Late for the Sky
Fast forward to my current situation.
Some time in late 2008, my Saturn made its first full cycle around my universe. Now, I'm not much for superstition, but the changes from 2008 on have been completely life-changing, to the point where I can't really say for certain that I'm the same person.
On Thanksgiving Day in 2008, my mother, Barbara Jane Slife, passed away. I wasn't nearly as close to my mother as I was to my father, and yet somehow my mother's death affected me on a deeper--perhaps more instinctive--level. I went numb, and I lost my ability to function for several months. After that, progress was still slow.
My partner unofficially left me in late 2009, which left another deep scar. She was tired of my suicidal and addictive behavior, and we hadn't gotten along very well at all that year; we were both interested, to some degree, in seeing other people. After October, 2009, we saw each other a couple of times, and she officially broke up with me in April, 2010.
I've never fully dealt with either of these events. I didn't deal with the pain of losing my father in the best way, to be sure, but at least the pain came flowing out in tidal waves of despair and rage.
Despite feeling like I haven't passed through the fog of grief over my mother's death, nor the half-heart brokenness of losing a soul mate, I feel better off for the experiences. It's a conundrum that is perhaps best summed up by the phrase, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
I've been emotionally numb since the loss of my mother. This has enabled me to learn to focus more completely on things not related to my emotional needs. I've had regrets about our relationship, to be sure; but I've said my goodbyes, and more than anything, the death of both of my parents has allowed me to compartmentalize this portion of my life. Despite the pain that I still carry inside, I know that I don't have to concede my adulthood to my own sense of loss. In a sense, the emotional disconnectedness has allowed me to pursue goals instead of pleasures, and to disconnect from personal entanglements when necessary.
What I haven't been able to do is say goodbye to my ex--at least, not to a degree that would allow me to move on. Her father continued to be a father figure to me until his death in late 2011, and there is so much left unsaid between the two of us. Her absence has been a constant reminder of the fact that I allowed myself to become so absorbed in my own pain that I began to hurt those around me. I wish that she could realize that I know this--that somehow, I've matured.
There is, of course, no way to communicate that. My only recourse is to handle my current personal relationships with care. I no longer conform to the ideals of monogamy; I believe that we are all free to pursue our own romantic destinies. This mentality has led to some dissatisfaction in relationships over the last two years, but nothing close to the pain and anguish of placing all of my hopes an dreams in one basket, only to see them smattered by catastrophe.
I am okay now. There was light at the end of the tunnel; it wasn't anything that I had imagined, but in its own way it is more beautiful than anything I dared to dream of.
There's a song by Jackson Browne, after which this post is entitled; "Late for the Sky." Browne asks,
How long have I been sleeping,
How long have I been drifting alone through the night,
How long have I been dreaming I could make it right,
If I closed my eyes and tried with all my might,
To be the one you need?
--From this point forward, I am not longer dreaming. I'm wide awake, I'm here, and I'm aware of what is. If someday that includes someone with whom I can share a dream or two, that's wonderful. But I'm happy with the accomplishments and challenges already before me.
C-E-
Some time in late 2008, my Saturn made its first full cycle around my universe. Now, I'm not much for superstition, but the changes from 2008 on have been completely life-changing, to the point where I can't really say for certain that I'm the same person.
On Thanksgiving Day in 2008, my mother, Barbara Jane Slife, passed away. I wasn't nearly as close to my mother as I was to my father, and yet somehow my mother's death affected me on a deeper--perhaps more instinctive--level. I went numb, and I lost my ability to function for several months. After that, progress was still slow.
My partner unofficially left me in late 2009, which left another deep scar. She was tired of my suicidal and addictive behavior, and we hadn't gotten along very well at all that year; we were both interested, to some degree, in seeing other people. After October, 2009, we saw each other a couple of times, and she officially broke up with me in April, 2010.
I've never fully dealt with either of these events. I didn't deal with the pain of losing my father in the best way, to be sure, but at least the pain came flowing out in tidal waves of despair and rage.
Despite feeling like I haven't passed through the fog of grief over my mother's death, nor the half-heart brokenness of losing a soul mate, I feel better off for the experiences. It's a conundrum that is perhaps best summed up by the phrase, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
I've been emotionally numb since the loss of my mother. This has enabled me to learn to focus more completely on things not related to my emotional needs. I've had regrets about our relationship, to be sure; but I've said my goodbyes, and more than anything, the death of both of my parents has allowed me to compartmentalize this portion of my life. Despite the pain that I still carry inside, I know that I don't have to concede my adulthood to my own sense of loss. In a sense, the emotional disconnectedness has allowed me to pursue goals instead of pleasures, and to disconnect from personal entanglements when necessary.
What I haven't been able to do is say goodbye to my ex--at least, not to a degree that would allow me to move on. Her father continued to be a father figure to me until his death in late 2011, and there is so much left unsaid between the two of us. Her absence has been a constant reminder of the fact that I allowed myself to become so absorbed in my own pain that I began to hurt those around me. I wish that she could realize that I know this--that somehow, I've matured.
There is, of course, no way to communicate that. My only recourse is to handle my current personal relationships with care. I no longer conform to the ideals of monogamy; I believe that we are all free to pursue our own romantic destinies. This mentality has led to some dissatisfaction in relationships over the last two years, but nothing close to the pain and anguish of placing all of my hopes an dreams in one basket, only to see them smattered by catastrophe.
I am okay now. There was light at the end of the tunnel; it wasn't anything that I had imagined, but in its own way it is more beautiful than anything I dared to dream of.
There's a song by Jackson Browne, after which this post is entitled; "Late for the Sky." Browne asks,
How long have I been sleeping,
How long have I been drifting alone through the night,
How long have I been dreaming I could make it right,
If I closed my eyes and tried with all my might,
To be the one you need?
--From this point forward, I am not longer dreaming. I'm wide awake, I'm here, and I'm aware of what is. If someday that includes someone with whom I can share a dream or two, that's wonderful. But I'm happy with the accomplishments and challenges already before me.
C-E-
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