I have now attended a funeral for the third weekend in a row.
Third weekend. IN A ROW.
This new year is only 22 days old and so far I am not liking 2011 at all.
I walked out during the third or fourth person speaking on today’s dearly departed to go to the bathroom. I had my coat with me and instead of going back into the service I put it on and walked out the door. And kept walking; I just wanted to go home. I was dressed very warm and could only really feel the cold on my face. It wasn’t a deal breaker and i really needed to clear my head so I decided to walk towards home until I became too cold and/or too tired.
That alone should have been a warning bell, but I was in no state to hear it.
As I’m walking I’m going through a tsunami of emotions. I cycle in and out of insomnia, going two-three days without sleeping, then coming home and being out cold before 8pm and not rising until my alarm goes off at 5am. These near weekly snow storms and work related issues have added to the stress. I bury one friend for infinity last week; then in a completely unexpected turn of events a former friendship I had emotionally buried suddenly finds itself resurrected this week, which brings in a whole new set of emotional turmoil as we awkwardly work out trying to find our way back to some state of what was. Add in I went out, got completely wasted and had to go to work the next day with my head all over the emotional scale. And yesterday, I learn another friend has made the decision to move to another state and will be doing so relatively soon. I’ve put up a fantastic front, but I see this past week especially is taking its toll.
I was five blocks from “home” when the warning bell I did not hear earlier went into full on Star Trek red alert klaxon mode. I was heading towards the wrong home. I was heading towards the home I lived in when I was still married. It is in the exact opposite direction of where I live now and had been walking out in this freezing ass weather for a good thirty minutes before I noticed. What the fuck? The enormity of it comes crushing down on me and suddenly I am freezing and exhausted. I hop in a cab and go home.
So here I am. In my warm bed, partially on my lap top typing this, partially gazing at what’s left of the sunlight bouncing off the snow-covered rooftops, trying to defrost from more than the weather that’s left me feeling cold. As I sit here, I realize, with all the emotional turmoil I’ve gone through, I’ve yet to cry. Yes, I’ve shed tears. But I have yet to have that long hard, crawl into a fetal position, full-out, deep ugly soul cleansing bawl. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks hugging people, holding people, reaching out to people giving them encouragement, letting them know they’re going to be okay. Yes, I could go and have been to my friends where I find succor and loving support. But me being me, keep moving on. I’m moving on so well in fact, I head towards the wrong home. Why? Because it was the last place where I was loved.
That no questions asked (because they already know or have a good idea), loved. That pull you into their arms, holding you tight loved. That not letting you go until it’s as out as it can be loved. That maybe it takes a few minutes, maybe it takes an hour, maybe it takes until you fall asleep exhausted loved. That’s what I need. However, only the Powers-That-Be can say when I’ll known such once more.
I know that breakdown is coming, but when? I pray that the tipping point does not occur in the middle of the work week, because that would be just craptacular to fall apart at work.
In the interim, I write and I wait…