I went to see Monsters of Folk tonight at the Orpheum Theatre in Minneapolis. Even though I've been in love with Conor Oberst's music and lyrics for probably at least 6 years now, and this is arguably the best project he's been in (in my opinion, anyway) - I still hesitated at the hefty price tag for a show. The $48 ticket, plus all those damn fees added up to a whopping $72.95 for one show. The only other type of show I've spent that kind of money on is Cirque du Soleil, and they have a helluva lot bigger overhead and people involved than Monsters of Folk, I guarantee it.
Still, I missed Conor with the Mystic Valley Band the last two times he was in town (cigarettes and Monster energy drinks obviously took precedence over my favorite artist - and I've never smoked tobacco or drank a Monster energy drink in my life - boooo). This was my big treat to myself this month, and I couldn't be happier with my choice.
Because my putzy self got going later than I had originally intended, completely forgetting how crappy Hwy 62 is at approximately 6 p.m., Adam, Marit and I did not end up having a lovely Thai dinner at a real sit-down restaurant. They wanted to go to.......I think it's called "Taste of Thailand"? It's Adam's favorite Thai restaurant, but it's in St. Paul - too far away (good goin' Q). No worries. I picked Adam up at the Midtown Commons (where he works, and stayed after for happy hour tonight), we got in touch with Marit, and we headed to Uptown. The restaurant that took the place of Sawatdee on Hennepin (Roat Osha) was super packed and it was getting late, so I voted for Chipotle. I know, I know - but I freakin' love Chipotle and there aren't any in Kato, so I was still very happy. Mmmmmmm......burrito......
We ate & went in separate directions. Adam had band practice tonight and I kept on Hennepin, paid the annoying $10 to park, and walked through the rain to the Orpheum.
I was afraid that I would be a bit late, but my timing couldn't have been more perfect. The lines to get in were already more or less through, and I had just enough time to get one overpriced beer and find my seat.
The Orpheum was the perfect venue for this show, and as soon as I sat down and took one sip of my Summit, the lights went down and they came on. I was up in the balcony, on the right-hand side when looking at the stage. Top row in the bottom section, so I didn't have far to go for my seat.
They opened with "Say Please", which I'm assuming is their radio song, since that's what they played on Conan. I suppose if I ever listened to the radio, I would know this, but alas - I generally don't. I've never really been "in the know" and that doesn't appear to be changing anytime in the near future. :)
All 5 guys (Conor Oberst, Mike Mogis, Yim Yames, M. Ward, and the drummer - Will Johnson, who isn't on the album, but is touring with them) were quite dapper in their suits and ties, but I would've honestly been just as thrilled had I been blind. Granted, I would have missed Conor's super shiny shoes and M.'s green three-piece suit (I do love a vest on a man...oh and suspenders....which I didn't actually see tonight. I still feel the need to share this love of suspenders with the world), but DAMN - the music was just incredible. I don't think there's a bad seat at the Orpheum, and the only time my view was blocked was when people in front of me came and went for more overpriced drinks, or to presumably break the seal. I, for one, was not about to leave my seat until it was over. Really people? Is a drink that important? Maybe if you didn't drink so much, you wouldn't need to go to the bathroom so much. Just a thought.
There was no intermission at this lovely Monsters of Folk show. They took small breaks one or two at a time, and played solo or in pairs when they weren't all onstage together, throughout the entire show. They also traded instruments at almost every single song. Even Will, the drummer, came out and played guitar with Yim Yames for a song. He's got one helluva voice, too. I'm 99% sure they played every single song on the Monsters of Folk album that was released in September, and they also played a bunch of songs from Bright Eyes, M. Ward, and My Morning Jacket. Conor and Mike played a Bright Eyes song from "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" called "We Are Nowhere, and It's Now". On the album he sings it with Loretta Lynn and it's gorgeous. He sang it alone tonight, with Mike playing guitar as well, and dedicated it to the owner of the 400 Bar, because Conor wrote it in the parking lot after playing there years ago. I thought that was a fun fact. :)
I didn't count, but I bet there were probably 10-15 guitars floating about up there, in addition to bass, an electric keyboard/synthesizer, a piano, drum kit with various things like timpani mallets and chimes, steel drums and bongos, triangles, shaker eggs & tambourines. Oh - and of course the steel guitar that Mike Mogis can rock like no other.
