There was a time when the internet was my lifeline- to read, to write, to connect. Often I’d declare, “Thank G.od for the Internet!!” Without the internet, I would have been so alone after Ferdinand died. I wouldn’t have known where to turn, what to do.
There was a time when I spent at least an hour everyday reading blogs. Nodding, sobbing, reaching out my arms into the virtual screen.
Of late, things have been different. I would go for days without getting on my Reader- when previously I would surely have wilted if I had not read my blogs for the day. It belonged to the same hierarchy as brushing teeth, drinking water and breathing.
I am not sure, does this mean the grief had gotten lighter? That Life had become more vibrant again, that I can occupy myself with other things?
I am not sure, because shortly after my last post I had plunged into very dark waters, sinking all the way down, clutching a black iron ball of heartache with me, until I finally hit bottom, and then slowly, almost dead, I rose up again. I experienced some suicidal thoughts. I wanted to come here to write about it, to open up a perhaps taboo conversation. But once I saw light above and came to shore, I did not dare to revisit those thoughts, afraid that I’d be pulled back down again.
Life has indeed gotten busy (especially with S and Lyra getting their chickenpox! Lyra did fine but Sophia had it bad. It was hellish for a week, the constant discomfort, moaning and tears, and nothing I did help. Now we’re waiting to see if Val gets it, and if I will get it…), but not necessarily richer. Whisperings of those memories never truly fade away. But still, all I have is now, all we’ve got is now, so we trudge on. We move on.
R came home talking about interview questions getting “creative”. I rolled my eyes and he asked,
“OK, so, what will be on your epitaph?”
I finished rolling this supposedly miraculous mixture of essential oils over my temples, put the cap back on the roller, turned around, paused and flutter my (short) eyelashes for theatrical effect and said, “She had a headache every month.”
R paused, then he laughed. I did not find it funny, with the pounding going on all over my skull. He exclaimed, “You took the funny approach, very good!” Ha. Funny approach.
I asked if he had heard of the six-word memoirs and told him maybe he could find a few to steal for an interview.
That weekend I switched out our wardrobe in anticipation to the mercury rising. I have four big plastic containers filled with my clothes. About twenty percent of those fit me. Many were of pre-children sizes. Some I bought while on sale, tried on with tummy sucked in till my face turned blue, thinking, “When I lose weight this will look really good. Plus, it’s ten bucks only.”
As I fished through piles and piles of “could-have-been” sizes, a six-word memoir came into my mind. I went downstairs and told R I’ve got a six-word memoir, but he was not to steal it.–
“She thought she’d be skinny again.”
After I laughed at myself and stabbed some knives into my side to drive in the irony, I went back upstairs and filled four big bags with “could-have-been” clothes, all cute ones, and readied them for the drive to Good.will.– Some genuinely skinny girls could use them.
I knew why I kept those clothes. It has got nothing to do with being economical. It was more a virtual strangling of the self, this vain desire to be the old self again. Slim, healthy, carefree and pre-grief.
I just will never be that self again. I decided I needed serious shedding.
Not just of the pounds and jiggly belly and the extra pair of thighs, but also the useless notions of wanting to be the old, carefree self. I am still free. No one can imprison me except myself. So I decide to set myself free. It is not easy becoming, and being this new person, but I don’t see any other way.
Still, I kept a couple of size 4’s, just in case.– Which is the most ridiculous size clothing you are keeping in your closet?!
Read Full Post »