Monday, December 1, 2008

Away

First blog in months. The last one was the aptly oh-so prophetic, "Can I Count the Ways". Ha.

I'm not even going to begin to explain where those past few months have disappeared to. Perhaps in not doing so, all is explained already, through the layers of assumptions forming as you read this.

Friday, our sick, twisted little experiment in love and domesticity will lay ruined at my feet--characterized by piles of records, books and clothes waiting to be neatly stacked into moving boxes. I will, no doubt, have to climb the last set of the stairs to the roof regularly to be able to catch my breath. This apartment is crushing me.

Lately, this place that I knew instantly was meant to be home has filled with a thick fog of despair, resulting in the disarray of an otherwise tidy existence. Dishes go unwashed. Animal hair piles up in the corners and under furniture, every now and then becoming a tumbleweed moving slowly across the floor in the draft. I can only stay here as long as I can keep my mind distracted. As soon as my hands become idle, I feel myself slipping deeper into the fog. I need to focus.

My volume has two settings: numb and searing. I alternate between the two without repose. Violent images of breaking things, tearing down these walls that constrain me, flash through my head, only to be met with an indifferent yet reproachful chuckle coming from my subconscious at my absurdity. It's different this time.


Last time, two years and some loose change ago, it felt like someone took a bag of sand and flung it into my chest as hard as they could. I was left breathless, lifeless. A piece of me was removed forcefully and violently while I tried to recover from the initial hit. I groped in the dark, trying to reclaim what was rightfully mine, but it was already gone. The hurt did not go away despite the vast attempts I made to make it disappear or at least dull. I didn't breathe for months.

Until one day, laying in a green field under an ancient oak tree, a light Autumn breeze ruffling the leaves, when he came back and with him, my breath. The ache slowly subsided, till it became a distant memory--rehashed only in nightmares that left me lying awake, damp with perspiration.

I believe I always knew it wouldn't last. I believe that I kidded myself for two years after that sunny day in the park. I believe I was aware that love would really never be enough. That I would never be enough. But I pretended. And I was happy.

He gave me hints all along. A few short weeks before we moved here, he already talked about moving elsewhere--San Francisco, Germany. He talked about going to school in faraway places. Places I would not be able to follow.

Still, the hints never prepared me for actually hearing him say it. And when he did, it was like someone had again taken my breath away with the heavy velocity of a flying sandbag. My world, my seemingly perfect little world that I labored to build, crumbled under the weight of his words. I tried to salvage what I could, but realized I was grasping at straws and finally let go.

The ache, this time, dull and dilute, nagging at me every time I let my brain wander. It reminds me of what I always knew, especially when he pulls me near at night, especially then, when I am more alone than ever before.

So I don't let my mind wander. And as moving day draws near, I find I don't even have the time to let it travel down the paths it chooses. I'm leaving Pleasant Avenue, my little block with trees, church bells, school children and nuns. I'm leaving Harlem, where you can hear the city's heart beat in the dark of night. I'm leaving Manhattan, that famed island that I, and many others, have held on a pedestal for so long, only to be disappointed.

3 comments:

jennifer said...

Go to the library, get "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn" and reread it. Then start breathing and embrace your new home. I've got a feeling the very best chapter of your life so far is about to begin!
Much love, Aunt Jen

Amanda said...

You are strong and brave and wonderful and you deserve to have someone that recognizes all your beautiful qualities and loves them along with the few minor impefections. He will realized what he has lost and then it will be too late. Moving forward, moving on, and just plain moving across town will be great for you. Love you baby - Amanda

sara said...

you break my heart. thank you for opening up and talking about it. Breathing will come- it may take a very long time. But just as your certain you never will be able too again- something will happen and smack the wind right back into those alveoli! Dont fret- you got the better end of the deal, he's moving on to well ... nothing. i love you- let edward and bella carry you thru!