Recently, someone asked me how I remember all that was going on during one of the most stressful times of my life. "Do you have journals?" Yes, I have journals. But I don't look at them. I have unfinished novels based on the illusion that was my life before April 2004, and I have unfinished novels based on everything that happened after. But the settings for these are mostly my mind, so I don't feel they will be of much interest to many people. And besides, I am a perfectionist as well as a procrastinator, which means I will never actually finish anything in life that I set out to do.
But to answer the original question, these memories are just burned into my being. I think things over and over, until they are bored into the files and vaults that have taken up shop in the twisty, winding tunnels of my memory. It is almost an obsession. Could I have done that differently? A better response would have been...blah blah blah. If I could take that one conversation and erase it, or make it better the outcome could have been so much different. Basically, I'm a freak. But I don't remember everything. No one can remember everything.
And so I blog about the things I do remember-- the things that stick out in my mind, the scenarios I have played over and over again on the front screen of my mind. The gaps? Well, the gaps are composed now of bits of feelings that I remember... a phrase here, a nostalgic glance here. I weave them together to get myself to recall the moment. There is some ad-libbing, but it is not fiction. The outcome of each and every instance is real. And there ARE the journals, which hold the real memories, vaulted away as soon as they came into being.
One day I decided to look in one of my journals, to see if I could conjour a new feeling, or a new understanding of a painful memory that was hiding just beneath the surface of my conscious awareness... but I couldn't force myself to finish reading it. I got physically ill going back to that place. The place I was in when I first wrote it. It was frantic, sprawling script that looked as if it belonged to a mad-woman. It did not have the bubbling half print, half cursive font most of my letters possess. In fact, I didn't recognize it at all, but of course it was mine.
I began to read the journal entry of this possessed mad-woman who had been me just three short years ago, and I began to sob and shake. This woman was so tortured and alone. She wrote of helplessness and depression. She wrote of wanting to be happy and at the same time not deserving it. I slammed the leather-bound book shut. It was too painful. It was too real. I would stick to writing about the things I was ready to deal with. I will not open the journals again, maybe forever. Maybe I will throw them in a fire and watch them burn. Maybe I will bury them until I am strong enough to confront the raw emotion attached to each and every page. Maybe I will begin a new chapter in a new journal and tell of all the things for which I am thankful each and every day. And maybe eventually, these chapters will cancel out the old.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Lighthouse: Part Two
Here we go... We're walking down the aisle. My daddy is going to give me away in just a few minutes. Just got to get down these stairs made of--SNAG, TRIP (a little) and RECOVER-- pointy rocks, around the fountain and into the gazebo. This is going to be short, sweet, and to the point. If my bridesmaids start crying I am going to have to shoot them... deep breath, walk, walk, walk...
As we walked down the aisle in the 80 degree sun, I looked around at everyone standing in the midst of row after row of blooming roses. My cousin was playing beautiful, whimsical music on her piano. I had told her to pick whatever she thought would sound best, as long as it wasn't too traditional. And now she was playing, and we were walking, and people were standing (why were they standing? I specifically said I didn't want anyone to stand while I walked down the aisle. Ugh, oh well) and soon we would be up front at the gazebo, saying our vows.
The bridesmaids were gorgeous. The groomsmen were handsome (and hot--it was eighty degrees and we were outside). The ceremony was short and to the point (which was excellent, because it was eighty degrees). The highlight was my mother singing The Lord's Prayer unexpectedly. She didn't tell anyone except Uncle Howard since he was officiating. She didn't even tell my dad. She said she didn't want to commit to doing it in case she didn't feel well that day and wouldn't be up to it. But, she stood up after the blessing and started singing. Immediately I could hear someone start crying. Elissha. It has to be Elissha. Well, I will shoot her later, I thought. Then I heard another sniffle. And another. Soon my entire row of strong supporters was sniffling and wiping away tears. Oh, hell. Then I was sniffling and wiping away tears. Thank God for water-proof mascara.
The vows were recited. Uncle Howard told Mike that he could slip in the omitted, "obey" phrase for fifty dollars. Luckily, Mike decided not to take him up on that offer. We kissed. We smiled. We were pelted with what felt like twenty pounds of bird seed. We took picture after picture after picture. And it was wonderful. Wonderful because we were now together, wonderful because so many of our friends and family were there to help us celebrate, and wonderful because for a little while we could pretend like we were all going to live happily ever after. And it really felt like that could be true on July 31, 2004.
As we walked down the aisle in the 80 degree sun, I looked around at everyone standing in the midst of row after row of blooming roses. My cousin was playing beautiful, whimsical music on her piano. I had told her to pick whatever she thought would sound best, as long as it wasn't too traditional. And now she was playing, and we were walking, and people were standing (why were they standing? I specifically said I didn't want anyone to stand while I walked down the aisle. Ugh, oh well) and soon we would be up front at the gazebo, saying our vows.
