He doesn’t think any less of me and I’m certain that’s more than I deserve. I think the next time something like this happens I need to flee into the wilderness and cut off any form of communication from the world so I don’t lash out.  I think dating needs to be tabled for a while. I have too many other stressors in life and I think I need to let my wounds heal from this experience.

He was chivalrous, kind, intelligent and witty. His smile embodied that warmth he gave to others. 

Again I have to remind myself what got me here where I am now: just plain not thinking things through. I thought I could handle a place with no kitchen. It’s not just about that anymore, but my own personal safety. There is no sense of boundaries, really. Just over the weekend I had my landlord’s daughter simply walk into my apartment with four of her friends. I am not amused. My landlord was practically frothing at the mouth because I was talking to the neighbors, who have been a huge help to me and given me endless moral support. I don’t even want to be there right now, but I have to go back to pack. I admit I’m a little bit afraid because the landlord strikes me as a ticking bomb.

I want to be as far removed from this dysfunction as possible.

My happy ending this month is that I found a place that’s better and closer to work.  It has a kitchen! OMG! I’m moving on up in the world. The neighborhood doesn’t scare me. I’d be perfectly fine walking around with the hound when the sun is not out. In this scenario, however, the hound will have to take one for the team until I can sort out a dog door – which means he’ll be outside while I’m at work. The landlord happens to work for the same organization that I work for. I think that was a big help to me in being chosen out of all of the other applicants . . . because renting in Portland is tough and I magically beat out 85 other applicants – with a hound dog.

The dynamic duo triumphs in the end. 

For now I’m reminding myself to just focus on one thing at a time and not try to look so far ahead into the future. Sure, I need to sort out a dog door and find a dog house in the interim. I need to get pots and pans because I have none, I need a kitchen table. I need a lot of things. Whatever. For now I’ll just be focusing on getting the hell out of there. One thing at a time, Lass. One thing at a time.

I’ve been talking to a guy I know from tango. He’s going through a breakup, too – but he’s been with this gal for 7 years. Our solution to our woes? Smashing things. We have tentative plans to wail on pumpkins and make a huge mess. Because we can and something about completely laying waste to things is therapeutically gratifying. We’re both fairly stressed out and experiencing sleepless nights. I confessed to him last night that I was disappointed upon learning that he had a girlfriend when I first met him – but I left it at that. Neither one of us are in that kind of mind frame right now. We’re slightly embittered about the dating process, why people treat one another like garbage and that feeling that life has somehow turned against you. While working through my stress and rage I’ll have a companion to talk with regarding the things in life I just don’t understand. I guess it’s comforting that someone else is experiencing the same emotions, so he knows exactly where I’m coming from.

I am very much looking forward to this. 

While outletting my rage on unsuspecting perishables, I’ll be making an extra effort to find the good things in life, even though it’s difficult to see them right now and smile even though I feel like I’m breaking. I’ll make more of an effort to surround myself with the people that make me happy and make an honest attempt to not freak out over the fact that I’m turning 30. I make no guarantees that I won’t cry over my ice cream cake or something. 

Just keep looking up. It can't rain forever. 

Pain and Beauty

"Every nerve that can thrill with pleasure can also agonize with pain." - Horace Mann

I find the truth behind that quote mind boggling.

I've had to acknowledge and accept a few hard facts of life lately. I don't like it, but I know it's necessary. I've realized that if I want to make an impact for the greater good, I have to be able to stand and face the ugliness . . . and give it a severe thrashing. I'm not quite there yet. 

I'm learning to be more self aware. If I am too emotionally charged I'm useless. Nobody wins. This is just how it is. Sometimes the emotional pain is far too much. I can't describe it, but I know that those who have felt it understand. There have been occasions that all I can do is wail while simultaneously falling into a useless slump.

I have to acknowledge the vulnerability. I have to acknowledge the anger. I have to acknowledge the pain. These are all part of me, no matter how hard I try to pretend these aren't facets of what makes me and my personality. I've pretended my whole life that these are characteristics that don't pertain to me. Sometimes people see through that facade, no matter how hard I try to present myself as an unbreakable pillar. 

