My Life

While going through old boxes in the back of my closet, I found a lot of shit. Dishes. Clothes. Scrapbooks. Albums. Pictures. Letters. Memories that had been packed away. Mostly forgotten. Not sure what got into me. Why the nostalgia need. Most definitely was a bad idea.

I can be vague here as is my norm. Or I can just be honest. Tell you that seeing those albums was painful. Although I laughed and fake-gagged at the time. I can say that I am over it. It's all the past and doesn't affect me. But that is not the truth. I did flip through those pictures. Glanced at the scrapbooks containing hundreds of letter. Handwritten love letters. Flashing back to another time. A time that was less complicated.

I saw myself. What outsiders saw. Religious. Observant. Following the rules. Whatever you want to call it. I was playing the part. Living the lifestyle.

I know now that it was all a facade. Waiting to crash at my feet. Living in a fantasy land. Surrounded by infatuation. Desire for a future. No understanding of the present. Of the facts in front me. Avoiding reality. All to live in delusion. A dream of what I wanted and not what was.

I gave up myself. I lost who I was. And I did it willingly. I followed a path that I didn't want. To fit in. To please everyone else. But I was not happy. I was controlled. Miserable. I was uncomfortable in my own skin. I wasn't authentic.

And that's not who I am. Who I ever wanted to be. All I ever wanted to be. Unique. To be authentic. What you see is what you get. Not two-faced at all. Honest to a fault.

And now, although a lot has changed. It is not a bad thing. Looking at my face in those pictures, I see a lonely and sad girl. Standing at a distance from those around her.

Lost. Alone. Leading a life that is not her own. Trapped in a life she doesn't desire.

Today I am grateful. I feel lucky that I have myself back. That I am living my life. As I want to live it. And I won't take that freedom for granted. And I won't lie and say that it isn't hard. Doesn't get painful. The loneliness is definitely there under the surface. But I  no longer feel hopeless. Because my happiness and my life do not depend on you or anyone else. It's internal. My choice. My goals. My life.

My life.

Vanishing

Once again it's July 18. This dreaded cursed day comes around every year. Taunting me. Haunting me. The details are slightly vague but the memories are there. They beat alongside my heart. Pulsating in my brain forever. Refusing to let me forget this day. I take a sleeping pill  but I couldn't sleep a full 24 hours. No chance at ignoring this crapday. No meals planned. No people to talk to. No family around. Alone as usual. Because that is my destiny. That is the life that I lead. The life of a nomad. Vanishing slowly. Day by day.

Empty Tears

The tears. They are tears that don't come often. They hide inside. Refuse to leave their post.

You were supposed to protect me. Supposed to love me forever. Never supposed to leave my side. You were supposed to be my best friend. To love me. Forever. You were supposed to keep me. To hold me and never let go. You were supposed to please me. You had one job. To love me. To see only me. As your one and only.

But you forgot. You forgot about our love. You forgot about me. You got distracted. You chose your religion. You saw my pain. You saw me cry. You knew how much I hurt. But you chose your religion. Every single time. Your empty religion. Empty words. Swaying back and forth. No meaning. All by rote. Because it's all you knew. You couldn't think for yourself. You couldn't choose me. You chose your shell instead.

I was in the goddamn hospital for ten days. You thought I was going to die. How could you not hold my hand. How could you not comfort me. I was dying. I had no family. You were supposed to be my family. My support. My anchor. So you said tehillim. I needed your hand. I needed your love. Not for you to be the hero. Where were you. I needed you to hold me. So what if I was a fucking niddah. Do you think it was right for me to call the rabbi and beg him. To tell you to hold my hand. Is that how life is supposed to be. Is that what my life should look like. Is that the life I signed up for.

Do you think about me. Do you realize that you have damaged me. As you live your pretty little life. In your pretty little house.

How could let me go through that day. Have a friend scrub me in the shower. To get off all the hospital markings. As I throw up all over myself. Throwing up my pills. And then your goddamn mother comes to pick me up. Do you not feel guilty. Not at all. Or have you conveniently forgotten. And then your mother let me lay on the floor and all those women commented how cute it was that she brought me with her to work. Or how about when she helped me get undressed. Or how about when your mother walked me down the steps and helped me dunk in the goddamn water. Do you know what that does to a person. She let me dunk once. Because I was too sick to dunk more than once. And then she dressed me. There you were. Fucking waiting outside the side door with a wheelchair to wheel me home. As I throw up outside the shul. For all the men to see this pathetic woman in a wheelchair throwing up.

Do you think about that night. How I went to the mikvah sick as a dog just so you would take care of me. Does that sit with you. Did it ruin your life. Or did you forget. Did you move on. And then you threw me away. I let my soul go. I let it fly away. You watched it shrivel. And then you stepped on it. And you did all in the name of religion. A religion I don't subscribe to. No thank you. You can keep it.

