Got exceptionally high last night.
Wasn’t even expecting to. Didn’t think it was possible to go to a store and buy gummies that could do that. But a beautiful loophole has been discovered and now it is.
I ate one and cooked dinner and everything was fine, and then one hour later, BAM. I was grinning into space, making up little songs to make myself laugh. Dizzy like my body was tripping over itself.
I laid down and listened to a livestream about the new moon in Libra, all while my body felt like it was losing its edges and dissolving into energy. It felt wonderful and intense and like something I couldn’t stop.
Everything seemed to come up in this state. At one point I woke up in the darkness with loneliness and anxiety screaming at me. I’ve never known a lonelier city than the one I live in right now. It’s hard to remember that the lonelies I feel are not necessarily my own. That doesn’t make them feel any less heavy. I guess they are looking for someone to feel them.
When they pair up with anxiety, they make a dynamic duo. Anxiety over age and not being conventional, the classic “what the hell are you doing with your life” that only seems to be backed up by the lonely feelings.
Dissolve into energy and giggles and then wake up to the cold stare of your shadow. The new moon is activating my shadow side so I guess this makes sense. Shadow, meet softness.
Something happened last night that did not feel good.
I was on a date, at a man’s apartment. Things had heated up and I asked him if he had a condom. He said he did not like wearing them. That they made him go soft. I told him I was ovulating. This apparently meant we were at an impasse.
He tried to go down on me but soon stopped all activity and just wanted to cuddle. Then he said he wished I had told him sooner. He would not let me go down on him or try to do anything else. He wouldn’t even talk. So I just laid there with this guy’s arms clamped around me until I fell asleep.
Except then I had to wake up a couple hours later, because he doesn’t do sleepovers. Or condoms. Or god knows what else.
I got crushed by a wave of sadness that had been lingering with me for the last few days. He kept apologizing – he was sorry if he had upset me.
I left in a sad cloud. He texted in the morning and apologized again. Sorry if he’d upset me, not necessarily sorry that I was sad.
Now my sadness is starting to melt into anger.
Didn’t think he was going to catch me being sad but he did.
He said he had been sad too.
We hugged and I knew it wasn’t right but I was lonely and his touch was nice.
I thought about being alone in my apartment and it made me cry.
A lot of things did that today.
Watching Edward Scissorhands and realizing he reminded me so much of you.
The silliness and the sad eyes and the quiet.
Realizing as the music swelled that I really miss you. So much. And crying some more because of that.
What would I even do if I saw you,
It had made you so uncomfortable whenever I did that
But I probably would anyway.
And hug you tightly and thank you for everything.
Thank you for being an incredible loving person
Even if it all freaked you out.
You said the city broke you and I understand why. It’s hard and lonely and constant. But it didn’t break you. Not really.
We just need to superglue ourselves back together somehow.
The stars said I need to write. I know they see me. The world is coming back to life and the draft is still unfinished. Do I start it all over or try to land the plane in a random field somewhere, just to say it’s done?
The shitty first draft. A play that can be worked and reworked and cast and rehearsed and turned into a story playing to a room of people who might or might not care.
When I started writing it, quarantine had just started and I was lonely. Am still lonely. Writing a play about a three-way in quarantine seemed fun. Create characters when there aren’t any around you. At first it was fun. The words came easily. Scenes and ideas and dialogue, funny and dark and sexy.
Things eventually started getting murky. Nothing felt like it had a point. Theater didn’t exist. Anger and fire were everywhere. The story felt frivolous and privileged. The words stopped coming.
But we aren’t there anymore. Not in that exact moment anyway. Even if that moment is still felt. The sun is out and people have emerged. Theaters are opening and their stories are full of timely heaviness that we are all too accustomed to anyway. I crave light, maybe other people do too.
So there you have it.
I just landed in paradise and I feel like an idiot.
20 minutes after a 10 hour flight, I am talking to an incredibly confused customer service person and then buying another plane ticket. And I don’t even care. I just want the interaction to end and I feel so stupid I could die.
This is how I felt the last time I left Hawaii too. That time, I hadn’t brought the right credit card and I was not used to staying in fancy hotels. So I didn’t know that I couldn’t just “find a way to make it work.” Cut to me telling a concierge that I don’t have enough money to pay for my stay at the nicest hotel I’ve ever set foot in. That was fun.
Cut to 5 minutes later, me crying in a lovely courtyard garden and trying to figure out how to get into a lyft without anyone seeing me. I can safely say that this was one of the worst moments of my life up until that point. It was 2019 after all.
And here I am sitting at the airport in paradise, telling you about a horribly embarrassing thing that happened to me 2 years ago.
Well you know what I’m back now. And a fucking pigeon just flew in front of me. Hawaii has pigeons. Because New Yorkers probably brought them with us because we are gross.
I’m back. I made it back here after a freaking pandemic. I’m going to stare that horrible embarrassment and feel it and deal with it. And then I’m going to move on with my life.
Maybe after all that I can sit in the sun on a beach and not feel bad. Maybe I can even (gasp) relax.
On a subway home. Not even that tipsy. You’d think I would be.
People in masks everywhere. Seeing people from my old job for the first time since this all started.
A friend who used to recommend plays she’d seen. A year and a half went by and now she has another play rec. I could’ve cried. And somehow none of it feels any different. But all of it is.
What are we supposed to do with all of this. Is it really just a matter of moving forward with things like they were before. I don’t think it is.
But it’s not about being afraid either. It’s figuring out the movement that makes sense for yourself. It’s learning to ground and get clear and hear yourself. Listen to that quiet voice in your head that knows exactly what it needs.
