Words, words, words!

Finishing with 83, 544 words toward the completion of my first novel;

Where do I go from here?

"In the end, the answer was so simple it took a week to come up with."
--THE VIRGIN SUICIDES

Thank god the weekend is finally here.

I've been anticipating the end of this week since it started. Mainly because my feelings of grief began resurfacing fully since last Sunday night. I tried to figure out why I felt so terrible, let it go, then felt like shit, then tried to figure it again; repeat. It makes me feel like I'm going insane when I feel down to the core of my entire being, extremely low.

Grief is an overwhelming thing to shoulder and deal with alone. I wouldn't wish the feeling of it upon my worst enemy, not because I don't have any enemies, but because working through grief is single-handedly the HARDEST thing I've ever had do in my life. That's a huge statement because I've dealt with some high-stress situations before this, especially for a 27 year old young woman. From being a single mother of a child with special needs, one marriage, one divorce, and recession. I managed to live through those circumstances without entirely losing it. Even with all of my previous stresses, they couldn't prepare me for the inevitable showdown between myself and the grief I feel from the losses of 2009.

This seems like a ridiculous victory to celebrate, but I am proud of myself for acknowledging what I am feeling. It's driving me mad because I don't understand it fully. I think my routine of picking up and moving on from each of the events that shook my life in 2009 have caused me to run, out of habit now, from everything I face in my life today. This includes running from the mental and emotional aftershock effects from it all and I ask myself frequently; Where do I go from here?

I've come to realize I have to face this grief because it doesn't matter where I run to; Texas, Canada, Australia... the Moon; it will still be with me. Fighting doesn't make sense to me unless it's to survive or to protect. But that doesn't matter because I'm going to have to drag out the fighter within me to face my grief and ride it out. [Unless of course, it rides me out instead].

On a more upbeat note, I was reminded of the kindness and beauty of humanity this week, twice.

My shift manager from work asked me how I was doing and I told her I just felt tired. She could tell there was a little more to the story but she was respectful and didn't force me to tell her the whole situation. Instead, she set my tips next to the register as she left; "Don't forget to count them", she said. I walked over to the register and found a note on my tips.

The note made me smile and I wanted to chase after her to thank her, but  I heard our door chime go off, signaling a customer coming into the store, so I looked up.

LIZ: Hi! Welcome to--Hey! What are you up to?!
RUSS: Just stopping by to check on you. Have you taken your lunch yet?
LIZ: Not yet. Give me a second and I'll go clock out downstairs.
RUSS: Oh hey, I thought you might like this.

RUSS: ...so yeah, my amp-head fried and I gotta buy a new one but it was still a good show. You and Pat missed out. What about you? What's been going on? 
LIZ: I think I've been depressed, dealing with a lot of old feelings from some things. It's been frustrating-- kind of the reason I've been out of the loop as of late. 
RUSS: That's okay. The biggest thing to do is just keep doing what you're doing. Keep working on your memoir and get it finished while you have the drive to... You know, to get it done. And keep yourself busy.
LIZ: Advice taken!
RUSS:  Just so you know, you're not going crazy girl.
LIZ: You know, I've found some solace in the past month from something you once told me.
RUSS: What was that?
LIZ: That paranoia wasn't a dysfunction. That paranoia was actually a heightened sense of awareness.
RUSS: It is. It's just being more aware of what's happening, what's going on around you.
LIZ: Do you ever look for repeating symbols in your life?
RUSS: Oh yeah, all the time. Mainly numbers. Certain sequences of numbers and their patterns.
LIZ: I've been trying to figure out why the infinite symbol keeps popping up in my life everywhere.
RUSS: It means that nothing has an exact start or end.
LIZ: You really think so?
RUSS: I know so.

It's instinctual to be aware of another person's emotions. But it's by our choice whether or not we choose to exercise our ability to empathize and show care for others. There's not much to it and it can be done with or without words.

I was grateful for the two acts of kindness and though I wasn't back to operating at 110%, the small talk and sincere gestures made me feel more connected to my present state of life and where I am today.

Then I found the answer to my daily questionnaire.

Q. Where do I go from here?

A. Nowhere. I don't have to run anymore.

Just a bad day.

Monday morning, 7:30am.
Outside on the balcony of the house, smoking cigarettes with Ryan before he leaves for his daily commute to work.

LIZ: I'm sorry for waking you up so late last night.
RYAN: I don't think it was that late, really. Do you know what time it was?
LIZ: No...
RYAN: Well try to have a good day.
LIZ: I'll be okay. It was just unexpected. It surprised me as much as it surprised you.

