Autobiography · Relationships

Alone

I tell Andrew it was a lonely day. Not the kind of loneliness that comes with not being around people, with your phone not ringing. The kind that sits down in your bones and reminds you that no one will notice if you don’t come home. The kind I’d managed to avoid for most of my life. Either with partners who had keys to our front door, or a family that shared meals, or glasses of Jim Beam and Newport cigarettes. I filled that empty space. It did not surface, did not hold sway. It did not catch me standing in my kitchen like it did yesterday.

But there is a certain beauty to it. Finally realizing that everything I do is for my own best interest. That I finally get to be honest about who I am, about what I like, about my passions. It is a grand unearthing disguised as simplicity. I ask for help from Nadine to make a shopping list. “What do I like to eat?” I’ve forgotten how to conduct life for just me. Not sure if I ever knew exactly how to begin with. Always hid it from myself under a layer of trips to the bar and wrapping my arms around strangers. Now it’s just me. Alone. I attack the life in front of me, I sink in my teeth.

Start running again. Find a gym I can lift in for the first time in close to ten months. I take my list to the grocery store and buy food that is nourishing and makes me happy. I cook dinner for myself and share it only when I want to. In the morning I sit at the kitchen table and drink a cup of coffee in solitude. I make conscious decisions about everything I do and think hard about whether or not it benefits me. What is the underlying goal here? Are you doing this because you want someone to think or feel something specific about you or do you want to, like to, need to do this? I answer the questions I never even thought to ask before. I answer the questions I once relied on other people to answer for me.

My friends, my family, my partner. They back me. Stand in my corner and make sure I continue to face the right direction. That I don’t quit. That I keep my eyes open for signs of slipping. They keep me honest. Push me when I need pushing and don’t accept answers like, “I’m fine.” But they never do it for me. Never even offer. I hold space for them in my life, but it is not at my own expense anymore. I make room for them, but I do not push out my own loves and needs and wants to do it. I do not compromise myself. I do not buckle when I feel like maybe someone is asking me to.

In the grocery store I stand in the liquor aisle wondering if I’m going to make it to year three of my sobriety. Wondering if the vastness of living my own life will leave me raw and searching for crutches. I clutch tight to my necklace that’s engraved with my date–12.29.13–and shake the feeling off again. I am not the same person who didn’t know how to face this. I am not the woman who was afraid of the pieces that make her.

Photo courtesy of Artem Verbo.

Poetry

A letter to those struck by the loneliness of December

"Flowers in december" © Daniel Horacio Agostini, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Flowers in december” © Daniel Horacio Agostini, 2009. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
I tear out pieces of my heart.
Leave them like bread crumbs.
They will show you the way back.
Proof
at least one person
feels like you.

We don’t know how to fill those spaces.
Tried booze
and drugs.
Food
and lack-thereof it.
Razor blades
and perfect strangers. Continue reading →

Poetry

Asymptote

"57/365 - Fallen Layers" © Ahmed Hashim, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
57/365 – Fallen Layers” © Ahmed Hashim, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
“So. Many. Layers.”
I wrestle off my ski coat, fleece-lined sweatshirt, and down-filled vest.
The shape of my body finally makes an appearance.

Move the pillows, sit down, and pull my feet underneath me.

“We’re like Russian nesting dolls this time of year, aren’t we?”

It’s the same every time I’m here.
He lights a tea candle,
I settle myself and take a drink of water
out of my Klean Kanteen.
Pause. Deep breath.
“How’ve you been?”

“Good,” he says, smiles at me,
but does not return the question.
Just waits.

Therapy. Continue reading →