I was just re-reading It’s No Longer Complicated: Series Finale and my final closing words on that post were, “We will be resuming regular programming shortly.”
I honestly thought that I would be able to move on, to move through the loss I felt—am feeling—after Thea’s loss in the battle with cancer.
I am in fact moving on, or moving ahead, I suppose, but the journey is much bumpier and crooked than I ever anticipated. Looking back, I chuckle grimly at the naïveté of the sentiment of those closing words.
Regular programming.
Snort. Indeed.
I feel like I am not doing anything, that I am just standing still, marching on the same spot. And then I remind myself that I am actually doing things.
Since Thea died, I have applied for and been approved for American citizenship; the only thing left is the actual swearing in, which will happen within a few months now.
I have also, with tireless help from GentleSpirit, left Las Vegas, Nevada, for the calm, balmy weather of Irvine, California. I am writing this sitting in my new apartment in the middle of paradise. Well, to a Las Vegas resident of 15 years, any place with grass on the ground and fountains liberally sprinkled out everywhere is paradise. And here you can actually have lunch outside in the middle of summer. That was a novel experience for me. He he.
And yet.
And yet, I sit here in the middle of paradise and I am tired and unenthused and I’d rather sleep than write. And it bothers me.
Sigh. I miss writing.
I used to be good at it, really I did. Writing used to be an escape into a warm, emotional womb that recharged me and made me a better man. And now, even writing these paragraphs feels like pulling teeth.
I really do miss writing.
Where the hell is that regular programming I was talking about?
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh DW but you just did write! You wrote what you felt, where you are, how things have been and what you miss…THAT is writing.
Write what is raw, what is real, what is good and what is not so good. Write what makes you happy, angry, sad, numb and indifferent. Write of what fuels you, what motivates you, what closes you off and what springs you to life.
Write of the little things, of those lunches outside, the fountains, the stagnant heat of Las Vegas (because on some level you miss it).
Write of what makes you cock your head and say Hrmmm and what makes you laugh at the most inappropriate times…
Write and dis-spell all of the misconceptions…
Sadists DO feel pain….
They just don’t like admitting it.
**hug**
~Leah
Hugs back, dear Leah. Thank you so much for your encouraging words.
Oh, man; do we sadists ever feel pain. At least I do and I’m not afraid of admitting it. The last few months I have hurt in ways I never even knew were possible.
To be sure, I had felt grief before, but never like this. And I just realized that I felt this grief more keenly in no small part because of my coming out as a sadist.
Before I did that, I was always so controlled and steeled, emotionally. I had to be, lest “the darkness” I felt would consume me. I was afraid of the abyss I could sense deep inside.
Admitting to myself and others what I really am, however, opened the door for me to be a fully functioning human being, emotions and all.
After all, being in touch with your emotions is crucial for a sadist; how else will you be able to feed on another’s?
You are still very close to it now. Go walk on the beach. Sit on a rock at sunset and let the ocean soothe you. Watch the sunrise from your new place. Hear the breeze rustle through a palm tree, listen to the sprinklers. Be quiet.
Grief is never what we think it will be, and it stays with us for so long, slowly changing flavor, until bitter becomes savory, then in time, sweet. Whether or not you perceive yourself as still, the earth turns, taking you with it my friend. You are moving forward. It’ll come when you are ready.
I have actually done just that, dear Kelly. Your mentioning of sitting on a rock and letting the ocean soothe me strikes a particular chord with me.
During one of my visits to Orange County before I moved here, GentleSpirit took me out to Laguna Beach by the Pacific at sunset. She brought a bouquet of white balloons and I had my own little private memorial where I cried and told GentleSpirit stories about some good and silly memories from my 15-year-long marriage to Thea.
There was a wedding taking place nearby and I let the bride and groom borrow the white balloons for a picture before I released them into the sky. It seemed fitting, somehow.
I find myself teary-eyed relating this memory. This time, not so much from grief but from gratitude to GentleSpirit for being the most loving and caring woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She is incredible.
Dearest Dreamwalker, GentleSpirit is right. It is there and it will come but I also agree with you that there was a certain naiveté that you would “resume normal programming.” You have changed in living with Thea and her progression to dying. You are still you but that experience has left its mark on you. The writing you do now will be in the context of that experience. It is different once you have been through a life altering experience.
For me writing carried me through an extended difficult period of my life. I realised later that I had built an association between writing and the ‘getting through’ that hurt. It was like I instinctively shied away from it for a while because of its associative value. In time it, the joy and desire, has started to return–I’m still getting there.
Meanwhile I’ve written because I know it’s good for me. I remember hearing someone re-quote the old adage “if it is worth doing, it is worth doing well” like this: “if it is worth doing, it is worth doing badly until you do it well.” May I suggest writing is worth doing badly/painfully until you find a new joy in it?
Then again you may be one of those people who needs it to be a pleasurable experience to keep you going–in that case ignore what I said before and find the little bit of joy you can from the little bit of writing you have done since Thea died and focus on that.
Regardless I’m a diehard fan of what you have written. I’ll continue to come back here unless you say no more, closing up shop. Please do keep writing.
Dear, dear Iona, I didn’t ignore what you said, especially since GentleSpirit said the same thing. She applied the gentlest pressure to get me to write, even if it was just simply writing about how hard it was to get going again.
Believe me, I have written some glorious crap lately. All of it winced (or gagged) at and promptly deleted. There’s been some head-banging on the keyboard too, by the way.
I am surrounded by wise women, near and far, and if I wasn’t me, I would be envious of myself. As it is, I don’t know what I did to deserve the attention and affection of such magnificent women but I assure you that I’m eating it all up.
It’s not gone, it’s in there. You have so much to say my beautiful love and it will come. It will.
I know it will, sweetheart; in large part because of your nurturing and suffering love…