The show wasn't sold out, but it was certainly full. Depending on the song, the audience was either grinning and clapping along, nodding heads, hollerin' & whistling, or completely silent and hanging on every note. I could feel the energy moving in my hands by the second song in, and over the course of the next 3 hours, it moved to my face & legs, my heart swelled and my chest got tight and then I'd start laughing, because Yim would dance like Elvis with his legs and Conor would crawl up and hop off an amp. He did that little foot kick thing too, which also was cause for a grin. The lights were perfectly synchronized with the music, changing and adding an additional layer of emotion to each song. The center of my chest was actually sore by the end of the 5 song encore, the only time during the show when we all stood up. Thanks to the stadium seating, even my five foot self could still see.
When the show was finally over, I didn't wait around at all. I perused the merchandise, but it was all too expensive for my broke ass, so I wandered back out into the rain, smiling to myself and excited to write, write, write, write!
You know, in a world where we are constantly bombarded with how ugly and full of hatred humanity can be (especially on the news), nights like these make me grateful to be alive and part of the world. It reminded me of how beautiful art can touch the soul and connect a theater full of strangers, singing along to the same songs, part of something sincerely magical, if only for a few hours.
much love,
~Q~
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
NOT OK
I knew I should've written earlier in the day. A mere 45 minutes ago, I was content and happy. Not even an hour later, and I'm already to the point of needing to stop every 5 seconds, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and tell myself "it's ok, it's ok, it's ok". At least I'm not crouched in a fetal position, rocking back and forth I guess. There is that.
Because it's not ok. It's SO NOT OK.
The man I have an Order for Protection filed against, my legal husband, the man I actually thought I missed a few nights ago, the man who is so damn mentally ill, he doesn't KNOW he's sick anymore, the man who I found out actually TERRIFIES me without the protection of those thick, Kasota-stone walls I have built around my vulnerable soul - I just found out that as of tomorrow morning, he's free to wander about on the streets, continue to get high whenever he feels like it, and perhaps hurt somebody. Whether that's himself, someone else he knows, some stranger, or ME - I cannot believe this is happening.
All "authorities" say their "hands are tied" and although nobody is denying that he's unstable and needs serious help or else serious consequences will occur, there's nothing they can do to help. So once again, for the umpteenth time, he's tossed back out into the world, with nowhere to live, nowhere to go, no money, no meds, and only a directive to make a few calls and get in touch with "the system" upon being dropped off in the Twin Cities. How anyone could even pretend to believe that he will follow through on ANYthing he's promised to do, when it comes to his own health at least, is completely asinine to me.
So he falls through the cracks, and I pray that he can't get his fingers around my neck and rip me through with him. Just when I'm really starting to love my life...
Sorry folks. I'll try to be in a better mood tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever I write again.
~Q~
Because it's not ok. It's SO NOT OK.
The man I have an Order for Protection filed against, my legal husband, the man I actually thought I missed a few nights ago, the man who is so damn mentally ill, he doesn't KNOW he's sick anymore, the man who I found out actually TERRIFIES me without the protection of those thick, Kasota-stone walls I have built around my vulnerable soul - I just found out that as of tomorrow morning, he's free to wander about on the streets, continue to get high whenever he feels like it, and perhaps hurt somebody. Whether that's himself, someone else he knows, some stranger, or ME - I cannot believe this is happening.
All "authorities" say their "hands are tied" and although nobody is denying that he's unstable and needs serious help or else serious consequences will occur, there's nothing they can do to help. So once again, for the umpteenth time, he's tossed back out into the world, with nowhere to live, nowhere to go, no money, no meds, and only a directive to make a few calls and get in touch with "the system" upon being dropped off in the Twin Cities. How anyone could even pretend to believe that he will follow through on ANYthing he's promised to do, when it comes to his own health at least, is completely asinine to me.
So he falls through the cracks, and I pray that he can't get his fingers around my neck and rip me through with him. Just when I'm really starting to love my life...
Sorry folks. I'll try to be in a better mood tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever I write again.
~Q~
Monday, October 26, 2009
The overwhelming power of music
Here are the lyrics to the song I've been listening to for the past...3 hours now? It'll be longer by the time I actually post this.
