Regarding Stormy Weather

I recently described how music frequently serves as an indicator of my mood. Well, today's post is inspired by our local weather and sponsored by Frank Sinatra's rendition of "Stormy Weather," a phrase that accurately depicts what's been going on for me lately. (While I heard Billie Holiday running through my head as I composed this post, I picked Frank's rendition because the lyrics match the situation.)

If you saw my previous post, it should come as no surprise that my emotions are in high turmoil. As I work through the necessary arrangements, I find myself experiencing ranges of emotion that flare, swirl, and twist. Pain, grief, anger, resentment, betrayal, confusion, jealousy, fear, and despair all rage through me, through my mind, my heart, and even through my soul. It's an inferno, a deluge, a typhoon, and a shockwave; the four classical elements crashing together in a single emotional overload. And lurking underneath is an ever present sense of soul-crushing loneliness and the utter certainty that I am ultimately broken, unloveable, and unwantable. That somehow, I deserve all of this.

All of this has happened before. All of it will happen again.

I know these are natural responses to what's happened. I know these feelings are a form of depression and a part of the grieving process. It'll pass. (I hope it'll pass.) But even knowing all this, it continues to overwhelm me when it demands to be given voice. Several times over the past days, I've found myself lying on the floor in the middle of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. The emotions are so strong and the despair is so deep.

I don't want to bury these emotions. I've done that so many times in my life that it bubbles back at the worst possible time. No, I need to experience this now and deal with it all. That feels like the only chance I have of getting to true healing.

I'm scared I won't be able to handle the finances; the mortgage on the house needs two paychecks and now there's only one. We bought the house in the final throes of the housing bubble, so it's underwater (meaning we, no...I owe more than it would sell for). The numbers work, but barely. I have to literally watch every penny and will be eating very little when neither of the girls are in residence.

DD and Kara are handling the change as well as can be expected. I haven't seen a lot of DD since the announcement, but she has said she wants me to remain a part of her life. JP's moved to a different part of the city, so I don't know how that will work in the long run. I miss having her (DD...and JP, truth be told) around when I come home from work. I miss being able to get cuddles whenever I want. I miss tucking her into bed at night.

When either (or both) of them are around, I put on a brave face. We distract ourselves with activities, TV, and video games. It's hard for me to focus on anything, though, especially when I'm home alone. I try to watch a DVD, but give it up as a bad job after about five minutes because I can't focus on the story. Sleep is, unsurprisingly, fitful and elusive. Rest even more so.

The pets (four cats and Dog) do their best. They know something's changed and they're all trying to provide as much comfort as they can. Dog seems the most confused; he whines a lot and lies as close to me as he can get. He wants more attention than usual.

The cats all respond in their own unique ways. Tramp is the most affectionate. He sits next to me when I'm on the sofa and he sleeps next to me when I'm in bed. He's always been a loving soul, but he's been even more so lately. He nudges me and gives me lots of kitty kisses and licks, something he rarely did before all this broke.

Pouncer and Climber have enjoyed being able to sleep on the bed again. Climber is usually aloof independent, but she's been very solicitous. She winds herself around my legs, sits on her haunches, and gently places a paw on my knee. She looks at me with such concern, as if to say saying, "It'll be OK, Dad. It'll be better soon." I wish I had her faith.

Even Lady is in on the act. She still spends most of her time outside (and still hisses at the other animals most of the time), but when she's eaten and is ready for some affection, she hops up and burrows into my arm with force. Whenever she can, she's on my lap, demanding to comfort me.

But in the end, I can only try to ride out the storm. I'd lash myself to a metaphorical mast, if I could, but my ship is lost and I find myself drowning in a sea of pain, loss, and despair.

Fear...and...then...What?

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
-- Bene Gesserit Prayer,
as quoted in Dune, by Frank Herbert.

Remember when I recently mentioned that music was a good indicator of what was going on for me? I'm in a strange space tonight. Listen to the music in the video and read the prayer quoted above.

Listen to the full clip, please. The pay off comes at about 6:10. As crazy and frakked up as things are, note where the piece ends.

It explains what I can't put into words tonight.

So say we all.

--f

P.S. The music, by the way, is a cut from the Battlestar Galactica Season 2 soundtrack. It's called "Prelude to War" and was featured in the episodes "Pegasus" and "Resurrection Ship, Parts 1 & 2"

Mediations on Change

My darling JP's recent post on change got me to thinking that I really need to change myself. That is, I need to revive this blog and start posting again. I'm sorry I let things lapse for so long.

It's not that there hasn't been anything to write about. Indeed, life goes on, whether we record it or not.

If you followed my blog over the months, you may have noticed that I began well. I posted (realtively) regularly. However, about a year ago, new posts appeared less frequently.

When I (re)started this blog, I wanted to create a space where I wrote about the things I was thinking about. I wanted to think about my experiences and try to draw meaning about what's happened in my life.

As you might expect, that required a bit of retrospection and a bit of personal honesty. As I thought about what I was feeling, I uncovered a certain amount of pain, pain that was as fresh in the moment of discovery as it was the moment it was originally inflicted.

Things like the pain I feel every time I return Kara to her mother. (Sometimes, it's so fresh, I can barely breathe and my heart feels like it's about to burst.) Like the pain I felt when my mother told me I'd need to find a new place to live (I was 18). Like the pain I felt when I said goodbye to my father before he and I could have that grown-up conversation that we kept promising each other that we would have. Like a number of other deeply painful experiences.

Abandonment. Betrayal. Failure. Loss.

Deeply personal and extremely hard to document. Things that, quite honestly, can bring tears to my eyes just by entertaining the memory for more than a few seconds.

So, if you noticed a change in the nature of my posts around the time of JP's surgery, that's why. My mind ran rampant during those hours I sat in the waiting room with no information. (I began to fear I was going to lose her again.)

It was hard to look at that stuff and it's hard to experience these deeply personal and deeply emotional things. Worse, it's hard to find ways to live with that pain, to learn to accept the consequences of those actions, some of which were my own damned fault.

I also felt shame. I'm supposed to be a grown-up. You'd think I'd have it all figured out by now, right? Be a man! Suck it up. Cope!

It scared me. I didn't know how to integrate what had happened, let alone explain what (and why) I felt these things. Explain why I feel these things, for some of these emotions are still raw.

I backed away from my writing and I allowed this pain prevent me from finding ways to synthesize, integrate, and share my experiences.

And you know what? That needs to change.

This is a process, a journey (hence the picture, which is from what JP calls my "commuter series") and I apologize for not being willing to be more honest in sharing it with you.

Photo credit: me.