And now what. I'm supposed to just move on. Forget. Live. Keep moving. Keep plugging away at this life. Where are those tears. Where is that religion. Why is the emptiness always there. Let the soul back in.

Not so easy.

Three

Why is it that I did so many good things today and I still feel like crap.
How can someone else's good fortune make me feel so down.
I know that you have every right for your life to move forward.
That you do not owe me anything.
But seriously.
Can't a girl catch a break.
Three?
At least I got what I asked for.
At least God answered my prayers.
Is that evil.
Is that wrong.
I know that I am busy and that I should focus on that.
But some times things are difficult.
No matter how long you know things are happening.
And no matter how long you think you are prepared.
You never are.
It always hits you in the gut.
You can smile.
And make jokes.
And post funny or sarcastic posts.
But it hurts.
Your eyes water.
And its not just because you are tired.
Not just because of that terrible pain in the back of your head.
It's that throbbing in your soul.
That sadness that you've brushed under the rug ages ago.
Resurfaced.
All of a sudden.
But you can't find tears.
They've all run out.
Ages ago.
You are a dried well.
In every way.
Three

6 years

6 years ago today

I was a bride

Walking down the aisle

Led by both my parents 

Big white gown

Veil covering my eyes

Walking towards a man I loved

A man I planned to spend the rest of my life with

A man I committed to with all my heart

6 years ago today

I was hopeful

I had faith

I believed in something great

I believed in love

I even believed in myself

6 years ago today 

My new life began 

But then it ended 

Was no more 

The carpet was ripped from under my feet

6 years ago today

Was a different lifetime 

A facade 

An illusion 

A figment of my imagination 

6 years ago today

I was a fool 

6 fucking years

"I am not..."

I'm listening to Israeli love songs. The music breaks my heart. The Hebrew words are so beautiful. So raw. Yearning. I try to find meaning in this life. I aim to feel joy and happiness. Purpose and fulfillment.

I have been following this "what I be" campaign. Basically this photographer has been taking pictures of people with a word or statement written on their body with a black sharpie. Each person revealing and unleashing a different insecurity that they hide from the world. I can't stop looking at the pictures. What word would I choose. What statement would define me. The first word that comes to mind is DIVORCED. My statement would be "I am not my trust issues." Or how about ALONE, followed by the statement "I am not my depression." I could go with ANXIETY and say "I am not my suicidal ideation." I think this photographer is brilliant and is effecting tremendous change in the world through this movement. 

I think about the fact that I should be pursuing dating. And yet I can't make myself do anything about it. Going to shadchanim. Saying yes to profiles. Judging a book by its cover. A first phone call. All makes me want to puke. And that's even before going on an actual date. The prospects are embarrassing. Pathetic. Almost worth it to be alone. Almost. 

Going to a new neurosurgeon tomorrow. The saga continues. Can't escape it. A routine appointment. Still have this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. What will be. Have I been through enough. Have I not put in my time. Suffered enough agony. How long can this life go on. How long can life go on this way. At what point do I get swept under the current. How long can I tread in this ocean. 

One more day. One foot in front of the other. 

Congrats

I sit here listening to Avraham Fried live

I'm reminded of all that I've lost

And all that I've given up

Of opportunities I'll never have 

That I let slip between my fingers

That I handed over to another 

More capable

More willing

Than me

I handed over on a silver platter 

Ripe and ready 

To live a life

I was not ready to live

I sit listening 

To music of the soul

And feel the life I will never have 

A life that goes on without me

Moving forward 

Very quickly 

While I stay still 

Congrats on living the life you always wanted. Congrats on baby number two.

Itching at your fingertips

Do you ever listen to this cd

Does it hit you

Strike you straight in your heart 

Do you avoid these songs

These lyrics 

Do you remember

What the words mean 

What the words do

Do you feel the words in your soul 

Crawling on your skin 

Itching at your fingertips 

Does this cd take you back 

To moments no one knows 

Secrets 

Hidden moments 

Do you remember what this cd does 

What these songs represent

The power of the verses 

And the beat 

What the beat does 

Do you still feel it 

A Millisecond of Time

It's that fear of the unknown. Of walking into a familiar place and not knowing where you are. Forgetting who you are. Being accosted by memories. Glimpses of a past you. A previous lifetime. It's the lead up. The buildup. The knowledge of what if.

The moments before are just as bad as during. The anticipation and over obsessing that make the actual moment worse. Almost unbearable.  Thoughts of nothing else. No matter how prepared you are, that moment knocks the breath right out of your chest. Your brain pauses. Your heart stops beating for one tiny, little second.

A millisecond of eye contact. One intimate moment shared.  If it was a movie, still pictures would flash through your mind. Time would slow down. Nothing else would exist. Familiar and foreign at the exact same time.

Then in a flash it's over. As if it never happened.  Maybe it never happened.  All made up. Imagination gone wild. The mind playing tricks on the heart. But the anxiety blazes through every vein. Pulses beat throughout the body.  A packed room keeps the body erect. Standing still.  In place.

