Tuesday, September 20, 2011

I Blame Pandora

And I could probably blame another year of my life passing for the whiny melancholy of my last post. I would apologize, but that's part of me. It's part of me that I've been reluctant to share at times, and at times, it just flows out of me like the fresh, salty tears that make their way down my cheeks and neck after a late night episode of Grey's Anatomy (can't believe I just admitted that). The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. It's easy to just show one side of you on the web, but there are so many sides to all of us, so why not reflect that? I always seem to come back to this blog when I've been away for a while, to just... vent.

I remember last year around this time, I wrote a "letter to my sisters" about my frustration at yet another year going by without any answers- when I'm supposed to be in the prime of my life, but just going out for coffee needs to be planned for days ahead of time, so I can prepare. Luckily, I hadn't fully explored Pandora yet and didn't know that cello music could literally pull the tears from the ducts of my eyes and hold them so close to the skin that it felt like my soul was the thing doing the crying.

But I also don't want you all to think that I am depressed all of the time. Because I'm not. For a long time I thought that the way to deal with feelings was to try to ignore the difficult ones and revel in the fun ones. In this past year, I have started learning (and practicing) how to feel the range of emotions and how to subsequently deal with them, and not just numb out. I'm not completely comfortable with the process just yet, and still cling to the TV, the internet (damn you, Pinterest!), and popsicles as various ways to deal with sadness, guilt, boredom, etc.

On the upside, I finished a painting for a web designer friend of mine who built a website for my sister's business (you know, the painting I teased you about here). It was a barter situation, and there are still a few things that need to be worked out on the site (like him teaching us how to use it so we can update it!), but it was a really fun process. I asked him to send me some examples of artwork that he liked; he did and then told me I had free reign over the subject matter. I didn't hate the examples he sent me- they weren't my style, but they were colorful, and I love an artistic challenge!

So I printed out the examples, and used my muse (a metallic bust) as inspiration for the piece. Here's what I came up with and I'm glad to say that he loves it! Yea!

Saturday, September 17, 2011

I Can Cry If I Want To

I fainted today.  I haven't fainted in four years.  Back then, Ben was there- literally- and caught me before I hit the floor.  But I came to with him and a scared nine-year-old son screaming "Emily!" "Emily!" "Mom! What happened? MOM!" "Emily!".  I later went to the hospital and found out from the ER doc that apparently, I had just stood up too fast (I think I was cleaning up a spill on the kitchen floor) and my blood pressure dropped suddenly.  I was glad to know it was nothing serious, and went home, feeling thankful that someone was there to catch me.

I've been alone now for two years.  There have been a couple of men I've dated, but none that I've let get too close (and none that have wanted to be too close). Honestly, I'm not quite sure I've healed from the last heartbreak.  I'm over him and glad he's not in my life anymore, but man, did it fuck me up emotionally.  He lied so often, and about so much, that I feel I've lost my "trust compass".

So I'm alone.  And most days I'm okay with that.  But there are some moments when I hear a song, or see a piece of art, or watch a moving scene in a film, that I feel my heart lurch and immediately there is a heavy sadness in my soul.  When I woke up tonight with my legs and torso on the bathroom floor and my head in the hallway right next to the litter box, it took me probably a full minute to realize what had just happened.  And then, I felt it.  That heavy, soul-sucking sadness, and no one was there to help me up.

My elbows were stinging and I felt a dull ache in the back of my head.  I assume those broke my fall.  After assessing the situation, and getting up slowly, I gathered all of the make-up from the floor and placed it back my cosmetic bag that was laying on my chest (I must have tried to grab onto the bathroom sink on my way down).  One elbow was bleeding (rug-burn?) and the other was just raw.  I think I'm okay.  But I sent a text to my sisters anyway.  I'm not sure why.  I wanted somebody to care?  I wanted to make sure someone knew just in case it happened again?  I was extremely weirded out and needed someone to know?

I don't know.  All I know is that I fainted, when I was alone, and it was weird.

All summer long, I've been away from this blog.  I've been living life, and got to spend a lot of quality time with my son.  I've even been going to physical therapy to learn how to walk again (apparently the hip replacement only fixed so much- I've been compensating for bad hips most of my life, and the way I've been using my muscles, ligaments, and bones have been all wrong- who knew?) and strengthening the muscles around my joints.  I've even gotten a lot of compliments from people saying how good I look.

It's funny, once I start feeling any sense of confidence about my physical situation, something knocks me down.  For example, I was feeling so good (within reason) that once we found out my mom was in remission (YEA!!!), I decided that now would be a good time to move back to Indianapolis to be with my son.  I even  spent some time there this summer looking at apartments.  Then, just a couple of weeks ago, searing pain came out of nowhere and I couldn't get out of bed for a week.  I hadn't felt that bad since the very beginning of this four and a half years ago.

Just when I think I have it all figured out and boast about how good I'm eating and how I'm strength training and walking... Boom.  Out cold.  Taking a shower becomes a miracle (and takes at least two vicodin).  I give up.  I have no idea what the fuck has consumed my body and made my life miserable for the past several years.  The doctors don't know.  They just throw pills at me.  And then piss test me to make sure I'm taking them and not selling them.  And people give me uncomfortable glances when they find out I take narcotic pain medicine to help me deal with daily life.  And then I feel like a junkie.  And then I remember.  I'm Emily.  I'm Emily.

I'm Emily.  Why.  Why is this happening to me?  All I wanted was to be a mom to Quentin and make an honest living as an art teacher.  And now?  Now I'm all alone.  Fainting.  Watching life pass me by through my bedroom window.  Two hundred and fifty miles away from the person I love the most in this life. My son.

And yep- I know I'm feeling sorry for myself.  I know that.  But I've spent all summer trying to convince myself that I can walk.  I can date.  I can possibly find a part-time job.  I can move back.  And then... the universe is just like, "Nope!"  And you know what else?  It's my mother-fuckin' birthday, and I can cry if I want to.