Drugs or Me
by Jimmy Eat World
Stay with me
You're the one that I need
You make the hardest things
Seem easy
Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close
If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
Don't let go
We'll dig a great big hole
Down an endless hole
We'll both go
You're so blind
You can't save me this time
Hope comes from inside
And I feel so low tonight
If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
I wish that you could see
This face in front of me
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
(Take me)
I need your hands
(So far)
To pull me up
Take the wheel
(Take me)
Out from me
(So far)
Out from me
If only you could see
(I need your hands)
The stranger next to me
(To pull me up)
You promise, you promise, that you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs
(Take the wheel out from me)
I wish that you could see
(I need your hands)
This face in front of me
(To pull me up)
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs
Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close
Click here for a link to the song on YouTube
The band Styrofoam also made a remix of this song, and I've been going back and forth between the versions. Roughly 2 hours into my obsessive listening, while mindlessly gathering my daffodils on FarmVille, I started crying. Hard.
Jason was probably the first person to point out to me how delayed my reactions are, as a general rule. You were right, JJ. I was so relieved to be safe and away from the hell we were living in for so long, it took me over 2 months to miss you.
Fuck.
Yes, I swore. That will happen occasionally, although not nearly as much as in years past. Deal with it.
I've been hearing from so many people that I'm doing so great, they can't believe how great I'm doing, etc. People who aren't in the middle of something equally as painful as divorce and have nothing to compare to this shitstorm, seem happily surprised that I'm moving forward and getting my life back on track. I've regained my spark and passion for life, and they're all so excited. Those who ARE going through something similar, seem surprised, yes, but almost shocked, or maybe even a bit resentful that I can take something this huge in stride so easily.
Have no fear, people - I'm just a bit slow. I'm not sure if I've always been this way or if it's a defense mechanism I've learned after being burned as many times as there are stars in the Universe. This is what scares me about myself. How can I trick myself so thoroughly, that I'm not even aware that I have these stupid walls up and they're keeping me from feeling the pain all at once? Even though I am aware that I've built walls in the past, once again, I'm totally blindsided by the fact that they're still there. It has to be a self-defense tactic, right? If it all rushed in at once, I may just flip that switch permanently and never return to any semblance of sanity. Or I might just kill myself and be done with it.
No worries - I'm not at all suicidal right now. Not even thinking along those lines. I DO have these walls built, specially designed to only let the agony within the world in in manageable chunks.
I guess the reason that this song got to me so deeply is because "I can't tell you from the drugs". When I met Jason, he wasn't on drugs. Neither was I. By the end, I couldn't see his soul any more. I don't remember the last time the real Jason came out with me. He could probably say the same thing about me. Those lines between the drugs and my genuine self were awfully blurred. I don't remember the date I last used anything other than alcohol, which I don't actually have an issue with. I have zero problems stopping the drinks once they start, and I'm perfectly comfortable not drinking around those who are. The drugs though? I don't stand a chance against them. This theory has been thoroughly tested by me, and I finally figured it out. Better late than never I guess. I should've perhaps known right away, because the reason I loved drugs so much is because they were stronger than my mind, and my mind is exhausting. It NEVER SHUTS UP. Anyway, I've been clean for probably about 3 months now. It's a good start, and I have zero worries that I'll go back into that life. I don't want to even tempt it anymore, because I never ever come out unscathed. So - never offer me drugs. Especially not pot, because it was my all-time favorite, and it's the only thing I really miss. Should you offer me my drug of choice, we shall cease to be friends immediately, because that's just cruel. Fair warning.
Within probably the first week of dating, Jason & I dumped all our "red flags" out on the table, ready for the other to bolt. Neither of us did. And we both have some pretty big red flags. I guess I fell in love with J because he's the first human being that I ever showed all the ugly layers of myself to, and when I'd let him in on another secret that I found to be completely unacceptable, he only seemed to hold me tighter, like he only loved me more because I'm not perfect. He accepted me. I never thought that was possible.
Maybe it isn't.
Maybe it wasn't real love after all. God, that hurts.
How different would my life be right now if I had never tried drugs? If I hadn't tried to self-medicate for so many years? If someone would've figured out what was chemically wrong with my brain years earlier? If Jason & I had kept that initial promise to each other that we wouldn't go there together? I would be different, no doubt. I don't know if that would be a good or a bad thing. Really, it doesn't matter - that's part of my past and there's no point in worrying about it now.
