Masks - an allegory

Masks, maps, and apologies. Masks, first. 

Do you know what is still so weird? The feeling that I can reach out and tell Brandon a funny or a gripe I have. I miss that. The ease with which I had that availability to talk to someone that had been there for half of my life.

When I have those moments of starting to shoot a message to him, I feel a sudden “thud", like running into a brick wall and being abruptly stopped dead in my tracks. Nope, you cannot do that. There's only a small handful of people I talk about this with. And, I'm even sort of lying to them. 

When I say I'm good, that I am fine, really, I find myself doubting everything I had thought I had known, mastered, gone through, etc. since...Since losing Brandon. Right now, I do not know how to do it. It - life. I feel fake. I have been fake, with everyone. 

As though what people see is what I want them to see and I am enabling that, too. Put on a smile, look presentable, laugh, Are you wearing clean clothes? take goofy pictures, or take serious pictures showing that hey, I am among the living. Please tell me I am doing well. I do not want to fail. Dress up, dress down, hide the truths about yourself with makeup or clothing to disguise yourself. Brag on myself and my little accomplishments, look what I did... Use filters, look your best. Ugh. 

Why do we do that? Why DO we do that? Acceptance? Confidence? Needing to hear kudos? I am definitely guilty. 

Who you see in photos I share is not me…not the real me…It is but is not. I am just not sharing those honest (truthful??) ugly scenarios with anyone, really. Perhaps I should. 

Would it be therapeutic? 

Maybe. 

Does anyone want to see the ugly side of things? Is anyone curious? Or do we all just pretend that part of living does not exist.

I sometimes think that folks really do not want to see real. I for one though, appreciate the honesty when folks share with me, even if it hurts. I need to become better at being THAT person instead of who I have become. Again - trying on different "outfits" as it were to try and find out who I am.

I am going to make a start. Not only mentally, but also physically, take off that mask. Here I am. Lines, scars, nothing to hide the “stuff” one would normally hide when trying to make a good impression.

Like me for me, right? 

Baby steps first, I suppose. 

This is plain old me. No more masks.

Hi...

It's nice to meet you. 

Reflection and Chrysalis

September, 2022

Reflection and Chrysalis - Sounds like an oxymoron. Perhaps it is in a way. We will see. 

I will see. 

Reflecting - looking back, what could I have changed or done differently? Nothing.

Chrysalis - a transitional state, becoming. What shall be? that remains to be seen. To quote Rush - 'hope is epidemic, optimism spreads.' I'm going to cling onto that idea. 

Reflecting: No matter how prepared one thinks they are for a huge change, one will always look back and wonder 'what if'. The afternoon that a call came in from the doctor that had started treating Brandon's symptoms, I literally looked in the mirror after I'd brushed my teeth and put my hair into a ponytail and said to my reflection, 'your life is about to change.' I knew. He knew. WE knew. 

The drive was awful, punctuated with awkward silences in between trying to rationalize what we had an idea we would hear when we walked into that office. Long 45 minutes of feeling like you were about to walk headlong into every horrific scary movie scene possible. A walk you could not stop.

The image - I love imagery - of walking into a big empty room with a small brown wooden door at the other end is what I felt. 

You walk through the room and shadows from the stark lampshade-less light overhead follow you. As you approach the door, it opens and there is nothing but darkness beyond. You hear a silent roar inside your head that you cannot escape from, your hands are damp with sweat and you cannot stop yourself from walking through the door. You are thinking, if I scream, I can wake up, but you ARE already awake and all the scary things you imagined in your entire life are about to happen.

That is how I felt. Cannot stop entering that black within, but desperately wanting to not even approach it. We got swallowed up when we stepped inside. One story ended and a new horror began. 

Fast-forward. A year and five? months later.

Chrysalis: This is where I attempt to maintain some measure of decorum in transitioning from a couple to a single. A single who had previously been in a long-term relationship that ended abruptly. 

I have been trying on different outfits. Have not quite found one that fits me, yet.

I am coming up on four months "after" in this new period in life. I liken it to a nightmare I have, the one where you are supposed to be attending a class and taking a test - college or high school, take your pick. 

You know you should be attending it, but have no idea where your locker is, what your combination is, who your teacher is, where the class is. You have already missed several tests, it is mid-term and grades are about to come out. You are about to fail. You try and try and never find out where you are supposed to go. 

