Emerging From Hibernation

“You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book (Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom(when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this(or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death."”  - Anais Nin

I am hibernating.  I have been hibernating.  I was cocooned in a false sense of comfort, of security.  I know this.  I actively let myself be lulled into this "comfort", of being "home."  Home wasn't the answer, and I know this definitively by the restlessness, the impatience in my heart, in my soul.  It's time to wake up.

I must be destined to be a travel nurse, because I find myself getting that restlessness about the 3 month mark after being any one place.  I was held captive by circumstance, by a relationship that was more or less doomed from the start...but, bright eyed optimist that I was, I was set on my course, dedicated to what I felt was my purpose.  13 years in my "prison", and now...near anxiety attacks at the thought of being held anywhere for too long.

There are people that are doubting my choice.  Some not very nice comments have been made to me, by people I love very much, because of my decision to take a travel contract and leave this "home" I have established.  My "emotional stability" has been called into question.  I can't even express how badly that fight hurt me.  I'm never happier than when I am traveling, and right now, being here, being stationary, is making me restless.  So, to have my "decision making ability" questioned, because of a hiccup in my personal life...well...thanks. 

One of my best friends asked me not long ago, "Mandy.  What are you going to do when there is nowhere left to run?"  My response was short.  There are now 7 billion people on this planet.  There is always somewhere to run.  I want to run.  I look forward to moving every 3 months again...seeing new places, meeting new people. 

I have a WIDE support net.  I make friends easily, and I am fairly well traveled.  Yes, I've been "down" lately, and personally, I think I have a fucking right to be.  My life has been a little bit topsy turvy for the past year to two years.  Just when I thought I was standing on relatively solid ground, there went the rug.  Right now, I'm a hell of a lot better than I was 2 weeks ago, and each day is easier and easier.  Staying here...that's the trouble. 

I find it funny how I can be MORE lonely when "surrounded" by family and friends, than when I am on the road...but I am.  It's oppressive, right now, this loneliness.  And I hate it. 

Traveling makes me happy.  I want to be happy, and I want to stop ALWAYS thinking about how my decision is going to affect someone else's happiness.  For once, I want to do something for myself, and feel no guilt.  I am resisting the guilt on this point.  I have no ties, nothing tethering me to this point on the map.  Nothing tethering me anywhere...free as a bird.  And I am counting down the days (19) until I can take flight again. 

Recovery

“There is nothing in the world so wonderful as to love and be loved; there is nothing so devastating as love lost.”

Love is an addiction.  It gets you high, you focus on it to the point of excluding other aspects of your life...friends, family, job.  You find this person, you connect, and suddenly, your world revolves around them.  You make plans, you laugh and scheme together.  They are the first thing you think about during the day, the last thing you think about at night, and most of what you think about at all points inbetween. 

And then...one day...it's just...gone. 

And, usually, really, just one of you is left standing there with a shattered heart, confused mind, and horridly vacillating emotions. 

Then comes the withdrawal.  Worst case, it makes you physically ill.  It's worse than having your loved one die.  The dead can't willingly ignore you.  They can't purposefully prove that they don't care, maybe never cared. 

Then comes the part where you make an utter fool out of yourself.  Fixated on what you must have done wrong, to make them so abruptly fall out of "love" with you.  How, seemingly overnight, this person that swore they couldn't be without you, doesn't even acknowledge your existence.  You. Are. Nothing. 

And your brain is very smugly telling you "I told you so.  I tried to warn you."  Yes, brain...you did.  But, my simple, girly heart beat you into submission with a Louisville slugger, and now you've earned the right to say "I told you so." 

My eyes and my ears betrayed me.  I know it was too soon, too soon after betrayal and loss to invest myself, yet again, in someone else...but...words are my strength, AND my kryptonite.  And I was utterly swayed by pretty words.  And then destroyed by their absence.

In my case, my "withdrawal" was compounded by some serious illness, both legitimate and psychosomatic.  But, I have no excuse for my behavior.  I truly couldn't help myself...desperate, pathetic.  Wanting so badly to talk to him again.  Words...and the pain of being ignored.  The realization that, in all probability, you never even cross his mind. 