I know I'm not the only person who feels completely and utterly unloveable, which is sad. It is actually better for me now than it ever has been in the past, though. At least now I get moments, minutes even, where I'm at peace and I know that isn't true, because I do love myself. I'm counting on this process to get easier over time and with practice because my first 30 years almost killed me - many, many, many times over. What really makes my heart ache right now is knowing that each person has to figure out their own truths, and no matter how much I suffer, no matter how well I'm able to tell others what I've learned (if I can even DO that well), they still have to figure it out firsthand, or it won't be their knowledge.
That's partly why I left Jason. My best girl, Ro, was absolutely right when she told me that probably the most loving thing I ever did for him was to let him hit rock bottom and wake up. Learn whatever life is trying to teach him, instead of keeping him comfortably miserable, hovering near the bottom but never actually slamming into it. I wasn't able to save anyone else, even the man that I loved. God dammit I tried. I tried so hard. I tried so hard, I almost lost myself completely.
Fuck. And I have no wise words or clever conclusions tonight. It just hurts right now. But, in the immortal words of John J. Nelson, my Gran'pa, "This too shall pass". I'm banking on it.
Love,
~Q~
Drugs or Me
by Jimmy Eat World
Stay with me
You're the one that I need
You make the hardest things
Seem easy
Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close
If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
Don't let go
We'll dig a great big hole
Down an endless hole
We'll both go
You're so blind
You can't save me this time
Hope comes from inside
And I feel so low tonight
If only you could see
The stranger next to me
You promise, you promise, that you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
I wish that you could see
This face in front of me
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
But I can't tell you from the drugs
(Take me)
I need your hands
(So far)
To pull me up
Take the wheel
(Take me)
Out from me
(So far)
Out from me
If only you could see
(I need your hands)
The stranger next to me
(To pull me up)
You promise, you promise, that you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs
(Take the wheel out from me)
I wish that you could see
(I need your hands)
This face in front of me
(To pull me up)
You're sorry, you swear it, you're done
(Take the wheel out from me)
But I can't tell you from the drugs
Keep my heart
Somewhere drugs don't go
Where the sunshine slows
Always keep me close
Click here for a link to the song on YouTube
The band Styrofoam also made a remix of this song, and I've been going back and forth between the versions. Roughly 2 hours into my obsessive listening, while mindlessly gathering my daffodils on FarmVille, I started crying. Hard.
Jason was probably the first person to point out to me how delayed my reactions are, as a general rule. You were right, JJ. I was so relieved to be safe and away from the hell we were living in for so long, it took me over 2 months to miss you.
Fuck.
Yes, I swore. That will happen occasionally, although not nearly as much as in years past. Deal with it.
I've been hearing from so many people that I'm doing so great, they can't believe how great I'm doing, etc. People who aren't in the middle of something equally as painful as divorce and have nothing to compare to this shitstorm, seem happily surprised that I'm moving forward and getting my life back on track. I've regained my spark and passion for life, and they're all so excited. Those who ARE going through something similar, seem surprised, yes, but almost shocked, or maybe even a bit resentful that I can take something this huge in stride so easily.
Have no fear, people - I'm just a bit slow. I'm not sure if I've always been this way or if it's a defense mechanism I've learned after being burned as many times as there are stars in the Universe. This is what scares me about myself. How can I trick myself so thoroughly, that I'm not even aware that I have these stupid walls up and they're keeping me from feeling the pain all at once? Even though I am aware that I've built walls in the past, once again, I'm totally blindsided by the fact that they're still there. It has to be a self-defense tactic, right? If it all rushed in at once, I may just flip that switch permanently and never return to any semblance of sanity. Or I might just kill myself and be done with it.
No worries - I'm not at all suicidal right now. Not even thinking along those lines. I DO have these walls built, specially designed to only let the agony within the world in in manageable chunks.
