I am guilty of being inscrutable. Somebody once told me, “It’s always all or nothing with you,” and he was right. I am incredibly outgoing or the most hermit-like introvert you’ve ever met (I have to save up for my extrovert moments); utterly joyful and cheerful or pretty mopey and sad; best friend or just not there. It’s maybe more accurate to say it’s always both, with me, but I choose one or the other just to keep my sanity.
It’s dishonest, I know. It’s hard to trust what my voice and face are saying is what’s really going on because usually there’s a lot going on in my head and heart and I just choose “blank,” usually, for the sake of ease, to avoid explaining the convoluted emotional knots I’ve tied myself into. I understand precisely how frustrating it makes interaction with me. I don’t know how else to be. “Myself” is just plain overwhelming.
I’m rambling because I’m especially sad and anxious today, and given that I usually don’t allow myself an outlet for my raging torrents of sadness and anxiety, I need one. Today’s the day, a year ago, my marriage ended. It’s silly to assign a single day to it, because the poor thing had been gasping and floundering for months, but there was a day when it came down to stay-and-fix or leave-and-end, and for all intents and purposes that decision was made on March 28th.
You’d think a year would be plenty of time to process, sort, and get over a relatively short marriage, but I’m finding it’s no time at all; even though I’ve gained and lost so much in that year, I feel like I’m still in the same place, still in that living room, watching all the faith and love and mistakes I’d made for seven years melt away in bad communication and deeply hurt feelings.
It’s been a hard month in a hard year. I wrecked my truck, watched things get a lot worse for my mom and sister, felt my passenger anxiety return, dealt with the physical aftermath of the car accident (not bad, but my knees are still healing and I can’t stay warm to save my life), dealt with the emotional aftermath of dealing with my ex after he assisted me post-wreck, dealt with my usual ups and downs and fears, magnified by the ever-present conviction I’m going to mess this up, too. “This” being everything large and small, from my apprenticeship to what I’m making for dinner to the bees I’m raising.
I’ve lost grip, for a moment, on my usually fearsome joy. I need that joy; it protects me from reading too much into my present reality. The sun is shining and we’re going to do some harvesting today, so it won’t be gone for long, because I love the work I do and because it gives me hope. I’m going to call my family members and friends and write e mails and get out of this self-pitying funk, because the people I love are always what get me out of funks. I’m going to put on my blank face, again, and tamp it down, and the 28th will turn into the 29th, and life will go on.
Anneliese Marvel 