Everything has been, very much amazing. I am not sure what they put in the water up here, but it has kept me sane and level. Straight, bro, I'm straight. As the kids say. But I can't give Nebraska all the credit. I have been taking steps.
I have been removing things from my life slowly, methodically.
Removing images, music, movies, alcohol, trying hard to pry memories that sear from my brain.
They creep back in the middle of the night sometimes, mostly when I slip and have some drinks, or he falls asleep and I lay there, staring upwards, rolling rolling rolling.
i've abandoned the capitalization, i must be in this.
i should slow down.
so i visit as often as i can.
i really do miss the east side, and the heat, and the people. the few i love, and painfully feel i need to see.
each time it has become more apparent. times are changing. i just want to talk about what had happened in this last visit. one of my caretakers have given all they can to me.
he stands on the porch and looks around. i feel the separation almost immediately. the last time i was here, he was able to come out for one night of my three, and this time, i know this will probably be our only interaction. i look at this man, my once fiercest protector, the whipping boy in my vicious blind white rage years, the one who loved me so much became so vulnerable i destroyed most of the better parts of him like a forest fire. small roots finally growing in his ashy wasteland of a heart and now he has a beautiful woman next to him and he has a life thankfully beyond that ugly shit. he takes care of our dog like a child. marty is fat and old and he walks over when tom sits on the edge of the bed and lays his graying face against his legs, looking up at him with so much affection i can't help but laugh. i look around the house i once lived in, this place. our paintings mingle on the walls, in a variety of outrageous colors, nudity, glue, and random mixed media. drawings in shitty frames, charcoal eyes staring. the giant canvasses that we all got a piece of, even tone.
but, the part that hurts the most.
i find the stacks of sketch pads.
the old ones. i look through them, never while hes around, i feel like they embarrass him, but i have to punish my self for the absolute SHITSTORM i was. the pages i want are in the middle, two of them. between amazing sketches of mechs and fantastical women and lots and lots of tentacles. i don't think i will ever forget what they are, but i can't share. i want to take them, or burn them. i don't know yet. i go find him outside, we chase the dog, laugh, he marvels at how long my hair is, we talk about the two people we love, and i buy him whataburger. marty gets his own fries. when i leave i feel so sad. turns out, that was the only time i would see him this visit. and probably for a long time. after returning home i send him the hardest text ever, telling him to go have his life, that i will be ok, that i am ok, that i will always love him and be here. he must have needed this, he just didn't know how to ask for it. i haven't heard from him since. it hurts, but it isn't devastating when i can convince myself i did the right thing by him.
meanwhile, back in SA, my soul mate is getting off of work, and i go to her.
We meet at her house and she laughs at the fact that she rented me a car and the first thing i did was scratch the back bumper in an HEB parking lot. god. the whole weekend is for us it seems. she shows me her new house, i meet her spaztastic dog and we get right into what we always do when we see each other now a days: breaking our lives down for the other. it is always a nonstop conversation of epic proportions with her. laying in her bed, on her back porch with all the seed pods from her trees falling dramatically around us, in the bars.
she chain smokes and asks me questions, i can't stop staring at her face.
we just don't stop, small white sticks to our lips, lighters flaring.
i miss her everyday, her fucking grace man, she has the biggest strongest and most willing heart of anyone i've ever met. she may just be the reason i still believe in love and compassion. from the earliest memory of her, she has the level headed logic of a police negotiator. she has hated me, saved me, and rehabilitated me. and i've tried with all of my bumbling efforts to help her in her life. i couldn't exist without her. her voice cracks when she says you don't know how much i miss you, and pretty soon it's cry fest 2013. but i think we both realize that no one else can touch the ugliest subjects with us like this. i don't talk about the baby with anyone but her, about losing my brother. i don't tell people about the horrific events that have unfolded in my life, and the same for her. we don't trust like normal people, but we trust each other. we are lucky. to have this outlet. we encourage the other to try to open up. it's a process. with lots of cigarettes and wine and dog kisses in between. i meet her amazing boyfriend. he's pretty special. i hope he stays. she makes puts the tom situation into perspective for me, which prompts the text i send him the next week. she makes it hurt less. fuck, she gives me hope. i love her so much. we really are just two girls trying to figure life out. cheese, i know. but our scars and bitterness are our tells that this shit is real.
After finding that my thought third best friend is an angry monster, i realize, i have uprooted.
i.... no longer feel much for the city i left in such a careless hurry. i cried for it for weeks after getting here, even with the beautiful snow and amazing job. following a man i hardly even fucking knew. curled into a ball i was convinced i miss so many things, so many feeling that now i am not sure were even real. did i imagine the magic? was there a veil over my eyes the whole time? i remember certain things now, like getting rolled in the middle school bathroom, gunshots at our first home and being thrown to the ground, cockroaches, yelling, sweltering heat. i still hold onto the hidden gems, like the shinier times of 2007, dancing, and finding the hidden hallway to nowhere downtown. but for the most part i wanted to leave behind the shell of the heartless, withering, aged so much beyond her years girl who just wanted to break everything she could, cut every pale inch, and use her words to kill any chance she had of a healthy relationship. and i just might have succeeded.
i feel like i am tricking everyone here, almost like i am lying.
i got to start over, is it fair?
shit. i hope so, because i need this man. need it. like water, like calm, like the finality of realizing this is my last chance to make a life. i think the next fall will actually kill me. my paper heart is so fragile i never feel it beat, just flutter. i used to hunger for people, reach uncaring through personal space and invade like a sickness. now i sit at home and do math on the computer. talk to the cat. make coffee. i don't even turn the tv on some days. i am a little lonely. but i need to rehabilitate. learn how to interact normally. it's coming along. slowly but surely, right?
i'm determined to make the most of this. so far, it is working. i can't ask for more. i still ache for texas, but now it is more whimsical and story like and i know it. there is the chance for a new life in nebraska.
these sunsets, my god.
these wonderful girls and boys i work with.
and of course, the man. he is trying. i hope he knows i am too.
just happy i still have this.