THAT is kind of how I feel right now. If you have never had that nightmare, please, call or write me. I will be happy to explain. It is awful. If I had a therapist, I am sure they could explain it all to me, but I digress. 

I am in the phase of "where do I go from here because I no longer have a road map." I am in that transitional period of being squishy, covered in goo, all tied up and pinned down in my own shell and cannot seem to find my way out. Lost. 

Part of me knows this is a process and all natural, but since I am being open here, I still cry; Sometimes it happens unexpectedly when I am out walking or driving, or in the middle of cooking, or at work. Sometimes I feel it coming and accept it and let it happen because it feels so good to just let it go. Other times, I try to quell it down because it feels inappropriate and then I get angry.

Sometimes, I feel so lost, I will queue up some music that I know will make me cry because I feel empty and needed to remember what it feels like TO have feelings. It is not every day anymore, but often enough, still. 

Part of me feels that I am a burden and I need to not share because eww, move on 

I will do that in my own time. Move on...but not in how one would imagine moving on. I will grow, but not forget.

Right now, this is my chrysalis. I am becoming. I will fly again. 

Hint of Autumn - Haiku time

 Sun is hesitant,

The morning is slow to start.

A hint of Autumn.

Three Months

September 6

Today is the three-month mark since Brandon died. To be exact 92 days ago at 8:19 am this morning. 

I had a pretty rough weekend, long weekend with it being Labor Day. I took Friday off too, so today is my Monday. Monday always seems like a rough day. Definitely is, today. 

Because of the long weekend, I had a lot of time to sit and think as it were in between working on stuff around the house. Sometimes, that's a very dangerous place for me to be. 

My mind tends to wander and a few times, it took a really wrong turn. I also made the mistake of watching a show last night where I had heard a prelude of what was to happen. To say it struck me really hard right in the gut is a severe understatement. 

I kept waiting; I knew about how the event in the show would happen and like a train wreck, I could not look away. I started to turn it off, but I could not make myself do it. 

I wonder if three months ago, if my face looked like the actress's face when she lost her love. 

When I looked back at stuff over the weekend, I realized what it all felt like; an extremely fast ride in which you are essentially strapped into a seat and have no control over how fast you go or which way you'll turn. You have limited decision making other than - keep going forward or else. 

Eventually, the ride speeds up even more and before you can even emit a scream, suddenly a wall looms before you. That wall is it. Boom - the end. 

A few seconds later or a few hours later, whenever it happens...you stumble to your feet in a daze. Serious mind fog, what just happened? Am I hurt? Is my partner hurt? Where are they? They were just here. You may be a little or a lot out of breath or you may even be gasping for air. 

After all that, after you regain your breath, your footing? You are left in a pile of rubble, left to wonder what the hell just happened and where you are to go, now. 

That is where I am right now. 

I had that feeling walking into the kitchen last night for something. Just a "what the hell is any of this," moment. Is this real? Am I real? It literally stopped me in my tracks for a half second. 

It was a very fleeting feeling and I felt foolish for a moment afterwards, but I can still remember how it felt. It felt like that anecdotal wall. Just Boom. Fast uncontrollable ride, sudden stop, and now this new crazy reality. 

Today is one of those days I just feel like I need a "it'll be okay" talk from Brandon. 

I always try to put on a happy face, but honestly? part of me got really messed up when I hit the wall beside Brandon while squeezing his hand.

I made it, but he did not. His story ended three months ago. And I hate I cannot speak to HIM again about anything. 

I remember when I was a little girl, nine years old, how "wrecked" I was physically after a car hit me one morning on the way to the bus stop. I woke up two days after the accident in a pediatric ICU; my face was covered in stitches, both of my eyes were just about bruised shut, both blood shot, severely broken nose, upper lip split open, swollen, hurting. I do not remember the accident itself at all.

After a while though, while I was healing, I knew I would not look like that or feel like that forever. But I remember thinking, I  will always carry those scars and feelings and remember that first glance at myself in the mirror when the wounds were still fresh.

If anyone happened to look closely or knew about them, they would see those scars too, otherwise, they would have no idea they existed at all. They are faded, but not gone. 

I imagine that some day, after time has passed, more than three months for sure, that the feelings of doubt, of pain, of uncertainty that I am carrying around in this "fog" I am in right now will fade, too.

The hope is there to regain my confidence, my stride, my strength. However, right now, I feel like the scared little girl who woke up in a hospital bed 41 years ago all alone hurting all over and not knowing how in the hell I wound up there.