Sometimes this pain is so overwhelming that it turns to numbness. We go through the motions of life because it's what is expected of us. There is no joy and it's difficult to see past the few glimpses of happiness we're given. There is nothing left but self loathing and doubt. There is nothing left but wailing if we still have that in us. There is nothing left but despair; and how we present ourselves is entirely different from what we feel. It's like we're nothing but an empty casing that covers a very shaky framework. 

Something I don't yet understand is when we are our weakest, when we are our most vulnerable, we shut the rest of the world out. I don't know why others do it, but I know that I've built a wall at times because I don't want people to see my vulnerability and I don't think my emotional baggage is something for them to deal with. I've found that some want to share the burden out of pure compassion. This is part of being human. It's difficult to ask for help because we've been conditioned from a young age with the belief that we always have to stand on our own two feet. Supporting one another shows more strength than standing alone. 

Someone I love has challenged me to let the wall down and share those emotions, because that's precisely what I've asked of him. I've laid my emotions bare and made myself vulnerable to him already. He hasn't tried to break me, yet I'm still afraid. For him, I'll try . . .  and for myself, this is a long work in progress. His presence alone has awakened emotions that I never knew existed - and I still can't describe them. I'm still left wordless, breathless and in awe. 

The events in my life that have been so ugly, so painful . . . so numbing have somehow shaped what I am today. There are things that I've seen and experienced that I sometimes think should never be shared; I should never speak of them. I acknowledge that I can only carry so much for so long. When I can't stand on my own two feet, it's time to reach out and not give in to the numbing abyss of emotional anguish. When we think we are most unloved is when we are loved the most. It took me a long time to see it, but I did eventually. I hope he sees it, too. 

On that note, this entire process has been a challenge. I've been frustrated and I have no doubt he's frustrated by me - yet neither one of us has given up on this. 'This' is something I can't quite describe. He exists, I exist, and we both exist in it. It makes sense to me, but I doubt it will to many others. The things I want to shield him from are the very same emotions he wants me to share with him. I have been forced to acknowledge more of the darker side of my personality because of him, but I don't regret it. I am grateful. I am grateful because these are characteristics of myself that I've avoided for a very long time. I knew that I'd have to face them eventually . . . . and it appears as though that time is now. Challenge accepted, Universe. 

I see him going through the same phases and emotions that I experienced not too long ago . . . although his are likely for entirely different reasons. He's sorting out the positives and negatives in his life. I remember that experience. The process was not pretty. I felt even more secluded and alone. I doubt it will be as lonely for him as it was for me, but it's still difficult. I needed time to grieve some of those losses, even though I knew that the friendships were toxic. I tell him as often as I can that I'm here. He is loved. He is cherished. I hope when he's working through some of the darkest issues that he remembers those words. I meant everything I said. I have no doubt that others are giving him similar encouragement. Beautiful Soul, I am here. Let me love you.

I've seen glimpses, Beautiful Soul. I'm not afraid. You are magnificent, even if you don't see it yet. 

Changing gears, I had yet another victory. I think 2013 is the year of Ava. Last week, I was able to sit sandwiched in between two men. I didn't panic. I didn't try to run. I didn't reach for my beating stick. In fact, it didn't effect me at all. 

Just a few days ago I was beginning to go into another wretched PTSD relapse. I managed to catch it this time and I am still in amazed. I'm stunned because I've always viewed it as a beast that controlled me and I was helpless against it. 

I felt it coming. The rumination. The obsession over things that were said and things that were left unsaid. The obsession over experiences in my life that I'd rather forget that still plague me with their presence. This form of thinking is followed by the doubt, the self loathing, the fear. It eventually feels like there's a demonic presence in my mind that tells me I'm nothing. I'll never be good enough. I'm unlovable and I am worthless. I finally recognized it. I acknowledged that part of me and told it to go away; I distracted myself to the best of my capabilities. I told myself repeatedly throughout the day that I am a radiant being of light. 

