Day 358

11AM:

My hand is broken in three places, but it doesn’t need to set off metal detectors.  I fought for a splint over a cast, knowing that since surgery isn’t needed, there was more to lose by not having mobility (not being able to wash, NEVER being able to type or write) than by not having security (not being able to knock it around, NEVER being able to weight-train).  I know that we dodged a bullet here.

Two years ago, there were motivations on her end.  This needs to be the last motivation of this year: my drinking, my loose language at work and this.  Her trifecta (belief in threes) is complete.  My hand being broken, that needs to be it.

Part of me reclaiming healthy is taking care of myself to take care of others.  That means using the tools, scaling back the stressors, leaning on my supports (even if they can let me down unpredictably, hopefully temporarily).  I got sucked in last week because I wasn’t healthy enough to support who I want to support and be prepared for when the shit gets flung from all directions in my direction.

She needs to do something, I need to do something, we need to do something.  Reclaiming healthy is on us – it is fueled by our hopes, our belief and faith, our strength and love and respect, our serenity and courage and wisdom, our unbelievable ability to soar, as only penguins can do.

Advertisements

Day 357

5:30PM:

Anxious about anything?

How about sitting down without food or my wife or a drink?  Because that’s what happened last night when I tried to just sit down and read.  These anxious feelings have happened before, but never to this extent.  They have never been this loud, this blackness-decibeled.

I know that I am seriously out of practice.  But I will do it again.  I will not give in to the anxiety.  It is not a signal that what I’m doing is wrong; it is a sign that my body is not used to that amount of de-stress, that much I know.  I know that I have read Perks of Being a Wallflower or a Fleming Bond in one sitting.  I know that I have enjoyed magazines and Jazz music without care.  Once upon a time, I even watched a football game, a TV show, or two.

Now, there is anxiety though.  But just like a junk food addict whose body seemingly rejects healthy offerings, being active or fresh air, those signals are not a call to avoidance.  They are a first step.

The second step isn’t as high, as far.

The third, even less steep.

In a few days, War and Peace cometh!!!  Ok, maybe a few weeks and maybe a short novel… but it COMETH!!!

Day 356

7:45AM:

Even after this weekend, after the pain of losing a hand to uncontrollable anger (hers) and exhaustive stress (mine), she still makes my life.

Before her, there was living, there was not LIFE.  There were moments of love, but life, that came the day she opened me up and made me believe.

That is why driving to school, my heart – still beating with life – yelled atop the pain and frustration, atop the blackness, to make me cry.  Music revealed that life still beats louder than the blackness, and as long as there is love, that life will never die:

Day 353 & 354

20141102_164601

You won.

My job neglected my contributions, my devotion, again.

My family forgot about our history of affection, a history that’s becoming lost.

My wife, overwhelmed by her blackness, forgot about her loving capacities and vows of understanding.

You won.

I broke my hand, the world having forced it.  No, it was not solely my fault, but it was my mistake.  My coping strategies were not enough.  The tools cannot compensate for too much work, when it is combined with too much pain.  I could not get past them.  I got sucked in.

I punched; it was a mistake – a mistake from which we will learn.  We will learn that coping strategies cannot compensate when things get too dark, when the plate gets too full.  We will learn that my wife’s blackness cannot make me a victim too; that I need to be the level head when she cannot be the lifeboat of love and care and understanding for which I have come to re-trust.  We will learn that one thing too many is too many, even if it is just one thing.

You won.  You won, today.

Day 352

3:30PM:

You used to stem the tide, now you cause the flood.

You used to be the solace between the tears, now that you’re silent, you cause them.

You used to be…

Now, you made me cry in a grocery store.  Only two others have made me do that: my wife and my job.  Two things I gave my soul to, bared myself wholly; two things that at one point or another, broke my heart.

I’ve written about my Aunt and Uncle before, when there was an email birthday message and an apology for a neglected birthday phone call.  They were the ones I had during my trying years of parental alcoholism, neglect and forgetfulness – my safe place.  Not because it was physically away or a land of perfection, but because it was brighter, kinder.  It was an early conception of vivid – not perfect, but perfect for me.

The recent years have not been kind.  The guise of commercialism as professionalism became professional-grade commercialism.  It took away their -ness, their kindness, their vividness, their T’zu-ness.