The bridesmaids were gorgeous. The groomsmen were handsome (and hot--it was eighty degrees and we were outside). The ceremony was short and to the point (which was excellent, because it was eighty degrees). The highlight was my mother singing The Lord's Prayer unexpectedly. She didn't tell anyone except Uncle Howard since he was officiating. She didn't even tell my dad. She said she didn't want to commit to doing it in case she didn't feel well that day and wouldn't be up to it. But, she stood up after the blessing and started singing. Immediately I could hear someone start crying. Elissha. It has to be Elissha. Well, I will shoot her later, I thought. Then I heard another sniffle. And another. Soon my entire row of strong supporters was sniffling and wiping away tears. Oh, hell. Then I was sniffling and wiping away tears. Thank God for water-proof mascara.
The vows were recited. Uncle Howard told Mike that he could slip in the omitted, "obey" phrase for fifty dollars. Luckily, Mike decided not to take him up on that offer. We kissed. We smiled. We were pelted with what felt like twenty pounds of bird seed. We took picture after picture after picture. And it was wonderful. Wonderful because we were now together, wonderful because so many of our friends and family were there to help us celebrate, and wonderful because for a little while we could pretend like we were all going to live happily ever after. And it really felt like that could be true on July 31, 2004.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
The Lighthouse: Part One
Despite 2004 being one of the worst years ever for my family, it wasn't all bad. There were bright spots, little beacons we could see from our place on the shiftless dark waters that tried to swallow us up everytime we let our eyelids get a little heavy. There were lighthouses here and there, waving us out of our misery and letting us know that life was still going to march forward and we needed to wade ashore to join in. The biggest of these lighthouses that year? The wedding, of course.
The wedding was happening. We had planned and planned and planned. Ok, my cousins Amber and Lauren, my mother and mother-in-law had planned and planned and planned. I was never much of a wedding-type girl. I had not been planning my wedding since the day I first watched a Disney movie. I did not care what color my flowers were, or that there even were flowers. I had no idea what the centerpieces should look like, though I thought something edible seemed like a good idea. Yes, something edible and probably chocolate. My mother and Amber would press me relentlessly, "There isn't much time left, you NEED to make this decision soon. Which DJ? Which hall? The church or somewhere outdoors? What colors? Which caterer? Which, which, which?" My reply almost always, much to the chagrin of my entourage, was something to the effect of, "I don't know...? What do you think?" I truly did not care. My biggest requests were that I wanted the wedding outdoors, and I wanted everyone I truly cared about to be able to join in the celebration.
Somehow (and I still consider this a miracle of biblical proportions) the wedding had been planned. All of the required elements of the western wedding paradigm were in place. We had a DJ (who apparently could not read, because she kept insisting on smoking inside right in front of the giant NO SMOKING INSIDE sign), we had an outdoor nuptial location (a beautiful rose garden in full bloom), we had officiants (my uncle who is a Methodist minister, and my aunt who was in school to become a Methodist minister). We had a hall for the reception, we had bouquets, we had edible favors and decorations, we had free food, beer, and wine. I had a dress. My bridesmaids and flower girls had dresses. The groomsmen and ring-bearer had tuxes. We had photographers, cake-bakers, rings and did I mention free beer? We were done.
I could not have asked for a more perfect weekend than that weekend. All of my bridesmaids spent the night with me the night before the wedding. We stayed up doing our nails, drinking cocktails and exchanging hilarious stories. What a perfect night. Still to this day I think about the last night I got to spend with my two best friends from high school, my two best friends and loyal roommates from college, and three of my closest cousins. My support group had gathered around to make this last night of singlehood special. For me. In the morning my cousins woke up early and made everyone pancakes for breakfast. Then we set off for the hair salon to become intoxicated on hair-spray and mimosas.
My hair stylist (long-time hairdresser and friend) told me she had never had a bride so calm. I was not nervous at all. I had no doubt about anything that was going to happen that day. What was there to be nervous about? I remember thinking about the night we decided to move the wedding up to that summer. Initially we were going to wait until I was done with college. There were no concrete plans or dates set...
I was sitting in the room I shared with Whitney, my roommate on a wintry night in 2003. I adored my life away at college. I had great friends. I loved school. I had wonderful professors and great grades. One of the professors even mentioned that I could go to graduate school. In fact, it wasn't so much a "could go," as a "would go." Me. No teacher had ever had that much faith in me, before. I was doing so well here...
But, something was missing like it always was. I was just tired of being away from Mike. I was tired of having to plan visits to see him weeks in advance. I was tired of saying good night to him over the phone every night. I had just finished a phone conversation with him, in fact. He was pushing the issue of moving the wedding up again or maybe just moving in together. I thought of all the reasons it didn't make sense. No, no, no. We had a plan. Just stick to the plan! But even as I fought for the plan, something tugged at the back of my grey matter and told me to let the plan go. Just let it go.
