This is my goal for October 23, 2010 -- the Mankato 10k

turning around to see - ending up in a dance

**WARNING** There is quite possibly writing in here that could trigger someone into doing self-destructive things. If you are not in a good place mentally and this is an issue for you, please don't read it right now. It'll still be here later. I'm not trying to heal myself by triggering others or giving other people ideas for self-harm shit. It's a horrible, painful addiction and I will be quite terribly upset if I learn that my words have caused someone else any hurt.**

"Baby, when I call for you, I want you to come

And lay it out for everyone

Exactly how it was before any of this happened

And why I can't leave it behind"

-- Conor Oberst, "A New Arrangement"

I moved recently. It was probably 3 weeks ago that I began discussing my current situation and I guess about 2 weeks ago that I actually moved in. There were 5 days in there where I was not here, but up in Fargo with my family paying my respects to Grandma Quick's life and seeing her burial in tiny and all-but-barren Starkweather, North Dakota. Other than those 5 days away, I have been fully immersed in learning the ropes around this house, unpacking and rediscovering treasures from my storage unit, and adjusting to life in the countryside.

It just now occurred to me that it's been a lot longer than the 10 months of storage that I've not seen a few of my tangible memories. In the years prior to leaving Jason, now a little over 10 months ago (holy crap!), I didn't delve into many of these items. I left books on shelves and music in cases for many years without acknowledgement. Some of these things were untouched for so long because I was trying to let go, stop dwelling on painful subjects, and heal. I also left many items unexplored while I was falling in and out of love with my husband, which took probably 3 years. Half of me didn't want to focus on anything but my relationship with him and half of me wasn't allowed to retain memorabilia from my shrapnel-filled past without extreme measures taken to induce guilt, fan my self-hatred, and block any possible fond memories of Life Before Jason.

I no longer have most of my photos from any previous romantic relationships (except for a few copies my parents still had -- like formals from high school. He hated those photos.), I got rid of several CDs and tapes of and from ex-entanglements that I now crave (the music, not the entanglements), and I no longer have any paintings, drawings or sculptures made of me or for me by any male that I've ever kissed. That's sad to me. I've kissed some talented men and probably the only common thread amongst them is how their creativity moved me in some manner. Those tugboats of emotion are now gone. Sad!

I managed to escape my marriage before my journals were censored by a big fat marker or fire pit. Such heretical acts were on the docket to take place any minute for almost a year. I put up with a TON of shit as a result of "procrastinating" on this request, but it was worth every insult and mind-fuck and argument and sneer and threat that came at my stubborn resistance to erase all proof that I had a life prior to meeting the man I married. It was worth it, but I'll never put up with THAT shit again.

Gyah -- that really sucked.

The quote from Conor at the beginning of this post is from the song "A New Arrangement" on "Every Day and Every Night" by Bright Eyes. It recalls nights spent alone in my Powderhorn Park apartment when I lived in Minneapolis and driving to and from my job at the Heart Association, the last full-time job that I held, over my lunch hours when I needed to hurt out loud. I only went home over lunch if I wanted to cut my forearms or play with my unlit fire swings in my living room. Jeff Buckley was great for doing both, but mostly dancing with my swings. I learned that a few minutes of getting my heart to speed up with oscillating arms increased the blood flow and somehow made my purging of pain in the form of blood just that much more effective. Conor's music was always good for urging on the anguish, pushing me past a point of resistance until I felt real. Alive. Involved in someone else's pain instead of the crushing solitude of my own.

Hearing this particular music again ----- I'm looking forward to a summer filled with writing. Maybe not on this blog so much, but for my memoir. To finish the healing process and give legitimacy and create proof beyond my scars that I have been to Hell and I made it out. Turns out it shares the same physical space as Heaven, as well as Mediocrity, and our experiences within this life are entirely determined by how we see the world both inside and outside of ourselves. I used to hear those four lines:

"Baby, when I call for you, I want you to come

And lay it out for everyone

Exactly how it was before any of this happened

And why I can't leave it behind"

and in my mind I was singing about "how it was before any of this happened" meaning how life was before my mental illness hijacked my brain and "why I can't leave it behind" because I was trapped, completely engulfed in hot blistered soul sores.

Tonight I heard these four line and in my mind, "any of this" was now my current living situation -- the serendipitous events and souls who have changed my world for the better -- and I now can't leave "it" (my years of living hell) behind because I meant it when I vowed to do what I could to help anyone else who suffers like I have, and I think that if I can somehow explain what it was like and what I did to find my happiness - I think it could possibly help someone. It's worth writing for that possibility alone. If anything, it'll help ME, so there's my one person. :)

So yeah. Looking forward to delving back in, from a new perspective. I hope that down the road I'm able to share the full story with all of you.

<3

~Q~