So, this weekend was the 5th anniversary of my husband's death. Sad, I know. I spent most of the weekend (who am I kidding. . .this whole week) crying. Not so much about his death, but what has transpired since.
The tears started on friday night. . .the actual time and day he died. I was in my beloved teacher training. We were coming to the end of a DRAINING 3 hour practice. All 30 of us taught the entire group at one point, while being verbally coached by Claire. If you've been through a yoga teacher training, you know this can be physically and emotionally exhausting. I was in Janu Sirsasana (seated, hinged over my right leg) when the tears came. Greg died at night, it was dark by then. My eyes were closed. I was no longer equipped to keep any emotion in. Crying at teacher trainings (or any time in yoga) is pretty commonplace. I was in a safe environment and received a lot of love from everyone in the room. The most amazing part of that particular experience was my friend, Carole, was teaching at the time. Unbeknownst to me, she had read my status update about Greg earlier in the day. She decided, that night, she was going to dedicate her practice to me. The fact that I cried when she started to teach can't be a coincidence. I will be forever grateful to Carole for thinking of me and allowing me to release something that I desperately needed to.
I was so touched by all the love and support I received, so effortlessly, over the weekend. It got me thinking. A lot has happened in 5 years. A LOT. Nothing Earth shattering, but a roller coaster nonetheless. I was depressed, lonely, filled with self loathing and self-doubt. I did everything in my power to stop myself from moving forward with my life. I THOUGHT I was moving forward, but I was just pivoting in a circle. Sometimes really quickly, sometimes slowly. I hit rock bottom with my drinking when I passed out and nearly bleed to death. That wasn't enough to stop me from drinking. What finally made me take action was looking in the mirror and knowing I could never drink in safety. I would drink until I died if I let myself and I WOULD let myself. I decided I valued my life to much to allow that to happen. I finally came to a place of acceptance. I've been free ever since.
So. . .here I sit, exactly 18 months later. It hasn't been a pleasure cruise, I can tell you that, but it's been more than worth it. Not only am I "me" again, I'm starting to like and respect myself. Damn, right?! It's a good feeling. Sometimes. The times that are tough are when I think about the men in my life since Greg. That's when the walls fall in and the bottom drops out.
Every man I've been involved with has treated me like hammered shit. Not in an abusive way (violence against women makes me sick on an entirely different level, so for my own sanity, I'll just deal with the douches on hand) but in a way that demonstrated a complete lack of care or respect. I was dumped over the phone after a boyfriend told me he "just wasn't falling in love with me." I had a guy tell me he was just not the type of guy to get married, only to marry the next girl he dated. I've been told I text/call too much. I was on a date where the guy was high as a kite. I've been told I don't text/call enough. I've been promised trips to St. Barths, NYC, Rome. . .and then never heard from the guy again. That's the newest and most popular. A complete drop off the face of the Earth. Nothing bad happens mind you, just a total shut down of communication. Why? No idea. There must be a syndicate of men out there who communicate with each other. I picture them sitting around in some super-villian like headquarters with a chart of me super imposed on the wall. I see them wringing there hands together, knowing the plot is to date me, allow me to believe we have a future together, then just stop returning my texts. Buwahhhhahahahahah.
Yeah, hilarious. Why? Why is it OK for me to be treated like that? What happened to a little compassion and respect? What happened to men who want an attractive girl who has her shit together and a couple of good eggs left? People keep telling me they're out there, but have yet to provide me with an address. I love and appreciate all my friends. . .but telling me "I deserve better" is like telling someone who is out of work "you deserve a job." That's nice of you and all. . .but at the end of the day, I'm still jobless . . .and manless.
Yes, I know it can be good to be single. But come on. . .I'm HUMAN. As a species we WANT to group together and procreate. Blame evolution, not me. All I'm saying is I just want someone who loves me as much as I love them. Someone who values me as a human being. I think I deserve that. I can finally say that with some confidence. I was a doormat for years because I didn't think I was any better than an actual doormat. So yes, I like myself now. Finding a guy who feels the same way? That's when it doesn't feel so good.
To wrap up another terribly rambling blog post, I call to mind one of my favorite movies, About Schmidt. Without going into a long explanation about the movie, Warren Schmidt seems to lose everything he identifies with in one fell swoop. His job, his wife, his best friend. The only thing he has left is his 4 year old sponsor child in Africa and his daughter. . .who he's loosing to a waterbed salesman with a mullet. He tries to stop the marriage, with no luck. One would think Warren has had everything taken from him. But, in actuality, it was like the Universe was giving him his life back. HIS life. Warren's LIFE. He could now do anything he wanted with it. I was given that same opportunity. My life was handed back to me. I could destroy it, or I could live it the way it deserved to be lived. Thank God I failed at destroying it. I tried. Now, all I can do is march on with a tremendous amount of gratitude of for the Universe has returned to me.
But Universe? Just one favor? I'd like a nice guy in my life. . . .but please don't make him a Colorado waterbed salesman named Randall Hertzel. With a creepy mustache and a mullet. Thanks in advance. xoxo