After I had hung up the phone with Mike, I was crying just thinking about my future. What did it look like? I knew it started with Mike, but how soon did it begin? How was feeling this lonely good for me? Was I going to get a sign about what I should do? It seemed like God always sent me a sign when I needed help with a major decision--
knock knock!
"What?" I yelled, wiping my eyes hurriedly. Who the hell was it, now? For some reason I was the only one home that night. My roommates were working, or studying, or something. Before I could gather my thoughts, a burst of energy bounded into our living room, through the hall way and into my bedroom. I immediately recognized the bounding as belonging to our friend and neighbor Jeremiah.
"Hey! Where's Whitney? Hey... You're crying. Why are you crying?" I could already tell that this visit was not going to be helpful to my situation. I loved my friend Miah to death, but he was far from serious a majority of the time.
"She's at work. She'll be back later." I responded, annoyed that my last minute tear-wiping had not hidden the fact that I had been crying like a moron a few minutes earlier. He looked at me and sat down on the edge of my bed, something I had not expected him to do. He was much closer to Whitney than he ever was to me.
"Well, what's wrong? Are you ok?" I rolled my eyes up at him. Was he really trying to help? Well, no one else was around. I might as well let it out to someone...
"Yeah, I'm fine." Whew. That was hard.
"But, you're crying."
"Yeah, I'm ok."
"Oh, then why are you crying?"
I sighed. This was going nowhere. "I just got off the phone with Mike."
"Ew... did you guys break up?"
"NO!" I shook my head vigorously and sighed.
"No. It's just... we want to get married NOW, but we don't know if we should. I mean, we are just tired of being apart. That's all. It's just-- hard. And I am tired of sitting here all alone while everyone is always gone, and I just don't think my parents will understand-- but we really just want to get married now, ya know? I just feel alone here sometimes. I'm tired of it!"
Miah leaned over and searched my face for a moment. I remember his gaze being so sincere, looking at me with the most serious face he has ever given me to this day. He waited a minute, but not too long before he said,
"If you guys love each other THAT much, you will make it work. Just make it work. It will work. Just tell your parents how you feel. It will all work out." He gave me a big bear hug and went back next door to his own apartment. It was such a simple, sweet, short conversation that he probably doesn't even remember-- but it gave me the strength I needed to move the wedding up.
On the day of the wedding the only thing I feared was tripping over my dress or falling headlong into the wedding cake. Other than that, I was ready for the party to begin. I was ready for the marriage--not the WEDDING-- but the actual MARRIAGE. Too many people get caught up on that ONE DAY. It's only one day. It isn't going to define your whole life. It is just the gate through which you will be ushered before forming a meaninful, life-long (hopefully) commitment to this one person. It should be fun. It shouldn't matter if bridesmaid number three bought the wrong shoes, or the color of the roses were bisque insteand of bone. It shouldn't matter if the toasts are long and tearful, or short and hilarious. All that matters is that you are ready to spend your life with one person, and that everyone you love is there to spend that lifetime with you.
We were ready to be married. Yes, we were young. Yes, we were stupid. And yes, we were doing the right thing. I was sure of it.
The wedding was happening. We had planned and planned and planned. Ok, my cousins Amber and Lauren, my mother and mother-in-law had planned and planned and planned. I was never much of a wedding-type girl. I had not been planning my wedding since the day I first watched a Disney movie. I did not care what color my flowers were, or that there even were flowers. I had no idea what the centerpieces should look like, though I thought something edible seemed like a good idea. Yes, something edible and probably chocolate. My mother and Amber would press me relentlessly, "There isn't much time left, you NEED to make this decision soon. Which DJ? Which hall? The church or somewhere outdoors? What colors? Which caterer? Which, which, which?" My reply almost always, much to the chagrin of my entourage, was something to the effect of, "I don't know...? What do you think?" I truly did not care. My biggest requests were that I wanted the wedding outdoors, and I wanted everyone I truly cared about to be able to join in the celebration.
Somehow (and I still consider this a miracle of biblical proportions) the wedding had been planned. All of the required elements of the western wedding paradigm were in place. We had a DJ (who apparently could not read, because she kept insisting on smoking inside right in front of the giant NO SMOKING INSIDE sign), we had an outdoor nuptial location (a beautiful rose garden in full bloom), we had officiants (my uncle who is a Methodist minister, and my aunt who was in school to become a Methodist minister). We had a hall for the reception, we had bouquets, we had edible favors and decorations, we had free food, beer, and wine. I had a dress. My bridesmaids and flower girls had dresses. The groomsmen and ring-bearer had tuxes. We had photographers, cake-bakers, rings and did I mention free beer? We were done.