I guess the reason that this song got to me so deeply is because "I can't tell you from the drugs". When I met Jason, he wasn't on drugs. Neither was I. By the end, I couldn't see his soul any more. I don't remember the last time the real Jason came out with me. He could probably say the same thing about me. Those lines between the drugs and my genuine self were awfully blurred. I don't remember the date I last used anything other than alcohol, which I don't actually have an issue with. I have zero problems stopping the drinks once they start, and I'm perfectly comfortable not drinking around those who are. The drugs though? I don't stand a chance against them. This theory has been thoroughly tested by me, and I finally figured it out. Better late than never I guess. I should've perhaps known right away, because the reason I loved drugs so much is because they were stronger than my mind, and my mind is exhausting. It NEVER SHUTS UP. Anyway, I've been clean for probably about 3 months now. It's a good start, and I have zero worries that I'll go back into that life. I don't want to even tempt it anymore, because I never ever come out unscathed. So - never offer me drugs. Especially not pot, because it was my all-time favorite, and it's the only thing I really miss. Should you offer me my drug of choice, we shall cease to be friends immediately, because that's just cruel. Fair warning.
Within probably the first week of dating, Jason & I dumped all our "red flags" out on the table, ready for the other to bolt. Neither of us did. And we both have some pretty big red flags. I guess I fell in love with J because he's the first human being that I ever showed all the ugly layers of myself to, and when I'd let him in on another secret that I found to be completely unacceptable, he only seemed to hold me tighter, like he only loved me more because I'm not perfect. He accepted me. I never thought that was possible.
Maybe it isn't.
Maybe it wasn't real love after all. God, that hurts.
How different would my life be right now if I had never tried drugs? If I hadn't tried to self-medicate for so many years? If someone would've figured out what was chemically wrong with my brain years earlier? If Jason & I had kept that initial promise to each other that we wouldn't go there together? I would be different, no doubt. I don't know if that would be a good or a bad thing. Really, it doesn't matter - that's part of my past and there's no point in worrying about it now.
I know I'm not the only person who feels completely and utterly unloveable, which is sad. It is actually better for me now than it ever has been in the past, though. At least now I get moments, minutes even, where I'm at peace and I know that isn't true, because I do love myself. I'm counting on this process to get easier over time and with practice because my first 30 years almost killed me - many, many, many times over. What really makes my heart ache right now is knowing that each person has to figure out their own truths, and no matter how much I suffer, no matter how well I'm able to tell others what I've learned (if I can even DO that well), they still have to figure it out firsthand, or it won't be their knowledge.
That's partly why I left Jason. My best girl, Ro, was absolutely right when she told me that probably the most loving thing I ever did for him was to let him hit rock bottom and wake up. Learn whatever life is trying to teach him, instead of keeping him comfortably miserable, hovering near the bottom but never actually slamming into it. I wasn't able to save anyone else, even the man that I loved. God dammit I tried. I tried so hard. I tried so hard, I almost lost myself completely.
Fuck. And I have no wise words or clever conclusions tonight. It just hurts right now. But, in the immortal words of John J. Nelson, my Gran'pa, "This too shall pass". I'm banking on it.
Love,
~Q~
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Some ponderings on the indefinable
So I've been pondering things again. I think that perhaps this is simply part of being human - we ponder. We're looking for answers to questions that are still undefined in language, and I believe a lot of us get impatient when the answers aren't lit up for us on our own personal electronic billboard.
"Hey you -- do _______________ and you will be eternally happy."
Well - there is that giant yellow billboard on both Hwy 22 and Hwy 169 (and maybe elsewhere) that I get such a kick out of reading to whoever I'm in the car with. If you've been down either of these highways, you'll know what I mean. There, in HUGE BOLD BLOCK LETTERS is one word:
JESUS.
I'm pretty sure the period is there as well. I love to scream this one out each and every time we drive by - in my best Southern accent, no less. It generally gets everyone to laugh - once they're sure nothing bad is happening at the moment. Most people tend to think I've seen something scary on the road when I shout. Interpret as you will.
Anyway - back to my ponderings. :) I've decided that the questions we're seeking answers for are never going to be defined in any language. Language, while utterly beautiful when crafted by skilled minds, is simply unable to encompass the depth of life. How could it? There are no perfect words to describe the feeling inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them. I have yet to read anything close to the feeling of peace that comes, for me at least, from deeply inhaling the breath of the trees. For that matter, language doesn't do gut-wrenching panic or fear any justice either. I used to be so frustrated with my inability to express myself, to get that damn demon inside of me OUT, I got quite literal with it and tried to cut him out. With a razor blade. Imagine the terror when, in the dead hot center of a psychotic break, I hallucinated that the demon in my stomach (where I saw him), did not seep out of the cuts I had made for his escape. I only angered him and watched as his scary little fetus-demon body thrashed around inside of me. I was completely sober. How can language encapsulate THAT experience?
