“It’s going to get worse before it gets better” It was the very beginning of April 2016 when I heard that familiar saying in my head driving to work. I had pending lab work about my liver which had higher enzymes than are considered healthy. I was worried for sure. My mom and I joked about her donating half of her liver for me since it regenerates anyways if we took half of hers it would grow back and the half she gave me would grow as well. It was the better part of a worse diagnosis that never came. My liver was fine. My mother wasn’t.
No one could have known what was about to happen to her as she went Wednesday afternoon to Stop & Shop as she does every week to care for her homebound mother. My mom would cook and clean, walk the dog, bring Nena to Doctor appointments. Both my parents lived with Nena caring for her daily until their renter moved. It was January 2016 when they moved back into their own home but still my mother’s commitment to her mother did not fade. She worked only a mile from Nena and continued to make meals and grocery shop as she was doing that day…
April 6, 2016 Wednesday 12:00 noon she parked her car and stepped off the curb onto a crosswalk with a stop sign in the middle heading straight to the front of Stop & Shop. One person was driving his company truck and “blew through” the stop sign he told police. She was there though. Now she’s gone.
The disappointment I feel for the driver and the police is immense and overpowering. I started taking anti-anxiety/depression medicine the next week which was always a plan for me as I am a very anxious person. At one point they were wondering if I am OCD, bi-polar, my mom thought I had ADHD as a child, but I think it’s all just anxiety. The Lexipro helped my anger issues. I wasn’t punching the kitchen cabinets or snapping at my beloved husband and two girls anymore. I was able to see it happen in my mind first and choose not to for the first time in my life it felt like what “self-control” should feel like. But the pain was still there, the loss, and all the indescribable things that come with it.
My sister-in-law stayed over. She smokes. I wanted to talk to her more so I smoked with her and I liked the calm high that settled me down to the moment of just sitting and talking. “This is what being in the moment must be like.” I thought. If only I could sleep without crying. Turns out there’s something else you can smoke for that.
In May I tried smoking pot. I had done in college but not well and not more than once. After a lot of coughing and learning how to smoke pot because it’s nothing like cigarettes I started to like it by June. The pot couch locked me. Finally I was still. Sooner after, still sometime in June, my husband and I were talking about what else I might like as well as what he might like. Somehow the conversation veered to a threesome fantasy and we watched adult videos to see how that would work since again, this was all new to me but I liked what I saw. I was turned on, interested and maybe happy about the idea. There are certain websites like when you’re single and looking to date for couples who are looking to swing.
By July we had one profile on two websites and a few conversations going. Neither of us knew how to date another couple but luckily there was a house party we were invited to so we went. I smoked first, puked on the way, drank wine and vodka shots and smoked more there. I ran around in my bikini and skinny dipped in their beautiful pool. I made out with three different men and I think two women. One man was an exceedingly good kisser, the other was a great conservationist who held my interest and intrigue. The first was just an offer to see how my husband would respond when watching me kiss another man. It was silly fun but the other two I would kiss again.
So here I am. Almost four months after hearing the phrase, “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” and I can’t help but wonder if I am making it worse…
I want someone to see me. To read my words and know my soul. To feel my pain and be in anguish with me just long enough to know it’s real and then show me how to get out of it. Ironically, there is only one name I can think of that can accomplish this and it’s not easy to accept. I was taught and I believe what I am describing matches what Jesus does for people but idk how He could from heaven. Idk how He could be here for me. How I could talk to Him the way I want to, lay with him just to lay down in sorrow. I lay in bed a lot and I want someone there with me, holding me, whispering things to me, reading to me… How can He do these things?
I want to feel anything else but this loss. I may be using the swingers erotic lifestyle as an illusion to what I truly want because it feels good. I was the half naked girl running around, slipping out to smoke when I needed to be grounded.
My therapist said something about me being in a state of transformation. I believe her. There has been an enormous change to who I am, who I was. I have been accepting more and more that we are never just one person. I joke with myself about being a bi-polar Gemini so at any time I am at least four things but truly it’s moment by moment we define ourselves. At that party, in the moments we shared there, I didn’t have the loss weighing so heavily, crushing my breath like I am being pulled to the grave as well.
“Does destiny pull us forward like gravity pushes us down?” I once asked in a poem I wrote years ago and it has been like a string I am following; a delicate fantasy that there is guidance somewhere if I can hold onto the right… I hate that word. “Right” I don’t feel like there is such a thing as right or wrong anymore. How can there be?
Everyone knows what happened to my mother was WRONG – there is no dispute; however, the driver, the man who admits he blew thru the stop sign, “Didn’t do anything illegal” because Stop & Shop is fucking private property and that stop sign was a fucking suggestion and the crosswalk is a fucking JOKE! It’s all WRONG!!! FUCK YOU ALL!!!