Neither Ryan or I knew what time it was when I got out of bed last night, sobbing. I do know what sparked the waterworks. It's embarrassing to admit because my sudden, deep sadness was sparked by one simple sentence from the bedtime story I read to Adam last night, [Mercer Mayer's Just a Bad Day]. Hearing myself say the sentence out loud made me feel vulnerable and lost. I wished that I could say the sentence in my everyday life, but I'll never get the chance to again. The sentence I'm referring to;

Then dad came home.

I was actually in a great mood last night until reading that sentence. It triggered something that made my heart feel like it was hit by a speeding freight train going 100 MPH; the train hauling issues from 2009 nearly smashing over the last, little bit of positive outlook I have left .

After Ryan left for work this morning, I began recalling my various experiences with death and loss. My archived mental notes exhibited a pattern I never noticed until now. It appears that I have a record. I have a record of habit; coming to terms with grief from the passing of my loved ones at the most inconvenient times and places.

There was last night's book massacre, and the coffee nazi...and there was even a third time I was K.O.'d by sudden grief.

A former lover of mine, [whom afterward, I remained good friends with], Smaz, died in a car accident in October 2002, I continued to live life as if his death didn't deeply affect me. Roughly a month after he passed, my advisor asked me to help judge a high school theatre contest and I agreed. The first scene we watched was from Steel Magnolias. As the characters began talking about their sister who just died, my eyes began to swell up at the mention of death. I bolted out of the theatre, [quietly as possible because I have a deep respect for the sanctuary of the stage.] Once I got out of the building and made it outside, I lurched over the grass like I was going to vomit but nothing came out. I just started hyperventilating. My heart began pounding and it felt like someone just shot me in the chest, close range, with a bazooka gun. I found out later that my reaction was a panic attack, complete with tears that erupted from my eyes as if they were mini geysers.

Even after assessing my coping skills, I do not understand why I reacted the way I did to the book last night. How could one measly sentence send me into a black hole of defeat? I feel like I've come to terms with 2009; my father's death, followed by the homicide, then my grandpa's passing, so there's no need to overreact anymore. Not understanding why it got to me so badly eats at me [almost] more than the feelings of depression that came with it.

There are a multitude of things that can ignite loss from the past. I get that. They say there's no exact way to partake in or understand the grieving process. The most important thing to do, is to allow yourself to grieve however you choose to, as needed. So I guess that means I have to accept that if I still cry sometimes over my father's death, it just happens. I wished I didn't because I hate sobbing. Simply, it sucks.

I am hopeful that in the future, the fall-out of feelings from 2009 will not feel as intensely negative as they do now. Once I get my memoir project finished, I believe it will be a huge step in helping me release some of the unsettled grief and grievances I continue to hold inside. 

In a letter from my father that was written in 1997, he told me the cycle of negativity that lingered around our family had to be stopped, starting with me and my life. His words and direction in the letter didn't make sense to me back then, but today I finally understand what he meant.

But [Together and Alone]

"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but."

--Maniac/KID CUDI ft. CAGE

I've been working on a sort-of-kind-of memoir for the past year. It's been an extremely rough, raw writing experiment; terribly unorganized. The past two months I've spent trying to put some order to the whole concept in hopes to bring the short stories I've lived through, back to life. I want to share these experiences to entertain anyone who wants to be entertained. I also want to empathize with others who may have gone through and seen some of the realest life situations.

After living through some of the biggest life changes a person can live through, I feel like sharing my stories will positively affect anyone who chooses to listen or read. Most of what I've been through, would and will, shock people. If the stories are taken for face value, they sound like depressing, scary urban legends. However, if people place their own life experiences in between the written lines of mine and compare them, our experiences become shared. Everyone's experiences, everyone's problems, and everyone lives are connected, [and "no one man's stresses are greater than any other man's"].


Through this way of sharing, we live each and every experience together, so no one is ever truly alone.

But I'd be lying if I said I never wished that I was truly alone, sometimes.

"You are who you are and I know who I am."

It always starts with a small conversation, when suddenly I'm sent into an abyss of deep thought that forces me to explore and evaluate my life and art.

It almost always starts out this innocent; my descent. I'd swim around forever in those darkest, below sea-level depths if I could. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am stuck in those waters, in that mode of thought, and I don't even realize it?

At work last week...
SHELBY: You remind me of this rapper named Cage.
LIZ: Well...I have been listening to a lot of rap lately.

I laughed when Shelby told me this, only because I had no idea what she meant exactly. I imagined myself as a rapper, pondered over various MC names, then giggled some more. She elaborated on her statement and where she failed to explain with her own words, she pulled out her iPhone and introduced me to the lyrical content and sounds from Mr.Cage.

You're always dying inside
That much closer to home
A crowded street corner
Surrounded by people, all alone.
Pain in the heart
Rain in the dark
The wind is glum and bitter.
-- I Never Knew You/CAGE

Yep. It appears that I am, in fact, stuck in that mode of thought. It's not a secret anymore. Not so much because everyone else knows it and sees it, but because I know it now.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I thought I wouldn't be permanently changed by the things I've experienced the past two years. It's incredible to have been through the INs and OUTs of life, especially at my age, thoroughly enough to see your happiest dreams, your most feared nightmares, and your reality all mesh together and become one. Suddenly there is no line between fantasy and real life. The walls come down and boundaries cease to exist.