So, you make the choice to start recovery.  Rehab for the broken heart.  Where in the HELL do I begin that process? 

By writing.  I have hesitated in writing this.  I don't think there is a chance he will read it, and I hope he doesn't.  This is me, getting this out of my head.  This is not intended to hurt anyone.  I worry things over and over and over until I drive myself insane.  I stress myself out.  Writing...helps me deal.  Write it down, and hope it blows away on the wind, like Dandelion fluff...

I am ready for these feelings to float away on the breeze.  I want to move on.  I am trying. 
 

Whatever gets you through the day...

“Time doesn't. All that Time does is make it more distant, put more space between you and what happened. It doesn't heal anything. I don't know how or what does the healing, but it isn't Time.” - Mercedes Lackey

The last 9 days or so of my life have been...unpleasant.  Scratch that, they've been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.  I never get "sick."  I get run down, tired...I have days where I don't feel my best...but truly sick?  Rarely.  When I do, it usually is a scary thing for me.  I may be a nurse, but, like MOST nurses, I don't deal well with being sick.  I am resistant to seeking care.  So...by the time someone forces me to a doctor or an ER, I'm in trouble. 

This wasn't as dangerous as the time I had strep, fever of 104 and a very angry doctor yelling at me, an asthma patient, for not coming in sooner because my throat was dangerously swollen. 

But, 2 liters of fluid via IV later....

Anyway, I am feeling better, thinking more clearly.  The other stressors going on in my life during this week have been..addressed, and I feel relief.  I am still hurting, but the hurt is lessened, and is being replaced by understanding.  Progress.

Once again, I got lost in someone/something else, and myself took a seat at the back of the bus.  My head...was/is a mess.  I only know of two cures for that, in my world....writing, which is this, and cooking.

Cooking...is a magical thing.  It really is.  Sure, you can ignore the recipe, fly by the seat of your pants and hope it turns out to not be a disaster.   But, there is...comfort in the recipe...the steps you follow.  The measuring, the cutting, the methodical process.  Once you've been someone who cooks for awhile, you can deviate from the recipe with confidence, add your own touch.  You learn to eyeball a measurement without actually breaking out the spoons and cups. 

This is why I love cooking.  It helps me regain my focus.  I haven't really done any cooking since I moved into my apartment.  Not REAL cooking.  I will fix that next week. 

I need to establish a routine again.  Just for awhile.  I need to organize.  :)    Whatever gets you through the day, right? 

I disagree, with the quote I've used.  Time does heal....it's the distance and space it provides that is the healing factor.  Time facilitates. 

The art of "okayness"

Right now...I am not ok.  I will be, because I always am, in the end....but for the moment, I am not "OK".  I will say I am "fine".  I will say, "Don't worry about me."  I will put an incredibly convincing smile on my face for the world to see, and you will believe me. 

But....I am lying. 

I am screaming on the inside.  I am crying when I am alone.  But, I won't let anyone see that, because others can't help you heal.  No one can take your pain, and if you let them try, they only exacerbate it.  Tenfold. 

But, I will keep lying until that day when I AM "ok".  I don't know when that will be.  My own stupidity keeps leading me into situations where "not ok" becomes the norm for me.  I really should have gone into acting, because truthfully?  I'm REALLY fucking good at it.  Hey!  I guess I DO have a talent. 

My patients will comment on my "beautiful smile" and how kind, and caring I am.  And, I AM kind, and caring.  I love my job, and I am so thankful I have it.  Even when I have a patient that frustrates me to the point of going into the bathroom and letting out a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush, I usually have another patient that I can channel that anger into a little extra TLC for....

The beautiful smile part...well, I work nights, it's dark, and a lot of these people are febrile...they don't see clearly.  Nothing "beautiful" about me. 

So.  I'm not ok.  But, you don't have to worry about me.  I will be fine.

No one panic, if you bother reading this at all.  These are just words, and words are my release.