I went to tango class and randomly hugged my dancing partner. She and I shared an amazing synergy together and I thoroughly enjoyed dancing with her. She kept her eyes closed when I was leading, as I often do when someone else is leading me. I was elated when I saw her face light up because we were connecting with movement; she intuitively knew where I was going. This is another aspect of humanity. We care for one another, we feel for one another, and we connect. It's beautiful.  It took me a long time to see it, but it truly is. By the end of the day, I felt nothing but joy and the first thing I told myself when I woke up was this, "I am a radiant being of light." I believed it this time. 

I'm keeping track for the new year. Ava - 2, PTSD - 0. I am winning. I can't describe the happiness I feel in these victories because I always thought this was something that had complete control over me. I now see that I can control it with a little bit of work and constant self awareness . . . and neither of these are negative things.

These boots are made for walkin'. I have arrived. 

After cutting out the negativity from my life, I am receiving positive. I don't deny the process was excruciating. I had no one and I was still experiencing the aftermath of the last two years. I started to reach out to the world around me and eventually the good came. I lack the words to describe how beautiful the latter process of this part has been. I think I'm seeing the world as it should be for the first time. All of the pieces are coming together and it's beginning to make sense. 

Beautiful Soul, it exists for you, too. I'm here. Don't ever think you're alone.

From Rage to Love

Rage n. Furious intensity, as of a storm or disease. 

It used to amuse people when I told them my motivation to succeed was spite and rage. The sad part is that it was true. When I was told that I was nothing, that I was and never would be good enough,  the anger continued to grow and I strove to be the best in everything. For some time it worked - but a person can only carry on like that for so long. It's a cancer that can eat one alive.

The rage began when I was a young girl and my father died. It grew and evolved with every painful event that followed after: my mother's rejection, the death of my grandmother and the abandonment of anyone that had ever mattered to me. I was alone in life and I knew it. Anger was all I had to keep me going and I let it take over.

This is a pretty good representation. Did I mention I was constantly getting into fights as a wee lass? I was sending the world a message: don't f@#! with me or I'll kill you with my fury. 

The turning point began about a year and a half ago. It had been six months after I experienced something that I was naive enough to think that it couldn't possibly happen to me again. I don't remember why I was in Beaverton and just happened to stumble upon one of those New Age / Pagan shops. I do remember that I was extremely upset over someone's words that were spoken out of cruelty. I was still trying to recover from what happened and couldn't handle such harshness from someone I trusted.

Perhaps it was a divine intervention. Whatever it was, the encounter I had in that shop started me on a path that moved me from anger.

I can't even remember if I walked through the door - perhaps I stumbled through it. I could barely speak. I knew from the instant the store clerk spoke to me that he was gay, which was a very good thing because if it had been a straight male I probably would have ran out. There was no one else in the store, so he came out from behind the counter and hugged me. He held me until I stopped crying.

This is pretty much what happened

When I was finally able to form words with my mouth, I told him what had happened and that I had experienced it for many years as a child. I was furious that it happened again and I didn't even see it coming. He squeezed me tighter and told me that I had to forgive myself first and then I'd be able to move towards compassion for me and others. He also told me that I needed to give myself time to grieve. This was the beginning of healing my spirit. Countless therapists tried working on my mind, as if this alone would fix everything - that just wasn't the answer.

I didn't even get his name. What he gave me is priceless. It took me a while to get here, but I have arrived and I'm bursting with the purest form of joy. Just when I think I couldn't be any happier, the universe sends something else my way. I am beautifully aware of every waking moment and experiencing things in life that I never knew existed. My words don't do it justice, really.

It's not only happiness. I still find myself grieving for the injustices others experience, but it's not overwhelming anymore and all I want to do is work harder to change it for them. This is my new motivation: making an impact for the better. While I've accepted that I can't possibly do it all, I hope someday I can see a change for the greater good and perhaps in the next life I will have the ability to do it all.

Someday I hope to run into the guy in the Beaverton store just so I can tell him how thankful I am. He held me until I stopped  sobbing and shaking and pointed me towards a path of healing. His kindness and genuine concern was moving. I've learned to forgive, I've learned to love and I've also learned to trust again. The one encounter I had with him helped me get here.

