My mouse is rolling on a book called Big Girls Don’t Cry — The Election That Changed Everything For American Women. Today I am living proof that big girls cry. It isn’t the first time today I’ve given into that particular release. Also, the election … it didn’t change everything for women. For instance, I still have ovaries and a period and one of my ovaries is still pretty mean to me. Given that I am in my last days of this wonderful July-August episode of menses I believe that you should take the truth in this and hug it and the over-emotional and appreciate it like you’d appreciate abstract art or the humor in throwing up from car sickness only to ride by later and see birds feeding off the nourishment you couldn’t keep down. It has been the late in coming, never ending period. I’m bleeding slowly, birthing the invisible nothing. Cramping out everything but the answers.
This afternoon I said I don’t want to die, but I also don’t know how to live. I’m not a “give-upper.” I’ve been the person for a quite awhile that doesn’t understand why people don’t risk bein brave. I like being brave, not always in the midst of it, but I’ve always liked leaping and having to hang tight to God — seeing what He can do when I have to stretch. I’ve been stretching for months now. So, far even, that I’m not sure I’ll elasticize back into something that is recognizable for me. Maybe that’s good and maybe it isn’t — maybe it’s hormones.
I’m so tired. My body is exhausted more hours a day than the moments it dances. I once lit up everything. Some days I feel like a shell trying to be the moon, with only a memory of how to glow, trapped in sand and drowned by the water that’s meant to refresh it. I’ve been chronically ill for so long now — it’s a bore even to talk about. It certainly hasn’t made me more interesting or appealing to be around in this town that I thought crushed my spirit but I’m pretty sure it was all the twists, turns, “let-gos,” and changes. I thought I was a trapeze artist, but you can only catch for so long before you get stuck in the net. So, I breathe.
The week after vacation was triumph. It wasn’t health but it was more energy. It was more activity. It was pushing and moving and the hint of night light. And then I got so sick again. So tired. Back to the heavy body, the swollen tummy, and the struggle to walk straight when it felt like I was walking on a belt that only moved sideways. I have a thorn and if my spirit has a side, I think that’s where it lives. I had someone tell me once that maybe I was trying too hard. Well, that’s how I remember it. She said for me just to be Amanda. So many people loved and cared. She’s probably the only Russian I’ve ever missed. Mainly because she was the only one I ever knew. I haven’t spoken to her in years and I don’t hear her that much anymore because well, I learned to hear myself. Love me. Depend only on God.
Still, I feel trapped in a body that won’t let me do all the things I want to do, in a life that for some reason I resist the things I love, I feel numb, I fight and try and do everything I know to do and the solutions aren’t there.
I feel like I was put on this earth to change it for the better. To find the beautiful. To share a story. And maybe this is another part of that story. My homeless friend Irene made me a work of art last week. She drew me a paradise.
Tonight I am struggling. I know I am blessed. But it’s easier to peek through that keyhole of all I want and yet can’t make happen when I’m bleeding and emotional. My period was late. For the second time, in six months I was late. This time it was different. I wasn’t as sick, all the symptoms weren’t there, but I guess hope comes with something being different. I suppose that went you’re not married being late can be really scary. I have a lot of love for it. However, it has hurt me twice. Less, this time around. I was ready to hold, meet, to tell her she’s beautiful, to tell her she’s loved … It makes sense that all of that would come when I’m healthy. A lot of things hinge on that and the wellness hides just outside of my grasp. I can breathe, talk, most of the times walk straight, and I’m thankful.
I want to jog, ride bikes, I want to do things with friends, find adventures, and not have to bail out of readings. At times, I let myself be. Today I felt trapped. I go home and go to work. As much as I love my husband, most of the time we see just each other. I’m like snow white sleeping. The prince there to kiss, but without the thing I crave — the dwarves (well, the community). All my snuggle friends are far away. I described it to a friend, a fellow Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland lover in a land meant for faeries at night time and bare feet dancing in a Cape Cod pub. It’s those girls that your friends with that you can just snuggle with on the couch and read or watch a movie or listen to music. You don’t even have to say anything. But those type of friends take a long time to root with and well all my live in forests far, far away having there own adventures.
Nashville has led to little community. For a introvert who loves her alone time, I’m also a craver of community. I am loved most by quality time. I suffer in a social media age. It feels kind of like waiting on the sunshine in the winter. The truth is it feels like everything hinges on my health and admittedly, fear and stress were hindering that for awhile and then they weren’t. But still no well enough to have the things I’m dreaming of come true. Not well enough to go after what I want. Just well enough to be still. I am trusting God even though I’ll feel somewhat clost to Him from a distance. I suppose everyone goes through seasons of loss and struggle and change. I pray for direction. I am hungering for meaning, because I love His whispers. I love looking for the beauty in things. I love finding gratitude in the moments. But I am weary and worn and my eyes they’re not lit from within like they used to be.
The truth is I have the best husband in the whole world. The truth is God has given me so many desires of my heart. The truth is I am loved by so many people. The truth is that I get to share my words. The truth is that I get to talk to the homeless. The truth is I have a job where people are kind and like my help. The truth is that I took a chance for a relationship I believed in and so, the transition wasn’t easy but the relationship is worth it.
The truth is happiness isn’t a feeling.
The truth is I won’t be tired and stuck forever.
The truth is there has to be meaning and purpose.
God is too big to keep me around for no reason.
Not after all the times He’s healed me before.
I love Him.
I’m having trouble finding my happy.
I need …