It's at that moment, I believe, anything is possible becomes true.
Beautiful, heavenly things are possible and horrific, hell-on-earth things are possible.

You know it.
And now I know.
So that's everyone that needs to know I suppose.

With this knowledge, I've decided to start embracing the darkest parts of my life and art. No more editing for content or to save face.

You are who you are and I know who I am.

I've been working the past couple of months with Ryan and Patrick, laying out my artistic career goals and mapping out a plan to achieve those goals. It's awesome living and working with two managers who [mostly] understand my life and art.

With their help now, I'm able to freely explore and embrace in complete darkness and almost always, I never get completely lost, forever.

Prelude to the Prologue: Holy.Fuck.Shit.

NaNoWriMo

REsurfacation.

It's Monday, November 1st, 2010. Halloween is over and we're officially on the down slope of 2010. I didn't get to enter my art installation into the Dia de Los Muertos art show because the art director said he could only give me a 36" x 36" wall space. To this, my reply to him;

"Then don't advertise that your show is accepting installations. 36" x 36" of wall space is hardly enough space for an installation. [Fucka]." *

Usually I'd just pick myself up and move on from something like this. I still plan to put together the installation and enter it into another show. In the meantime I feel something unsettled within myself. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I can feel it rumbling inside of my chest. I thought maybe I just needed to cry or something, so I did that yesterday as we left Ryan's grandmother's house. Once we got home, I took a nap. I hoped to feel better after the tiny sleep break, but I didn't.

I imagine this feeling is from the never ending, constantly unsettled feelings from the past that won't ever subside. I go back and forth on the issues, letting them go, then being blindsided by the them when they resurface. I never anticipate their REsurfacation.**

I'm super paranoid
like a sixth sense.
Since [our] father[s] died
I ain't been writing since.
My heart is an Open sore
that I hope heals soon.

With it being November, it's time for me to get back on the art wagon for sure. As I write this paragraph I'm beginning to realize that's where some of the unsettled feelings in me start--
When I stop--Creating art.

I entered a script to D.C.'s The Source Theater play festival last week. We'll see how that goes. I should find out if I made the cut in a few months.

Speaking of resurfacing, it was roughly a year ago when my friend Jymz and I had a conversation that, for some reason, I haven't been able to stop thinking about, today.

LIZ: So what do you think about the new Jay-Z album?
JYMZ: It's aight.
LIZ: What do you mean, 'it's aight'?! It's amazing!
JYMZ: Yeah...but I have some issues with it. Lyrically speaking.
LIZ: Explain. I'm listening.
JYMZ: Well you know, the beats are good, but how many times can you sing about 'back in the day' when you used to sell drugs. You know things can't be that bad for Jay-Z now. It gets 'old' after a while singing about 'your old stash spots'.
LIZ: I didn't ever really think about it like that.
JYMZ: Get it?
LIZ: (Smiles) I hear ya.

*  I didn't actually call the art director a fucka, just in case he REsurfaced into my life again.
** Yeah, I know REsurfacation isn't a word. I just made it up.


________________________________________________________________________________________


November 1st, 2010
1:23pm

The four minutes and fifty-two seconds hallway.


I noticed I had a missed call from Adam's school, so I immediately returned the call.

After several rings....
MAN: Hello. [Insert name of Adam's school here]
LIZ: Hi! My son goes to school there. His name is Adam [insert last name here],
I just got a call from the school and I'm returning the call.
MAN: Oh, okay. Hold on, let me find someone who knows. Oh yeah, there's the school nurse. Hold on a second ma'am.

Exactly four minutes and fifty-two seconds pass...
NURSE: Hi! Is this Adam's mom?
LIZ: Yes! What's wrong?!?!
NURSE: Oh, Adam's fine. We just wanted to let you know that he got his arm stuck in a rocking chair earlier today and he may or may not have a little bruising from it.
LIZ: Oh my god! That's it?! That was the LONGEST four minutes and fifty-two seconds I've ever experienced in my life.
NURSE: (Laughing) Oh, I'm so sorry! I promise if there was ever something really wrong we would definitely find a way to get ahold of you.
LIZ: Well thank you for the phone call and for letting me know.
NURSE: Sure thing! Have a good day!

One thing I know for sure today. It's very evident that my anxieties have REsurfaced, fully.

There's only so far you can go
When you're living in a hallway
that keeps growing
I think to myself
[Four more minutes and fifty-two seconds]
and I'll be there.
--5 & 1/2 Minute Hallway/POE