How did my mother, who lived in Mankato (I was living in south Minneapolis at this time), instinctively know to call me at that exact moment? I think I was supposed to be at work. She had no reason to guess what I was in the midst of, or what the previous 24 hours had been like for me. It wasn't language that she heard, telling her that her middle child needed help. I didn't call her or send her an email. I firmly believe that she felt my terror, and instinctively she knew that I needed her immediately.
Call it God, call it Buddha, call it Allah, or Jesus or whatever you want to. Heck, call it Frank if that makes sense to you. Whatever this great energy is that runs throughout the Universe - whatever word you choose couldn't possibly contain THAT which makes us alive.
The answers to these unspoken questions, then, will also not come to us through logical, rational, clear-cut words. It's a feeling we'll have. It's an innate knowledge that the path we're on is exactly the right path. Richard Bach, whose book "The Bridge Across Forever" I poured through last night, says "there are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go." (It's the first paragraph of chapter 11, should you care to find it..)
I don't regret anything in my past. I don't resent my scars, physical or internal, and I'm not angry at anyone who has "done me wrong". I will never become a "man-hater" or a bitter person just because I've been forced to survive trauma. We all have, to some degree or another. It's part of the human experience. Anger and hatred, moral superiority, or negative self-talk or whatever hurts the soul - these things will never bring true love, peace and contentment. If I had the chance to go back and make different choices, I wouldn't. I am exactly where I need to be right at this moment, or I would not be here, learning life's lessons and nurturing my soul. And I'm quite happy to be here at this point in time.
much love,
~Q~
"Hey you -- do _______________ and you will be eternally happy."
Well - there is that giant yellow billboard on both Hwy 22 and Hwy 169 (and maybe elsewhere) that I get such a kick out of reading to whoever I'm in the car with. If you've been down either of these highways, you'll know what I mean. There, in HUGE BOLD BLOCK LETTERS is one word:
JESUS.
I'm pretty sure the period is there as well. I love to scream this one out each and every time we drive by - in my best Southern accent, no less. It generally gets everyone to laugh - once they're sure nothing bad is happening at the moment. Most people tend to think I've seen something scary on the road when I shout. Interpret as you will.
Anyway - back to my ponderings. :) I've decided that the questions we're seeking answers for are never going to be defined in any language. Language, while utterly beautiful when crafted by skilled minds, is simply unable to encompass the depth of life. How could it? There are no perfect words to describe the feeling inside when you meet someone for the first time and you've always known them. I have yet to read anything close to the feeling of peace that comes, for me at least, from deeply inhaling the breath of the trees. For that matter, language doesn't do gut-wrenching panic or fear any justice either. I used to be so frustrated with my inability to express myself, to get that damn demon inside of me OUT, I got quite literal with it and tried to cut him out. With a razor blade. Imagine the terror when, in the dead hot center of a psychotic break, I hallucinated that the demon in my stomach (where I saw him), did not seep out of the cuts I had made for his escape. I only angered him and watched as his scary little fetus-demon body thrashed around inside of me. I was completely sober. How can language encapsulate THAT experience?
How did my mother, who lived in Mankato (I was living in south Minneapolis at this time), instinctively know to call me at that exact moment? I think I was supposed to be at work. She had no reason to guess what I was in the midst of, or what the previous 24 hours had been like for me. It wasn't language that she heard, telling her that her middle child needed help. I didn't call her or send her an email. I firmly believe that she felt my terror, and instinctively she knew that I needed her immediately.
Call it God, call it Buddha, call it Allah, or Jesus or whatever you want to. Heck, call it Frank if that makes sense to you. Whatever this great energy is that runs throughout the Universe - whatever word you choose couldn't possibly contain THAT which makes us alive.
The answers to these unspoken questions, then, will also not come to us through logical, rational, clear-cut words. It's a feeling we'll have. It's an innate knowledge that the path we're on is exactly the right path. Richard Bach, whose book "The Bridge Across Forever" I poured through last night, says "there are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go." (It's the first paragraph of chapter 11, should you care to find it..)
