I’m up way past my bedtime.
I can’t sleep because I’m arguing with someone in my head.
While you’re at it, why don’t you go and fuck yourself. You have no fucking clue what my life is about. You go do your shopping at Ann Taylor and J Crew with your tiny fucking little body that can afford to go to the gym and do zoomba, and I’ll be sitting here absorbing all the displaced rage and grief from. . . others. . .
Well, I guess that was what we in the blogoshpere would call “raw”. But it wasn’t really honest or accurate. Because as open as I try to be here, there is still an awful lot I can’t share with you because it would not only hurt others, but also come back to make my life all heaps of messy. I guess that kind of makes me a phony; that my ego isn’t strong enough to take the back lash. But at least I’m being honest. I can’t take it.
My ego is also not strong enough to take that I am not the peaceful, kale and quinoa eating hippie chick I once thought I was. Anger does not come naturally or comfortably for me, and it usually comes out in ways that are just obnoxious. Like telling my sister to go fuck herself at my birthday party… which for the record has not happened… yet.
I lied in bed, struggling against sleep, saying bitter words in my head, hearing my heart beat in my ears. I realized I was crying. Not ugly, full-out sobbing, but relentless tears that I sopped up with my bed sheet as I narrated my pain and anger.
It is disappointing when people don’t act the way we want them to act.
This seems to be the tale of my life as both mother, social worker, wife, and daughter. And now as sister.
People seem to be fond of saying that the Chinese character for “Crisis” is a combination of the symbols for “danger” and “opportunity”. So, with every crisis there comes uncertainty and possibly danger, but also the potential for a door to open to change and growth.
Angry old me wants to scream, “Fuck that!”
But the me who wants to be mindful says, “Breathing in, I feel my anger. Breathing out, I accept my fear and confusion.”
And for a moment, I’m like, yeah, I can dig it. . . and then. . . oh wait, no I fucking cant.
So I go again. Breathing in I acknowledge my rage, breathing out I invite peace. Breathing in, it’s all good. Breathing out, oh man I’m so fucking tired.
Danger and opportunity. I remember it well from college, drinking fruit punch spiked with vodka. Or maybe I was just drunk. Either way, it was 20 years ago.
So, the opportunity I believe is being presented to me is a chance for me to rise above, to be mature, to be kind, to be grounded in the face of change and craziness that most surely wants to unroot me.
I want to do the right thing. I want to do the right thing because I want to practice what I preach, to be kind, to be genuinely pleased for someone else’s success, and to appreciate what I have right here and right now and to crave no more.
I want to be kind. More than anything I want to be the kindness.
But geeze oh man, there is another part of me that wants to say, You know, you’re making a huge fucking mistake. And I’m not going to be there on the other side of the intercontinental texts and calls when you have no one. Because I’ve been sitting here having no one for the past 18 months or more, while you did your thing and ignored me, or felt I was lesser than what with whom you wanted to associate. You are making a mistake, and I hope it feels every bit as scary and uncomfortable as what I am feeling over here. In my two bedroom apartment, wit a body that won’t fit into anything from J Crew, and a salary that does not even allow me to sneeze in front of Loft.
I’m too angry to wish well, and I’m afraid I don’t have enough time to process what I need to be authentic and wish well.
Underneath the anger, there is a really frail, dark place where shit is crumbling down on me until I can’t see, and all I know is I am alone.
I am alone.
She’ll be the bigger person than me, most likely. So, I’ve got to figure this out and wipe away the tears.
Or stay paralyzed and awake in the middle of the night.
Until she’s gone.
And there is exactly where my ego fails me, terrifies me. Because I’m just not strong enough for someone else to walk away.