And then life goes back. Back to normal.  Time fast forwards to the present.  No more glimpses of the past.  The mind is propelled back to reality. The body can stand on its own. Control returns. And life goes on. Once again.

get out of my head

I have removed you from my life
You need to remove yourself from my dreams
Get out of my head
I'm sick of dreaming about you
I'm sick of you
Stop controlling me
It's not real
You are an illusion
You were always an illusion
Figment of my imagination
I created this image of you
You didn't exist
You were fake
You are fake
You are not real
Get out of my head
Leave me alone
Leave me be
I need to breathe
You are still suffocating me
You don't exist
These dreams are not real
I am not crazy
You can't take over me anymore
You are not real
Get out of my head

Better

I have been slowly getting back to myself after an awful stomach virus. Still feeling pain in my stomach and pretty weak at times, but back to work. Back to normal routine. Although, I do rush home to put my pjs on and still am not able to eat normally. I'm still not sure if I was really sick. I tend to convince myself of things. Or maybe its convince myself that nothing happens, when really things are happening. Unsure. I do have physical proof that I was sick. I don't think I was making it up. Nor am I making up the terrible pain I felt. But I do think it's pretty curious that the second after I sent that email, I started feeling nauseous and then threw up all over the place. Psychosomatic much?

So it's been a pretty quiet week (plus). Haven't really talked to anyone, pretty much kept to myself. I learned that I like sleeping on the couch. Or maybe it was just more comfortable than my (creaking) trundle bed. Real reason I realized is that it feels like someone is holding me. Or rather laying next to me. When I sleep with my back to the couch, it feels like I am being spooned from the back. And when my stomach is facing the couch, it feels like someone is close by and I am able to sleep better. It sounds odd or maybe just desperate. But I don't care. It's funny (or maybe not) that I was never able to sleep with another person in my bed. And now that's all I could think about as I lay in agony on the couch. But I guess it was more than that. It was the fact that I was sick and felt all alone. It's not my parents responsibility to care for their 27 year old divorced (nebach) daughter. It's not my sister's job to take care of me. She has way too much on her plate. So I drove myself to the ER. Because there's no one that has my back. Yeah, I could have called a friend. But it was just me. I had to take control of my own life and drive myself. Sit there by myself. Because that is my life. Alone. And most of the time I am ok with that. But not when sick.

And now it's Chanuka. I am so grateful that I moved back home and am no longer in NY. I like lighting the menorah with my family. And the thing I value the most is following our minhagim. Every time I make the bracha on the candles and I say "lehadlik ner SHEL chanuka" I am so thankful for my freedom. It sounds silly. But it's important to me. It's important to me that I have the freedom to be who I am and to do the things that I hold dear to my heart. Even if it's as nutty as singing the last paragraph of Maoz Tzur to the tune of Hatikva. It's meaningful to me.

Sad that Chanuka is almost over. Thank G-d the Jewish calendar is cyclical. You always know another holiday is around the corner.

Lack of Color

I think I am getting angry all over again. I say I have moved on. I have mourned. Been through the five stages of grieving. That's false. There are way more stages. Try a million. Sadness. Anger. Hatred. Obsession. Neurosis. Psychosis. Happiness. Morbidity. Disgust. Perversion. Maybe a million and one. But I won't name them all.

I'm not sure what sparked me to think about all this today. Why I can't get this out of my head. Why today. There's no date significance. I didn't have a sighting. Perhaps it's because I read an article about a 35 year old virgin. Or an article that a newly divorced guy just wrote about how to be a good husband. But in any case. It's on mind so here goes.

How dare you?
How dare you.

I gave you everything. Everything. I lost all of me. In you. I gave up my whole being for you. To make you happy. To satisfy you. I dedicated my life to you.

You. You in your pressed shirt. Dry cleaned pants. Neat and trimmed chin strap beard. Always so put together. Go ahead, shine your shoes. Take out that polish from the top of your closet. Shine your damn shoes.

Me. Me in my random colors. Me in my free spirit. My love for people. My need for randomness and excitement.

It wasn't me that changed. I have always been the same. You were the one that changed. Or maybe we saw each other's true colors. You in your lack of color. Me in my abundance of color. You wanted me to be drained of all color. And I wanted you to add color. The mixture clashed. It always ended up in a mud brown tone. Hideous. Painful. Horrifying. Disastrous.

You might ask why I still wonder why you gave it all up. Why you walked out on me. Why I cannot move. Forgive. Because. I don't walk away. I don't give up. I am worth fighting for. I am not to be given away. Discarded. I am loyal. I am a friend. I can be counted on. I am worth loving.

So go about your life. As if I never existed. Go about your day to day routine. And just remember that those bright colored, pressed shirts you wear were bought by me. I was the color in your dreary life. You can never erase me. Blot me out. I will always be a part of your color block. One bright, shiny color in your past.