I don't regret anything in my past. I don't resent my scars, physical or internal, and I'm not angry at anyone who has "done me wrong". I will never become a "man-hater" or a bitter person just because I've been forced to survive trauma. We all have, to some degree or another. It's part of the human experience. Anger and hatred, moral superiority, or negative self-talk or whatever hurts the soul - these things will never bring true love, peace and contentment. If I had the chance to go back and make different choices, I wouldn't. I am exactly where I need to be right at this moment, or I would not be here, learning life's lessons and nurturing my soul. And I'm quite happy to be here at this point in time.
much love,
~Q~
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
You're right Michael Stipe - Everybody DOES hurt, sometimes...
I moved out of mine and my husband's house on Thursday, August 20, 2009. Two days later, various members of my family and I returned to the house for my things and my two cats, Trinity and Maya. I was still so angry with Jason that I was able to go through with all the packing and leaving, but it did hurt to see the pain in his eyes and to see him cry, knowing that he still believed I had the power to heal those wounds.
Since I've been back in Mom and Dad's house, I've been getting stronger and stronger. After several days, I was able to put my contacts back in, as the days of sobbing slowed considerably. After about a week, I took my wedding ring off. I started reconnecting with good friends of mine, friends I had been keeping out of my life either at Jason's request, or because I was afraid that they would find out the reality of my current situation.
The reality of my life was nothing near the romantic scene I had scripted for everyone. Some people knew of the drug abuse, both Jason's and my own, but we consistently lied to the world about the actual frequency of our use. Even when I did not use with my husband, I more often than not knew he was going to get high, and covered his tracks for him. A few people questioned the abusive nature of our relationship - the emotional, mental and physical abuse that had been escalating over our three years together - but we both did our best to paint a smile on our love. I feared the end of our relationship probably as much as he feared 2012, the end of an era. Having survived all too many failed romances, including two engagements that never made it to the altar, I was terrified that the end of this marriage would most certainly launch me into "spinster" mode for the rest of my living days. I believed him when he told me that "nobody would ever love me" and that I "didn't have the strength to leave him".
I don't believe either of those things anymore.
When I was in high school, I fell madly in love with a boy who, for the first time in my life, fell madly in love with me in return. I was 14 and he was 16. We dated for about 5 1/2 years or so, the last year and a half being an excruciating experience for both of us. Well, I'm pretty sure it was for him - you'd have to ask him. It certainly was for me. It was when I moved away from Mankato to go to college in Missouri that our relationship started falling apart. He once quoted the band Fifteen at me, saying "you seem to need a man, to retain an identity". Of course it pissed me off, but over 10 years later, that still sticks with me. Was he right? Am I the only woman in the world that has this problem? I doubt that I'm alone here. Why do we, as women, feel incomplete when we're single? Why this lifelong quest for finding THE ONE? For that matter, is this strictly a female issue?
Without diluting the strong emotions I've felt for the loves in my past, I do have to wonder: do I even know what real love is? I've heard that you cannot truly love someone else until you love yourself, and this has been a serious roadblock for me, until very recently. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, and I even tried convincing other people that I did, actually, love myself. There was no fooling Q, however, even if I did manage to fool a few others. The scars on my arms, the x's over my heart, the lines on my stomach - these remain as visible proof that I did not, in actuality, love myself. As disturbing as the volume of old cuts on my body may be to some, they don't even come close to the emotional wounds I've dealt with. Those inner wounds are so much trickier.
As I've been back in Mankato, I've learned that I am far from unique in my pain. This is a fact that I grasped years ago intellectually, but was only able to truly "get" within the past few months. When I tell people of my broken wrist, when I show people my scars from cutting, when I open up about the hurtful words that were pelted at me, and the equally horrible things I've said and done in retaliation - people understand all too well what I'm going through. I have met more women who have been in abusive relationships than I knew existed. I have related to more cutters and other people with Borderline Personality Disorder - outside of a hospital setting - than I thought possible. I've been more in tune to those in grief, to those going through the death of their own relationship, and to the mass quantities of suffering in this world. And for perhaps the first time in my life, I feel humble in my suffering, and grateful for the love and support I do have in my life. You cannot measure pain - one person's suffering is no better or worse than their neighbor's.
So far - and it's only been a few months now - I've learned several key lessons.
1 - Everything in this world is on a continuum. Nothing is black or white.
2 - Humanity is ultimately good. Negativity seems to come from suffering, from an attempt to avoid the inevitable pain that comes with being alive. People will generally help you if you let them.