The end result is my newly found joy in belly dancing. I'd practiced it for a year and a half before I set it down because I was too consumed by anger and grief to continue. I've picked it up again with new fervor and strive for perfection . . . and then there are times when I do it strictly for fun not paying attention to technique whatsoever simply because it makes me happy.

Emotionally, physically, spiritually . . . one of the most beautiful things. 

While in Seattle I attempted a run . . . well, I did run. What struck me is that I usually channel rage to push myself. I wasn't able to do it - not even when I put on a set of music that has traditionally worked me into a frenzy. There was no anger to channel - just me giving myself a pep talk to keep running up those hills. I can't recall a time when there has never been even a subtle anger underneath the surface.

I ran into an old friend last night. She hadn't seen me in a few years. She couldn't put her finger on what had changed, but could only say that I looked beautiful to her. I know the answer - it's this immense happiness that continues to overflow in my life. 

I find something else occurring in my life as well. He came back. I love him. I love him and if he doesn't know that by now he's an oblivious fool. I am ecstatic and afraid at the same time. I take in every moment with him because they are precious to me. When he left for a retreat a couple of weeks ago I found myself counting down the days until his return . . . and then I laughed at myself because I'm usually counting down the days until I can be away from someone.

These moments with him, this state of constant joy with life that continues to amaze me - they are very dear to me and I hold them close. I always will.

He is such a beautiful person

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."  ~ Rumi

Howl

Ever feel like walking off into the wilderness and howling? I do. The wolf howl is perhaps one of the most beautiful and mournful sounds I’ve ever heard. It speaks to me. I want to howl and let my sorrow drift into the air with it’s mournful sound . . . . then someone can wake me up when October ends.

This October marks the 23^rd anniversary of my father’s death. I remember it as the day that my perfect little world was shattered and nothing in life has ever been the same for me since. In the wake of his death, my grandmother, Patricia, selfless as always, went out of her way to maintain a sense of normalcy for me. She was ill with advanced and undiagnosed pancreatic cancer, had just lost her son, and had another son that was in an assisted living center being treated for schizophrenia. In spite of all of this, she fought to preserve my childhood and happiness.

I went trick or treating that year. I remember my costume: a black plastic trash bag and pharmacy store bought witch’s hat. In the aftermath of my father’s death, this was some much needed fun for five-year-old me. It wasn’t long after this that my crazy mother took me to Georgia and left me there with complete strangers. To this day, I still can’t decide if she was crazy, cruel or some insidious mixture of the two.

It’s not like it was all unhappy, I was just frightened and feeling very alone. I spent about a year in Georgia before I made a miraculous return home. I was with a woman named Myrna. According to my birth mother, this was my grandmother on her side. Myrna, knowing the deceitfulness and destruction that most often followed in my mother’s footsteps, played close attention to my chatter about home, losing my father and my longing to be with my grandmother Patricia.

I remember Myrna going through one phonebook after another, making phone call after phone call until she located my grandparents. She bought two plane tickets and accompanied me home. I wish I knew her better. Myrna is gone now, but I remember her as being the one constant and solid thing in my life when I was surrounded by turmoil and doubt.

A year after returning home to the west coast, my grandmother was in the hospital dying of cancer. I lived with whoever would take me in over the next year until cancer got the better of her. I remember the day she died as vividly as the day my father died. The air felt heavy and suffocating and I simply wanted to melt into the earth beneath my feet and disappear into the essence of the universe.

I look at the approach of this month with dread. I keep my birthday hidden on my online profile because all of the wishes for happiness only serve as a reminder of what’s been taken away and the looming sadness that I know will take over even though I try to keep it at bay. My father’s death marked the beginning of an immense amount of sadness that entered my life that I am still trying to process and come to terms with.

I’d like to think that someday all of this won’t make me so sad. In the meantime, I’ll try to create some happy memories for myself. At least I know I’ll survive it; I always do. 

"And can it be that in a world so full and busy the loss of one creature makes a void so wide and deep that nothing but the width and depth of eternity can fill it" ~ Charles Dickens