He is a kind God. My shoulder felt weighted while my heart took flight. I felt a reassurance from some source unseen and felt better somehow. I was able to shake the anxiety of the past few weeks off, and sink into my skin again, a soul cleansed.
I have been given these moments before; a gesture from above so simple and yet, so majestic. There are some who would still be stumbling about, scratching for clues and symbols in the dirt, digging until they break skin and shed unnecessary blood for a cause they don’t have to carry alone. In my experience, my personal scope of research, direct observation, and own underlying battle with bipolar disorder, the hardest of this blood to clean up after is usually your own.
There have been dark hours in which I have given myself into. There have been times when I’ve stared into the fire with a drink in my hand, feeling what he must have felt like every single day. I blamed him for the demise of our relationship but I forget to feel what he felt like. I suppose I tried in the beginning, but given that he was so blatantly dishonest about his past and I was so obviously, painfully desperate to find solace in anyone at that point, my view into his soul was an obstructed one. After four years, eleven months, two days and twenty two hours of my own personal Hell, what was supposed to be a three hour tour through a heartbreak hangover skin-shedding, I made the decision to steal my life back and make my great escape.
While I was dancing on top of the shards of his fragile existence, I was picking up pieces of myself out of the debris and forming a new world. A world in which I no longer surrendered myself to what outside forces tried to force into my life, namely, a husband who knew nothing about me. He tried so hard to shape me into what he thought he wanted me to be, a sick altered version of himself, or maybe himself and his mother, but that’s for an entirely different stream of speculation I don’t care to dip myself into.
Every day, I live so many parallel lives. I live in a handful of universes. My clocks are stopped in so many separate defining points that I’m afraid I must admit I never know how much of me is ever in one moment or the next. I am the mother, the wife, the worker, the daughter, the student, the ex, the bad guy, the indifferent parent, the distant neighbor, the disappointment, the first or the last, the bitch in the Ford, the fat lady in the checkout, the girl in the sunglasses at the red light who underestimates the bass power of the Foo Fighters, the waitress with the big you-know-whats, the second, twelfth, thirty-third, thirty-sixth, thirty-eighth, fifty-ninth, and seventy-fourth messages in your inbox about health insurance and the last name on my lover’s lips before he falls asleep in my arms.
My life has had its lows, but has seen shining moments, also. Ones where I’ve basked in the sun as the waves of Lake Michigan washed my toes in pure forgiveness. Where an angel has stepped up from behind me and lifted my heavy heart from my chest and allowed me to breathe.
I was given one of those blessed little reminders this morning. I watched my ex husband, a forceful Virgil to my very reluctant but far too prideful Dante, drive his mother’s car to work. I watched as he turned and went another way, and we went ours. As we continued, my husband took my hand and laced his fingers into mine. It was the simplest touch and yet a louder than life reminder of the stark differences between my pathetic existence three years ago and my slice-of-paradise life I wake to today.
I thought about my ex, and how his life had stayed stagnant. He reminds me sometimes, why it is never a good idea to try to build foundation on a swamp.
I think I’m going to have more to think on this later. Today, I was blessed with a surprise day off. I’m going to use it to my fullest advantage. Little man is cruising around the house wreaking havoc as I type, so I bid you adieu and good day!
-xoxo : )