Fireworks and Trips

We argued in the morning.  We didn’t have to.  But he left and started his tantra without me.  And this wouldn’t have bothered me (I was feeling highly self-aware about chanting together), except that we had agreed to do it together.  And then when I asked him about it, he didn’t know.

He was upset because he felt like I was unhappy or uncomfortable with the event he was putting together for that Friday.

We were honoring our one year.  And I felt sorry for myself that that was how it was coming to fruition.  Disconnected.

But we moved past it.  Talked through it.  Fussed around it.

Then we ate Thai food and took some mushrooms.  Which is really why I wanted to write here.

The last trip I had was pretty benign.  Opening, healing, smooth.  This one was bigger, wider, more raw, scarier.  We lay together in bed and pressed our foreheads against each other and ventured off.  Immediately, I was torn apart.

I visioned that I was in a canoe paddling through a river of fallen giant red petals.  And I was watching the red petals fall from the giant red flowers.  But the thing is, the petals, they were babies.  And I was horribly, horribly sad.  I almost (or maybe did?) said out loud, “I would have loved them.”  I cried big, ugly tears.  And I knew that this was me having to let go of having kids in the future.  With my relationship with Drew often lacking security, I now know I cannot plan on more kids.  I cannot hurt myself (and him) by making that a core intent of ours.

And I watched a Shaman kill Drew.  Stab him in a big and dramatic motion.  And another couple held me back as I screamed and sobbed.  But they weren’t formed people, they were just yellow.

And there was a dark and ominous form and I was deep in an anthill.

And Drew was a hornet, dangerous and looming.

At one point, I touched his face and said: “say something.”  I just needed to know he was real.

But at another point, eyes open, largely aware of reality, I watched his face change to insidious and aggressive and I feared him.  I pulled back.

I watched black men with dreads come at him and I watched little boys carry weapons and go into war.  And I watched them cry because they didn’t want to.

I felt myself fade into a million colors.

We went outside (literally, ha) and sat in the rain and watched the trees (which earlier, were making monstery faces at me).  I rested my head back and felt the raindrops hit me in the face.

We went back inside and back to his bed and a song came on and I mourned the loss of my country little life with my small family before I separated from Zach and moved out.  I missed a life I never had but also did.

And I realized how deeply I was disappointed that I was me.  That I looked the way I looked (body shape, skin texture, hair).  Just disappointed that I was me.  This also was a really hurtful realization, because I spend so much time leaning into the things I like about myself and that I’m good at.

Eventually, we came down.  And ordered a delicious pizza.

I know I’m sad.  I know I am deeply sad and when I stop moving, the loss of my dreams, my identity, my normalcy, my father – all get loud.  But I didn’t know how terrified I was and have been.  So, so scared of uncertainty.  That I feel unsafe and unloved and that I’m doomed for loss most of the time.  Afraid of the reality that is the uncertainty fo my life and afraid that anything other than this is a lie.


Kate {lose yourself}

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