3 - There is a reason for everything in this universe. You are exactly where you need to be at all times.
4 - I do love myself. I am worthy of love and I do not need anyone else to complete me. I have always been complete - I just didn't realize it.
So, with that said, I hope you decide to come back once in awhile to see how this journey unfolds. Feedback is always appreciated as well, although it certainly isn't required. :)
much love,
~Q~
Since I've been back in Mom and Dad's house, I've been getting stronger and stronger. After several days, I was able to put my contacts back in, as the days of sobbing slowed considerably. After about a week, I took my wedding ring off. I started reconnecting with good friends of mine, friends I had been keeping out of my life either at Jason's request, or because I was afraid that they would find out the reality of my current situation.
The reality of my life was nothing near the romantic scene I had scripted for everyone. Some people knew of the drug abuse, both Jason's and my own, but we consistently lied to the world about the actual frequency of our use. Even when I did not use with my husband, I more often than not knew he was going to get high, and covered his tracks for him. A few people questioned the abusive nature of our relationship - the emotional, mental and physical abuse that had been escalating over our three years together - but we both did our best to paint a smile on our love. I feared the end of our relationship probably as much as he feared 2012, the end of an era. Having survived all too many failed romances, including two engagements that never made it to the altar, I was terrified that the end of this marriage would most certainly launch me into "spinster" mode for the rest of my living days. I believed him when he told me that "nobody would ever love me" and that I "didn't have the strength to leave him".
I don't believe either of those things anymore.
When I was in high school, I fell madly in love with a boy who, for the first time in my life, fell madly in love with me in return. I was 14 and he was 16. We dated for about 5 1/2 years or so, the last year and a half being an excruciating experience for both of us. Well, I'm pretty sure it was for him - you'd have to ask him. It certainly was for me. It was when I moved away from Mankato to go to college in Missouri that our relationship started falling apart. He once quoted the band Fifteen at me, saying "you seem to need a man, to retain an identity". Of course it pissed me off, but over 10 years later, that still sticks with me. Was he right? Am I the only woman in the world that has this problem? I doubt that I'm alone here. Why do we, as women, feel incomplete when we're single? Why this lifelong quest for finding THE ONE? For that matter, is this strictly a female issue?
Without diluting the strong emotions I've felt for the loves in my past, I do have to wonder: do I even know what real love is? I've heard that you cannot truly love someone else until you love yourself, and this has been a serious roadblock for me, until very recently. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, and I even tried convincing other people that I did, actually, love myself. There was no fooling Q, however, even if I did manage to fool a few others. The scars on my arms, the x's over my heart, the lines on my stomach - these remain as visible proof that I did not, in actuality, love myself. As disturbing as the volume of old cuts on my body may be to some, they don't even come close to the emotional wounds I've dealt with. Those inner wounds are so much trickier.
As I've been back in Mankato, I've learned that I am far from unique in my pain. This is a fact that I grasped years ago intellectually, but was only able to truly "get" within the past few months. When I tell people of my broken wrist, when I show people my scars from cutting, when I open up about the hurtful words that were pelted at me, and the equally horrible things I've said and done in retaliation - people understand all too well what I'm going through. I have met more women who have been in abusive relationships than I knew existed. I have related to more cutters and other people with Borderline Personality Disorder - outside of a hospital setting - than I thought possible. I've been more in tune to those in grief, to those going through the death of their own relationship, and to the mass quantities of suffering in this world. And for perhaps the first time in my life, I feel humble in my suffering, and grateful for the love and support I do have in my life. You cannot measure pain - one person's suffering is no better or worse than their neighbor's.
So far - and it's only been a few months now - I've learned several key lessons.
1 - Everything in this world is on a continuum. Nothing is black or white.
2 - Humanity is ultimately good. Negativity seems to come from suffering, from an attempt to avoid the inevitable pain that comes with being alive. People will generally help you if you let them.
3 - There is a reason for everything in this universe. You are exactly where you need to be at all times.
4 - I do love myself. I am worthy of love and I do not need anyone else to complete me. I have always been complete - I just didn't realize it.
So, with that said, I hope you decide to come back once in awhile to see how this journey unfolds. Feedback is always appreciated as well, although it certainly isn't required. :)
much love,
~Q~
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