I don’t know if I can do this anymore.
The words keep repeating in my head like the lyrics to a catchy pop song. Most of the time it’s my own exhausted voice, but sometimes it’s his: on the night that my comfy little facade of a life imploded. And I don’t know if I can keep doing this. I am hardly an optimist under the best of circumstances, but my little bit of hope that I have been holding onto for the last month seems to be fleeting.
Holy shit. It’s been a month already. Well I guess that explains why the drudgery of this situation has started to weigh heavier on me. It was already elephant like to begin with. The more time that passes, and the more I am forced to pigeon hole myself into the person he needs me to be right now, the more I fear that this isn’t going anywhere.
Am I really fine? Will I really be okay?
This picture majorly resonates with me. Families are the core of all our beliefs, our triumphs, and the root of all our struggles.
He’s gone for a couple of days, leaving me alone in the apartment and I begin to see the parallels between my mother and me. It has been so obvious to me that she is deluding herself in believing that she can somehow change enough, after 25 years of marriage, to make my dad want to stay. And here is where I begin to worry that perhaps I too, am deluding myself. This makes my stomach churn. I am so incredibly scared of making a fool out of myself, while everyone on the outside can clearly see that I am being naive and fighting a battle already lost (or won, depending on whose side you are on).
But I just feel myself so bursting with love and joy at the possibility of a better future with him. I have compartmentalized those feelings though, and play the part of sweet indifference so that he doesn’t see how lonely and aching I am for his love and affection. I won’t stay here alone tonight, I can’t stand more sleepless nights of praying to the stucco in hopes of some sort of miracle.
The scariest possibility of all, one I have barely let myself form into a full thought until this very moment, is that I am worth loving, and if he isn’t sure of that love for me anymore then… Maybe he never loved me at all.
I found this site: http://soundrown.com/ which allows you to listen to different sounds and overlap them and it made me feel incredibly nostalgic for summer. I was going to the beach at least once a week and was always tan and there was sand all over the entry way of my apartment. I was incredibly happy then and I didn’t really even realize it until now when it’s rainy and cold and I miss the heat that had plagued me so in the summer months.
One of my favourite feelings was getting back from the beach, tired, dehydrated, dirty and sun burnt and stepping into the shower. I loved the way it would sting my sensitive skin and I could smell the day washing off of me; it smelled like the ocean: sand and salt water. I was happy then. I think a part of it was doing something entirely for me, because I enjoyed it and I need to find something like that for every season.
I wrote yesterday about praying to God for some sort of answer, and yesterday on my bus ride I feel like I sort of got one. I was listening to music and absently staring out the window. I wasn’t really hearing or seeing anything in particular. I was making observations about the people getting on and off the bus, something that I think every person is guilty of: staring. I was wondering about my personal situation and feeling rather sorry for myself, something that, again, I think everyone is guilty of.
Suddenly the music in my ears rose to my consciousness, and the lyric, I’m the hero of this story, I don’t need to be saved stuck out to me and it felt like a divine answer of some sort. Or perhaps the opposite. I smiled briefly to myself and then played the song over again.
Here it is for your listening pleasure.
It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright
One of my best friends is a hair stylist and used me as a model for her avant garde day at school. Pretty neat, huh? It was super fascinating seeing all of them working really hard (for about three hours) on their models and creating these really interesting hairstyles out of nothing. I think even stranger was looking in the mirror after my hair and makeup was all done and not recognizing myself.
It is funny to me how much makeup and a different hairstyle can shift our appearance. Funnier still is how much a change in thought patterns can alter the way we view ourselves. I often see my own reflection and I don’t recognize the person looking back at me. I’ve changed a lot in the last year and mostly it’s in the way I think.
Last night I was in a difficult place. I was alone in the apartment for the second night in a row. I am not very religious, but I was laying in bed praying to the stucco ceiling. I was praying for answers, I was praying for some sort of sign that I’m not alone. I fell asleep in the small hours of the morning still muttering the word please under my breath.
My point being, is that we can change our appearances during the day and then wash it all off at night. Then we lay in beds and face the inevitable fact that we are who we are, no amount of hairspray or makeup can change it. Lately, I haven’t liked that person very much, but I’m working on changing her, because she is totally worth loving.
Welcome, Welcome, Welcome!
If you haven’t guessed by now, my name is Megan and I am here to write, for you and for me. If you’re reading this, you, like me, appreciate the written word. I have always been fascinated by the phenomenal power of mere sentences on a page. They hold the capacity to create entire worlds within the confines of our minds. Words, they can make us laugh and they can make us cry.
I will be satisfied if I am able to make you take time from your busy day just to read what I have to say, everything else is just a gift.
Also, this is my face.