Una salida

Lately the world has felt very tight.  Things have been crushed together and shoved into pieces and there hasn’t been much room to breath.  Anger, deep sadness, mild hopes for death, self-hate, and eczema have all mashed together to make my day to day pretty unbearable.  I see now that this was a choice I made.  I made the choice to be sad.  And I don’t regret it because of what came out of it.

In the last two weeks things that weren’t clear became clear. I am tired of talking in metaphors. And I am tired of pretending. I am a master of pretending. I am a master of hiding it all. I was raised by a master.  Although this skill has often left me lonely and very vulnerable, it has also helped me. I have learned to show up even when I didn’t want to. I have learned to mimic and mirror others so that everyone feels comfortable, except me. And as I move towards a new year and yet another birthday, I am tired of it. I have spent so many years keeping my secrets. Keeping all my shit covered up tight so that no one knows that every night I go to sleep afraid.

I am the woman who has spent years hoping lipstick will cover up all the words I wish I’d said. I am the little girl who hopes every night will not be the night. I am the fat teenager who measures and seethes and hates and shoves food down her throat or burns down the kitchen for days. I am the poor angry bitch smoking secrets in the corner hating every rich little girl who walks in the bar. I am the addict who ruins her life and her love just for fun. I am all these things. And I am none of them.  I have been all of these things.  Some days I still am.  But who I really am has nothing to do with this.  And I am starting to realize this, or maybe re-realizing it in another way.

In the last two weeks I sunk into all of this.  I was totally obsessed with my thinking.  I was chasing my tail thinking that if I thought more about my thoughts and my thinking then I would be free.  I was trying to cure my sickness with the same sickness.  It doesn’t work that way.  I think we are so proud of our big brains that we forget that the only thing that will free us is to stop thinking and let our hearts sing a little.  At least I forget to do this.  And what is beautiful about this life of mine is that when I forget about these things and get stuck spinning around into my own little trench of darkness, something usually lifts me out.  There is always some kind of salida. 

Sunday morning at 0730 it was pouring rain. Rain like buckets. Rain for the cats and dogs. And after a night shift I walked out into this rain. I had a little umbrella and my legs to carry me home. I walked out ready to do my normal music/planning walk home. But the rain drowned out my thoughts and my wet shoes forced me to focus on each step. And in this meditative wet puddle-jumping walk I lost it all.  All the shit. It fell off of me. I stopped in the middle of the quiet, rainy street and put down the umbrella and held my face up to the sky. I let it wash over me, all the rain, all the bullshit I carry with me everyday. The history, the stories, the ego, the competition, the absolute commitment to conflict. All of it. I let it go.

And that is grace. For me, that is a miracle. I felt my heart unfold. And it hurt. I felt the petals of my little broken heart open.

And then I went to bed. Because what else are you supposed to do? Grace and moments of clarity aren’t all that special. They are beautiful, and they are ordinary. So I went to bed. And I dreamt all night of orchids. Gentle, fragile, beautiful orchids.