It was the early 80s, I was living with my soon to be ex-husband and several roommates in Los Gatos, California, and we were all reading a great new book. I remember Chip, one of my roomies, and I comparing notes about how far we had gotten in the story, and trying not to give anything away. "Spoiler Alert" hadn't been coined yet.
Robert Ludlum captivated me with his stories for some time to come. He hooked me with his character Jason Bourne. I could empathize all too well with someone who had a past he wanted to escape and forget.
Over the years, I have been blindsided countless times. Sitting in a movie theater, reading a book, or talking to someone, a subject comes up that I wasn't ready for, and I find myself unprepared to deal with the emotions that well up inside me. I sat in a dark movie theater in 1994, tears completely blinding me, and had to be led out of Forrest Gump by my friend because the scene where Jenny threw rocks at that house had completely undone me.
I have been imersed in a book and found myself taken down by a theme I was not aware was in the book.
It happens all the time. It never gets easier. I wish I had armour against the onslaught, but I don't. And just as I'd feared, as my daughter approaches her seventh birthday, looking at her sometimes makes me want to double over in pain. I just don't comprehend how someone could hurt a seven year old child.
This past week has been particularly hard. I've been woken up in the middle of the night several times by the fighting going on in the next door unit. That family's dysfunction is so hard to hear. It tears the protective coating right off of me. I've walked through my days this week with my patience worn down to the bone. I need to get away from here. I cannot stand to listen to angry voices, crying, and yelling.
The townhouse complex that I'm trying to buy into had regulatory issues that they've been trying to resolve. My mortgage approval is contingent on them getting it taken care of, and I had to sign a contract extension on Tuesday, and it gave them until the day before my closing date to finalize. To say that it stressed me out is an understatement. I am hanging on to my composure with both hands.
And of course, packing up our things and having boxes stacked in the livingroom has had an unsettling affect upon my daughter. She has crawled into my bed most nights lately, which of course makes it harder for me to get any rest. When I had my dear sweet Labradors, when we were moving from our house and everything was in chaos, one of them ran out to my car and sat in the front seat, stubbornly refusing to budge. It was clear that she was saying to me "look, you are taking me with you and I don't want to hear another word." My daughter seems to be feeling the same thing, at least on a subconscious level. How can I blame her?
Work, naturally, has been a zoo lately. My mentor, whom I've grown to love, left the company on Friday. Another loss. Somehow I have lost most of the important women in my life, time and again. No wonder I am so solitary. No wonder I try to do everything by myself. It feels like the moment I trust someone and gain their intimacy, they are gone. I feel bereft, but what can I do? I have too many details to attend to, to feel sorry for myself for too long. There is always something to be done.
I want so much for this new place to happen, to work out, and to be good for us. I want a safe, happy, productive sanctuary. Somewhere where we can thrive. I want to get a dog. I want things to make sense and feel right. I want to sleep at night and feel like we belong. I need the longing to run away and live somewhere far away to recede into the back of my head where my dreams lie, and stop coming into my consciousness as I try to get on with my day to day living. I want to feel normal, and ordinary.
3 years ago