Observations

A reflection of May, now, etc.

The gray rolled in at dusk in May and lingered until afternoon the next day, usually. It’s another time stamp, this familiar gray. Another reminder of where we are. The mundane that I recognize outside my window, the clink of a dog’s leash, the rolling of tires on the asphalt, the trash collection on Fridays before the sun has fully risen, seconds of passersby phone conversations, the shutting of doors, the jacaranda tree outside my window that never turned fully into purple, despite my wishes. Sometimes, music from an open car window much too loud. Last night, the soundtrack of a nearby party. I make a conscious choice to be grateful for these things as they ground me in my new reality. Sitting at my dining room table, I resent its size. I wonder the next time each chair will be filled like they were in December. I remember them running around here. Rummaging in my dresser for a pair of clean underwear, I find a baby sock and chose to leave it there, along with the toddler sized white t-shirt.

In the bookstore as usual, I asked Rachel a question about him, unanswerable by either of us, but thought I’d try anyhow. I think your needing to know that answer is your OCD, she said, sorry, I’m not trying to be hard on you. I told her she wasn’t, and that her observation was correct, noticing my compulsion immediately. I’d always been rejected, wondering if it was really about me afterall, and not them like they promised. I do this with friends a lot, asking them questions they can’t know the answer to, hoping their answer will somehow make the pain I feel a little less. It’s a neediness that is unfair. I compared my compulsions to an exorcism, the cliche image of a girl being dragged across a hardwood floor, arms stretched as far as they can go, and a cut bleeding somewhere on her face. We laughed.

My shrink pointed this out last week, she said I don’t present the best parts of myself, but rather the most needy, which repels a lot of people away eventually. I felt myself, this afternoon, again, needing to be rescued. I found myself somehow, again, on my knees unexpectedly next to my bed, head bowed with my hands on my face, wanting reassurance from someone, but feeling too guilty to ask for it.

I thought about how different and how strange my life was, how it felt so the same but different. I wondered why it satisfied me to fall apart this way. It was the only way I knew how so of course I did it. I thought about calling someone and looked at my recent call log and felt guilt again. I didn’t know if it was okay or me putting my problems on someone. I checked the time in Japan where Devon was, relieved it was 8:07 am and that maybe I’d hear from her soon.

Once again I could not sense if I was faking it or making a real attempt, if I was actually okay. I figured, again, both likely.