Now, they tell the eating disorder-recoverer in front of them that the ham and mac-and-cheese was made just for me; that as they take food out of the oven, they beg forgiveness for forgetting about me; that at their most intentioned, they look to feed the conception of me and not ME.  Now, they look for me to stand out in the cold.  Let me tell you, your place is no more warmer, not anymore.

I write this knowing that I will talk about it [AN ASIDE: I write this and have decided what will happen after 365 days = there will be a 366.  Even though it is sometimes hard to keep it up, by structuring it every day, writing is there when I need it – lines to bring my colour into focus, into vivid; a tool of recovery to avoid becoming a fool to the blackness].  I will talk about it because there is a future, I have hope and faith in that.

It’s a risk, but so is giving all I have to two others that have broken my heart.  It’s a matter of hope – hope that we will all fit again, hope that the tears forming in my eyes as I write this will be never again, hope that we will be stronger together that apart.

I love you both dearly, and that’s why this hurts so goddamned much.

Day 351

8PM:

At the end of August, I decided that it would be helpful to re-gig the August Greatist Challenge, continue it for the months to come as loving, supportive inspiration to my wife on her journey of recovery.  In October, it was less a day-to-day set of lines to structure.  It became more of an “open in case of emergency” situation.  Having a shitty day?  Check out the Greatist calendar and breathe five times.  Work using you like a punching bag?  Check out the Greatist calendar and name five things that make you happy right now.

Well, work has treated me like a punching bag for the last (insert what-I-wish-could-be-a-hyperbolic statement HERE [but it won’t be hyperbolic until there is care to remember that I am volunteering for the benefit of the school on a Saturday and that I asked for their blessing in stretching my professional limits for the benefit of my professional development]) and my back appears to be completely fucked either by lack-of-outlet stress or by working out to compensate for the stress, so I looked at the calendar and here are five things that make me happy right now:

#1: I am able to gloat about my grandfather, about the connection that he and I have right now.

#2: I have the means to be a little bit stupid.  And the universe knows it will make me happy, so it went from 10% to 40% to 50%.  Not making it any less stupid mind you, but somehow increasing the right-ness of it.  In setting the stage ever-so-snuggly, the universe made it fit ever-so-snuggly.  I can’t wait.

#3: As a supplement, being in the spirit of happy, of giving, of loving and caring (even for an hour), the parts of my brain that often go unused (because of the whole frosty workplace element), kicked into overdrive.  It gave me a way to combine #1 and #2 that will be beautiful, amazing and loving.  I can’t wait.

#4: Work sucks.  To escape, I went to my brother/sister/mother-in-law’s house after work today.  I was greeted at the door by my nephew, who’s initial reaction was to ask, “Are you staying for a visit?”  I did.  I didn’t because there were some ulterior motives.  I didn’t because there were political gains to be made.  I did because he enjoys the fact that I talk with him, at a level that is him, within his lines and colours, within his vivid.  I did because he enjoys that I read to him, and yes, he and I get impatient, but it is beautiful that he wants to know and learn and be immersed in something.  I did because he and I created love and amazing and beauty in that, because I get lost in that every time, because I got lost in that today.

#5: Work sucks.  To escape, I went to my brother/sister/mother-in-law’s house after work today.  I was greeted at the door by my nephew… no, this is not a repeat.  This deserves its own spot.  In sitting with my nephew, listening to him extolling the various Clash of Clans minutiae, my niece comes along.  Dressed as a beautiful princess (are there any other types at the age of two?), she found her nook = good lord, does she ever act like my wife (even her nose mirrors the cuteness of my love’s scratching and “stop iiiiiiiiiiiittttttttttt” [AN ASIDE: I LOVE IT!!!])!  Not only that, the loving side of this beautiful 831-day-old took her Mickey and Minnie dolls, made sure they were holding hands, snuggled them up to me, made sure they were holding hands, closed my arms around the three of them, made sure they were holding hands and found herself immersed in the comfy, began falling asleep.  I got to notice that.  I got to get lost in that.

#6 (because it’s been one of those mind-fuck days/weeks/fortnights/months/semesters): Even if the blackest parts of me don’t believe it (or the not-so-black parts of which the eating disordered, controlling blackness still has a hold), I can pass on the wisdom of my experiences to the next generation.  Even if the blackness-soaked parts of me scream differently, I can prevent further blackness, further destruction, further disordered thinking, further body dysmorphia and anorexic masochism, further self-hatred through the wisdom gained after being blackened…

20141031_192103

This means nothing

20141031_192301

This means everything