It’s learning how to alchemize the hard emotions. The anger and fear and loneliness. Thoughts that you know are insane even as they speed by and light up anxiety in your stomach.
Feel them all. Deeply and intimately. That’s what’s recommended. Stare at them even though it hurts. Even though it makes you feel like a gross monster. That feeling is proof enough that something is happening.
Then the skies clear and you see someone else going through pain like that. And you soften in your heart because you have a sense of how that may feel. Pain sees pain. And empathy can slowly emerge. And there’s the transformation.
It’s hard to see that when the heavy hits. It can feel like a train slowly rubbing over you. Or imprisoning you. Or suffocating you. But it is possible to move through them. And that can lead to rewards. One moment of connection can melt pain into empathy. And all of that can lead you into the sunlight.
CW: mentions of eating disorders
On a train going all the way across Pennsylvania. It’s long but I like it so much more than flying. For 8 hours you can just look out the window, stare at trees and water, and space out while you listen to music or podcasts or a book.
Was just listening to a podcast interview with an eating disorder therapist. There were several moments that made me unexpectedly tear up, but she had a particularly fascinating point near the end.
She said anorexia is incredibly selfish, and she didn’t mean that word with any kind of judgment. It was literal. You are constantly thinking about yourself, about what you need to put in yourself or do to yourself to burn what you put into it. And your starved brain has no bandwidth to think beyond that. It’s desperately working on fueling and thinning itself. There’s no room left to see outside itself or pray or connect to the universe. It can’t meditate on anything when it’s starved like that.
It hit pretty deep.
As soon as I get back to the city I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend with a friend. He loves to cook elaborate meals and never lets me help. And obviously the meals are absolutely beautiful but I feel uncomfortable having someone do something like that all the time. He loves to “plan the menu” without telling me. It’s always delicious. But I don’t like the feeling of being spoiled like that. My brain spirals to try and do something to make up for him making dinner. It never comes up with anything good. Just paying for his dinner next time.
I know I’m literally complaining about someone making a beautiful lavish meal for me. I know that sounds selfish and insane. And I know that right after I listened to that eating disorder podcast, he texted that he was buying pasta and my stomach dropped. I was feeling gross and resentful about something that hadn’t even happened yet.
So I was listening to *another* podcast earlier today where I heard the phrase “wherever you are is your assignment right now.” Whether you like it or not. If you truly enrich yourself in it and ask how you can show up and serve, if you fully engage in it, you’ll graduate.
Weird feelings about pasta are an unexpected assignment but here we are. Hello how can I show up.
I don’t know if I have any wisdom in me right now but I’m here. I’m feeling the kind of tired after you’ve pulled yourself thin. It’s a good tired.
Last night I woke up at 1 am and cried at the lake in the dark. I don’t that heaviness anymore. You feel and you process.
That’s all I’ve got for now. But I’m here.
Full moons are for releases I guess.
This moment was just supposed to be sitting on a deck watching the lake at sunset. But as soon as I sat down, I asked my mother if she was going to call the therapist tomorrow to schedule a first appointment.
She said the same thing she’d been saying every night over the past week: yes. I told her I did not believe her. She did not like that.
Then it all fell out of me. I said she’d been talking negatively about my dad to me, a lot, and it was starting to weigh on me. I could feel it bringing me down and making me feel weird around my dad. I’ve been having my own struggles with him and his memory and his drinking and all these changes he’s dealing with. Having to hear hers too, while I really do want to, is just too much. So I said if she talked to a therapist, they would be a lot more helpful.
She did not like that.
She said I was making it sound like she was bashing him. How there are other people she can take this to, she doesn’t need to talk to me. How she won’t do that anymore.
Sadness suddenly. This was not the outcome I’d been expecting.
I’d poured my heart out about how I was feeling, and instead she made it sound like I was accusing her of something. Then she got really quiet and kept saying things like “okay I won’t do that anymore. I won’t tell you anything anymore. I’ll figure it out. I’ll be fine.”
None of it made me feel any better.
So now I’m sitting in the bathroom with my inner child and trying not to freak out. Trying not to listen to the self-critical thoughts that I just did irreparable damage to my mom and now she’s abandoning me. On top of everything else. I’m sorry, I can’t hold things in and I can’t take this anymore.
Why do blast-offs like this always happen on a full moon.
My aunt is not happy in her marriage. She came over yesterday and talked to my mom and me about it all. Sometimes I still feel like a child and don’t know if I’m equipped to hear and feel all this. And other times I hear things that I definitely know I shouldn’t. Like a 6-year drought in their sex life. From the people who give you really cute sweaters at Christmas.
At the moment my own parents are having issues too. Completely different from my aunt’s, even though my dad is her husband’s brother. My mom is finally calling a therapist about it tomorrow. In the meantime she told me everything tonight, unfiltered. It’s how it always is.
We are really close and I love being there for her. It’s also really hard hearing her talk about my dad like this. She told me it’s like I’m her friend or a therapist. I guess it is and I’m not sure that’s entirely good for me.
Tonight went as follows: Dad eats dinner with us, leaves the room to clean up or get something. When he’s out of earshot, Mom vents about things he does and says. Then he comes back, I do a quick signal, and we talk about how pretty it looks outside. Cycle repeats.
It’s be a lie to say it doesn’t weigh on me. But she’s going to start talking to a professional. So there we go. In the meantime I’ll just continue to feel all the things. Feel, don’t run. It’s all okay.