I’m not sure what happened Saturday night, but I think its becoming more and more clear to me. I sat outside today, barely a knitting did I do. But enjoyed the sky, no sound save the surf and seagulls.
Let’s go back a bit, when I was in the 6th grade. My father and I were home alone, early evening. To make this blog shorter than I intended, I’ll cut to the quick. A rumbling noise was heard. Power went out. My father picked me up, threw me and he into the closest closet at hand as a tornado tore down on us. Thirty seconds later, all went quiet and my father opened the door to find that our entire home, and all of our things were gone. The only thing left of the structure was the closet we lived in and a bathroom where the back of the house used to be. For a month we lived in a rented home while our new house was being built on our land. And not long after moving in, my father received orders to report to Berlin, Germany where we lived until a year after I graduated high school.
Whenever I had a dream of tornados I always know that displacement is near. I’ll have one, a treacherous one where the sky is black and green and funnels are coming after me, and not long after, I’m told its time for me to leave. I didn’t used to have them so often, but over the past year I’ve had them often. I associate tornadoes with displacement, you see.
On Thursday night I had another tornado dream. When I woke I reminded myself that it was nothing more than a dream, nothing more than a simple, silly dream. So, I did the worst thing you can think of. I put it aside. I put one of the most traumatic of feelings off to the side and dismissed it and went back to my knitting. Friday was a mindless day, a day where there was nothing coming from me but apathy and denial. Saturday started off as normal as can be. Were you aware that I wake and put on my boots? I crawl out of bed in my underwear and put on my boots. I thought about it for a moment: “You want to be ready to have to go at any moment.” Homeless will do that to you. You’re constantly camping, and when you camp, you leave your tent with your boots on. Much like how it was in the woods.
But, I’m not homeless anymore….
So I’ll go to the bathroom first thing in the morning, wearing my boots. Make coffee, wearing nothing more than my underwear and boots. Scratch Mario, toss some food in her bowl and then head on with the rest of my day. My boots come off when I shower and when I sleep. They’re always close by.
Saturday was St. Patrick’s Day. I’m a Savannahian. We take that awfully seriously. So my mind started to swoom and swarm towards my life prior to this whole mess. My coveted apartment, my lifestyle. All so adored and wished for by many in Savannah. Putting my needles down I decided to take a nap and had another tornado dream. When I woke, I thought about the festivities, the laughter, the joy. Thought about Peni….and it went downhill from there.
Something happened to me Saturday night that I can only attribute to an emotional break down. I wasn’t suicidal, I want you all to be aware of that. I was hopeless. Which is a much longer version of suicide. I was prepared to walk out that front door and leave everything behind. Including Mario. I was prepared to have her be rescued and felt she’d have a better life than I have given her. I wasn’t in my own head. I was breaking down, and talking to a very special friend of mine and even got so violently ill I felt the best thing I could do was just say, “here are my things. I have to go. I don’t know what happens….and I don’t care.”
I started crying, laid on the bed, and fell asleep. When I woke Sunday, I was terrified at what my mind had pursued the night prior.
I often feel that I have 4 friends. George. Kara. Wes. And Peni. One was gone, and the other three are so far away. And I often eluded to the idea in my own head that being so far from them has made me lonely. One in heaven. Three in different states.
Then I started reading comments to my blog and emails sent to my account and all I could see was encouragement.
I was reminded that I had that Peni was gone. I haven’t admitted to that in my heart. I haven’t admitted to myself that the ones you love die.
I was reminded that I have an incredible talent.
I was reminded that I can make this business work. My life is my work and vice versa.
I was reminded that I can make this life work. My work is my life and vice versa.
I was reminded, above all, that I was loved.
And I was told in no uncertain terms, before I could be reminded of it, that I had more than 4 freinds. I had a THOUSAND friends, all coming to voice their concern, their love, and most importantly their prayers. They….what am I saying….YOU all came to show me that you care. That I’m not some fleeting blog to be read in the privacy of cyberspace. That I am, in your eyes, a real, genuine human being with fears and hopes. And if you read this blog, then you want to know about both….like any friend would.
So, I can’t thank you enough. You held my hand through the screen, through the ether of the universe and let me know that what has troubled me finally erupted, exploded and left itself a mark….yet, it need not be fatal. It is a wound deep, yes, but the more I write about my life, the more I learn of all the lovely disastrous things I had always chose to throw under the rug.
I love you all for that. None of who read this blog are ever called strangers, or followers (I hate that), nor even customers, or supporters. You’re all my friends.
…I apologize if I upset many of you.
And I’m sorry if this particular post needs editing. 🙂 I’m writing raw tonight.