Well, it was a long week. And, I reached out a few times and many posts were not posted.
I’ll start with this so you may understand my absence.
And in the words of Mr. Gump. That’s all I have to say about that.
The weekend she passed … here’s what I was doing.
A hike to Richardson Ranch. This was the beginning of our adventure. A friends dog stayed with me, probably because she knew I was the weakest link.
The ‘noose tree’ – We found it like that a long time ago. I truly hope it wasn’t used for it’s intention. I truly hope it was designed to haul folks out of the dirt road.
Part Three: I explore Richardsons’ Ranch.
Moved on from there and …
Then this happened. You know, they say ‘Don’t hike alone’ for a reason. You could sprain an ankle, be struck by a snake, lose yourself. Which, in this case, happened. The lose yourself part.
We got home.
One more thing. I’m watching ‘A Beautiful Mind’ and the doctor is telling John, “You can’t reason your way out of this!”. Almost verbatim to my doctor telling me “You can’t smart your way out of this.” Meaning, the anxiety.
But, I’ve made so much progress.
I can drive home.
I can drive to work.
I still do the rituals – my OCD is not going to leave me soon, but will.
I ask myself, things like: How many times have you HIT a coyote?
How many times have you been in a crash?
How many times has a steer or rock fell off of the pass onto the road (yes, I thought about those things.)
I used logic, even while panicking.
I still acknowledge the unknown, as well as the very known – every cross on that road I take twice a day – but, now I make things practical in my head.
I don’t know what my friend went through in her last days, but I’m betting she didn’t see a light. I’m betting no phone call or visit would have changed her state of mind.
I am here.
I want to be here.
I am making strives without medicinal help.
And – Bye for NOW.
As I said in my earlier post, the laundromat was empty. I had clothes in the dryer by the time another patron came in.
She was stunning.
She seemed lost.
She approached the detergent dispensary by my table and asked, “This doesn’t take change?”
“No”, I told her “You have to use your card.”
And she got the detergent and then took her meager load of laundry to a machine. I didn’t think much of it after that – I was writing my post.
She came back.
Hair in a disheveled pony tail – no make up, still drop dead gorgeous.
“If someone went between your legs and took everything, and they’re not your boyfriend, is that wrong?”
I glanced up, was momentarily confused and shocked at such an out of nowhere comment and then, “Um, yeah, that’s wrong.”
Not even sure what she was talking about. But it sounded wrong. And the childlike, confused look on HER face, immediately engaged me.
This woman obviously needed to chat. This woman was also either on something, or had a mental issue. This woman was so beautiful and SO lost.
“What if someone makes you sell everything? What if someone puts cameras in your car?”
“Um, yeah – that doesn’t sound good either.”
“Yes! OK, that’s wrong.”
(How does she not know this?)
Other comments she made:
“People tell me I’m beautiful, but I’ve been hit so many times, it’s amazing I can even smile anymore.”
“This is a small town right? A lot of gossip?”
“I’m so broke.”
“I think I’m going to go into prostitution, this (as she directed attention to her face and body) is all I have.”
“I spent $5,000 on a broken tooth, that’s wrong, right?”
“I have no one to hold me at night – I need someone to take care of me.”
“I have panic attacks, you know, in that show, Modern Family, there’s this guy who freaks out over birds, that’s me!”
“You know, at our age (after she confirmed she was Sophia Vegara’s age – who is in her latter 30’s, so you know I appreciated being included in ‘that age’ when I wasn’t lol) our menstrual cycles change!”
By this time, I’d already invited her to my table.
“You ARE beautiful.”
“No, don’t do that.”
“You need to work on yourself, stay away from toxic people.”
“You get to decide who you want to be, let the right ones in.”
“Yeah! Yeah!” She said. “That’s what a police officer said to me.
“Do you think people with money want to hurt you? I don’t want a mansion.”
“Nah, I said, you don’t. Too much to clean.”
That got a laugh.
After dozens of disconnected questions and back and forth, I was now folding.
“Come here.” I said.
And held her. Her small arms wrapped around me and we were alone in that laundromat and something strange and purposeful was happening.
“I’m here every Sunday.” I said.
I wanted to give her my card – but there was a part of me that didn’t feel like I had the right advice for her.
Who am I?
Who am I to give advice?
But I think I was in the right place at the right time.
“My name is Jenna … and you are?”
“Amanda …. thank you.”
And at that moment, I knew she would be in my head.
She’s staying at a hotel. She doesn’t have a job. She used to model.
“Jenna, sometimes the rich are more miserable than you can imagine – those that have ‘enough’ usually don’t have ulterior motives, they are giving what they can from their heart. ”
“I have no one to hold me at night. I have no one to take care of me.”
“You have to take care of yourself. Learn to be alone. Learn to love yourSELF. Then you’ll attract the right people.”
Her childlike responses – her manic bouncing just endeared her to me.
Then I remembered, I wouldn’t be at the laundromat next Sunday.
And all I can think about right now is Jenna.
And how I should have given her my card.
She needs a friend. A healthy friend.
I wonder right now, what is she doing?
I almost want to show up next Sunday, no matter what. Get out of SELF and be a friend to someone who needs one.
I will try.
Because I think I need her as much as she needs a friend.
Indulge me – and my foul mood.
You know, I read a friends blog who has Aspergers, and a common thread that I pull from her carefully woven words is that she is trying to process the world around her and her place in it. But what I feel from her words to a degree of envy, is that she knows herself.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
I feel, right now, like a bundle of contradictions – my muscles and my gut tight with the many facets of me that don’t play well with one another.
I despise liars, cannot stand to lie – yet lie to myself.
I cry at romantic movies, and a part of me yearns for the fairy tale ending, while the rest of me knows no one could possibly scale the walls I’ve built around me.
I abhor child abuse – and yet, just this afternoon I spat ugly words over the phone at my son after I perceived that he lied to me, when he was suddenly ‘not hungry’ after I asked him what he wanted from the shop for dinner rather than a drive thru. The sudden, let down, it’s-not-good-enough tone of his voice hit me where it hurt. I seethed. Thinking, ‘Ingrate’. And let him have it.
I might as well have slapped him, because I know how painful venomous words are.
I am impulsive and ugly. I am better alone.
I am always so desperate to please, then resentful that people take so much from me.
I am contradiction incarnate.
And now I am home – and the door to my sons room is closed, and the light is off. And we may as well be a thousand miles apart.
And we are.
I’m in my self-hatred and he is probably letting a nap take him after licking his wounds.
I won’t open his door.
I am stubborn. I am grateful for every day and painfully aware of how, without warning there can be no more days – and yet I squander them.
I don’t plan for the future.
I am content with ‘enough’, yet also settle.
I work hard – I give and I give all that I have. And I am tired. I am not well.
Somedays I only know what day it is because my pill-box reminds me.
I count my blessings, and neglect them.
I am 43 and responsible – and inside right now I just want to curl into the smallest ball I can muster and sob my soul right out of me.
I’ve never felt so alone, and yet have so many friends.
I say I’ll bare it all on my blog and yet, almost every post I find I edit in some way.
Well not this one.