Reassemble

I'm a little sad to find out that it's been over a year since I've written anything. I've been wanting to, but to be honest I've kind of avoided this blog like the plague after all of a sudden it turned from a cry of joy into a broken mess of unpleasant memories.

I'm also a little sad to find out that after a whole year I'm really not okay with what happened. The dust has cleared and I'm not on the verge of throwing myself in front of a freight train anymore, of course, but instead of feeling like a wrought iron rod just impaled me through the stomach, now it feels like a bruise. You know, one of those bruises that doesn't hurt unless you touch it and then you can feel how sore it is. But here's where I'm at -- about 16 months ago I had everything I needed. I had a great home, a car, a cell phone, a job, and someone I loved so much it made my heart scream. Right now I have none of those things. I spiraled out of control and completely stopped caring. So I think it's time to implement some optimism before I spontaneously combust.

I have a job interview at a call center tomorrow. That's actually what made me want to write again. I couldn't bring myself to write before because all I could think to write about was something whiny. I guess now I just feel like keeping a sort of log of progress, something to keep me motivated in a positive way. You know, making improvements on my life so I have something to write about, and write so I'm inspired to make those improvements. I suppose it sounds like something a therapist would tell me to do, but I really don't care; I'm 26 and age is starting to terrify me. More than anything I'm scared of wasting one more second at rock bottom because I'm too busy feeling sorry for myself. I don't want to blink and be 30 with nothing to show for.

I was thinking about everything that happened and that old cliche about how things that don't kill you make you stronger. I don't want to sound like a buzz kill, but I really don't think it's made me stronger. If anything I feel tired, different, older. And then I thought, why look at tragedy as a catalyst for personal development? I've heard people say that every stumble is just another beautiful stroke of color on a painting, but maybe it's not. Maybe we're like mosaics. We're broken into pieces and then put back together again in some new and different way. Maybe it's a matter of metaphorical death and rebirth instead of hammer-and-nail improvements. And maybe that's just as beautiful.

Thwarted attempts

I think I might be a little better. I think. It's hard to tell, because I still have the occasional moment in which I crash and burn, but the good news is that I'm not ready to jump in traffic to escape the pain anymore. I'm somewhat cynical about depression; I don't have a whole lot of patience with it for the most part. Going through it was, and at times is, completely vomit-worthy.

I'm 100% positive that I will never fall out of love with them. It's something I'll take with me to my grave, and it's also something that makes me want to break things. It gets in the way of so much. For example, I just started seeing someone. Too soon? Almost certainly, but I refuse to wallow in self pity and mourning any longer and have decided that I'm quite simply a person who thrives the most in companionship. Unfortunately, after three dates, I find myself unable to attach in any way despite the fact that they're pretty awesome. My brain keeps repeating, "They're not the same. They don't have the same smile. One of their eyelids isn't bigger than the other. They can't measure up."

There's no reason for me to be thinking this way -- the person I'm seeing now is practically flawless, and they're so overwhelmed with me that after three dates I keep thinking they're going to tell me they love me. And yet I could care less. I'm so uninterested -- when they're telling a story or something I find myself blanking out. It's horribly unfair to them, but I keep talking to them and keep planning dates with them because I hope I'll cross some sort of threshold and the clouds will part. I do have common decency and a conscience though, so if I don't start to feel an organic growth soon, I'll cut it before it gets any more serious.

It just keeps getting better

I went to bed on New Year's Eve feeling somewhat optimistic. I was still feeling pretty ruined, but I had an idea that I was going to be able to move forward in a way that before I didn't think I would be able. When I woke up on January 1st, I got a phone call from a correctional facility in Elk River. I couldn't take it because it was a collect call and apparently you need to have an account ahead of time. In any case, there they were, in jail.

After spending the next two days holding my head firmly between my hands to prevent it from bursting into flames, I got another call, this one not collect. As it turns out, they were trying to cross the border of Canada to take a plane from Mexico from there because it was cheaper that way. At the border, the police searched the suitcases and found pay stubs proving that they had worked illegally here in the U.S. I was smashed into pieces all over again. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake, I love you, please God, J.R., help me." I think the most awful part was having been so ready to make some sort of progress in reconstruction. Then in one fell swoop I was dragged right back in to it all.

I've spent the last couple of weeks busting my ass trying to find a suitable and affordable lawyer to help with the case. I went to visit them yesterday ( for the second time -- needless to say the first time was the equivalent of a knife plunging into my stomach and twisting to and fro ). When I got there, the sheriff at the desk informed me that they weren't there, that they were in court. Immigration sends planes out to Mexico every Wednesday after trials. I got another collect call later in the evening which, again, I couldn't take. Considering the fact that the call came from the correctional facility once again, I'm taking that as evidence that the public defender failed to persuade the judge into a pardon, and tomorrow they'll be on a plane back to Mexico, where, even if they wanted to, ten years will pass before they can ever come back.

During the first conversation I had with them, they said that they wanted to be with me and planned to return, but that they needed to get away for a few weeks. I'm a bit naive, I won't lie, but in this case I don't know if they appealed to my heart because they needed help or because it was the truth, but either way I feel like I'm falling. These past couple of days my stomach has relentlessly maintained that barbaric over-the-peak-of-the-roller-coaster feeling and I feel a mixture of wretched desperation and despair. I'm choosing words that sound cheesy, but it's the God's-honest truth; I feel like I'm dying.

I suppose I need to talk to them more. If the heart-wrenching begging and promising was just a bag of bullshit meant to sway me into helping out, then fuck-shit-fuck. But if not, if further conversation proves the validity of a promised continuance of a life together, I'm pretty sure I'm prepared to make the return trip to Mexico. The thought scares the daylights out of me, but I think the alternative, never seeing them again for the rest of my life, scares me more. I think that after careful soul-investigating consideration, this might make me a bit of a weakling -- that, even after being ripped to shreds by someone who would have no problem turning their back on me, I would still be willing to throw my life as I know it away for the second time might say I'm a masochist or an idiot or both. But really, my heart hurts and I'm lonely and I think I would do whatever it takes not to feel this way anymore.

I can't wait for the day when I have something else to write about.

I hope.

2008 was the best and worst year of my life. When I moved back in January I was happier than I've ever been. And now at the very end I'm a miserable train wreck. My hope for 2009 is that I can find, in some nook or cranny, solace and redefine some measure of happiness in my life. I want to never make these mistakes again. I want to wipe this shitty-ass year from my memory entirely. I want to pull some serious phoenix shit. I don't know how it's going to happen, but it's what I hope for myself for this new year.

By the way, I feel like I should say -- I love you so much. I'm not entirely sure I'll ever be able to love someone the same way I loved you. I would have died in an instant without second thought for you. When I think of you my whole heart swells and I swear to God it will burst. I'm scared out of my fucking mind of the day when you start to fade and I can't remember your face anymore. Please don't go away entirely, I swear I'll do anything if you just stay in my heart a little bit so I can breathe. I hate you for doing this to me but I promise I'll love you forever.

That was the hardest thing I've ever written.