I could not have asked for a more perfect weekend than that weekend. All of my bridesmaids spent the night with me the night before the wedding. We stayed up doing our nails, drinking cocktails and exchanging hilarious stories. What a perfect night. Still to this day I think about the last night I got to spend with my two best friends from high school, my two best friends and loyal roommates from college, and three of my closest cousins. My support group had gathered around to make this last night of singlehood special. For me. In the morning my cousins woke up early and made everyone pancakes for breakfast. Then we set off for the hair salon to become intoxicated on hair-spray and mimosas.
My hair stylist (long-time hairdresser and friend) told me she had never had a bride so calm. I was not nervous at all. I had no doubt about anything that was going to happen that day. What was there to be nervous about? I remember thinking about the night we decided to move the wedding up to that summer. Initially we were going to wait until I was done with college. There were no concrete plans or dates set...
I was sitting in the room I shared with Whitney, my roommate on a wintry night in 2003. I adored my life away at college. I had great friends. I loved school. I had wonderful professors and great grades. One of the professors even mentioned that I could go to graduate school. In fact, it wasn't so much a "could go," as a "would go." Me. No teacher had ever had that much faith in me, before. I was doing so well here...
But, something was missing like it always was. I was just tired of being away from Mike. I was tired of having to plan visits to see him weeks in advance. I was tired of saying good night to him over the phone every night. I had just finished a phone conversation with him, in fact. He was pushing the issue of moving the wedding up again or maybe just moving in together. I thought of all the reasons it didn't make sense. No, no, no. We had a plan. Just stick to the plan! But even as I fought for the plan, something tugged at the back of my grey matter and told me to let the plan go. Just let it go.
After I had hung up the phone with Mike, I was crying just thinking about my future. What did it look like? I knew it started with Mike, but how soon did it begin? How was feeling this lonely good for me? Was I going to get a sign about what I should do? It seemed like God always sent me a sign when I needed help with a major decision--
knock knock!
"What?" I yelled, wiping my eyes hurriedly. Who the hell was it, now? For some reason I was the only one home that night. My roommates were working, or studying, or something. Before I could gather my thoughts, a burst of energy bounded into our living room, through the hall way and into my bedroom. I immediately recognized the bounding as belonging to our friend and neighbor Jeremiah.
"Hey! Where's Whitney? Hey... You're crying. Why are you crying?" I could already tell that this visit was not going to be helpful to my situation. I loved my friend Miah to death, but he was far from serious a majority of the time.
"She's at work. She'll be back later." I responded, annoyed that my last minute tear-wiping had not hidden the fact that I had been crying like a moron a few minutes earlier. He looked at me and sat down on the edge of my bed, something I had not expected him to do. He was much closer to Whitney than he ever was to me.
"Well, what's wrong? Are you ok?" I rolled my eyes up at him. Was he really trying to help? Well, no one else was around. I might as well let it out to someone...
"Yeah, I'm fine." Whew. That was hard.
"But, you're crying."
"Yeah, I'm ok."
"Oh, then why are you crying?"
I sighed. This was going nowhere. "I just got off the phone with Mike."
"Ew... did you guys break up?"
"NO!" I shook my head vigorously and sighed.
"No. It's just... we want to get married NOW, but we don't know if we should. I mean, we are just tired of being apart. That's all. It's just-- hard. And I am tired of sitting here all alone while everyone is always gone, and I just don't think my parents will understand-- but we really just want to get married now, ya know? I just feel alone here sometimes. I'm tired of it!"
Miah leaned over and searched my face for a moment. I remember his gaze being so sincere, looking at me with the most serious face he has ever given me to this day. He waited a minute, but not too long before he said,
"If you guys love each other THAT much, you will make it work. Just make it work. It will work. Just tell your parents how you feel. It will all work out." He gave me a big bear hug and went back next door to his own apartment. It was such a simple, sweet, short conversation that he probably doesn't even remember-- but it gave me the strength I needed to move the wedding up.
On the day of the wedding the only thing I feared was tripping over my dress or falling headlong into the wedding cake. Other than that, I was ready for the party to begin. I was ready for the marriage--not the WEDDING-- but the actual MARRIAGE. Too many people get caught up on that ONE DAY. It's only one day. It isn't going to define your whole life. It is just the gate through which you will be ushered before forming a meaninful, life-long (hopefully) commitment to this one person. It should be fun. It shouldn't matter if bridesmaid number three bought the wrong shoes, or the color of the roses were bisque insteand of bone. It shouldn't matter if the toasts are long and tearful, or short and hilarious. All that matters is that you are ready to spend your life with one person, and that everyone you love is there to spend that lifetime with you.
We were ready to be married. Yes, we were young. Yes, we were stupid. And yes, we were doing the right thing. I was sure of it.
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