(Emotional) Vomit on the Dance Floor

The other night, I sat cross-legged on my bed crying what would have been uncontrollably, if I’d dared try. As my tear ducts emptied themselves, salty water cleansing my face and penetrating my ex-boyfriend’s “Millsaps College Football” T-shirt, I mindlessly caressed my left arm with my right hand. As the crying grew more desperate, I noticed my caress turned to a rough, menacing clawing at my arm. It’s what lured me back to the present—the four wide, bright red streaks on my pecan-colored forearm. I looked underneath my fingernails right after I dried my face and wiped my nose with the ringer collar of the tee. A barely visible line of dark matter was there. Skin from my arm.

I’d been sitting there for what seemed like days, but I determined it had only been about an hour and a half, after I looked at the clock. My life is about to change, and I don’t know how exactly.

I’m anxious. Well, to say it more accurately, I’m actively working to not be anxious by reciting a scripture: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything with prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And his peace that surpasses comprehension will guard your heart and mind.” I’ve been paying careful attention to the “with thanksgiving” clause. It always jumps out at me.

My life has changed drastically over the past two years. I have changed drastically over the last two years. I’ve lost a lot. My grandmother and brother passed away, friends and so-called friends have hidden themselves, the first car I ever purchased for myself was totaled, and for a moment, the self I’d worked so diligently to become seemed as if she’d abandoned me, too, letting a fearful self make decisions for me. (Sounded cryptic to most, I’m sure. That was purposeful.)

And lest we forget my iPod. I lost my iPod, too. I don’t say that flippantly whatsoever. Losing my iPod is, in some ways, allegorical of the past two years of my life and the point at which I now stand. That rectangular, smooth-surfaced contraption held in its wires, discs and silver nodules just about every song that had any significance to me in just about every genre of music from every century since Beethoven. It was literally the soundtrack to my life. It’s gone now. And when I get a new one, I’ll have to start all over, creating another soundtrack.

So how do you give thanks when it seems you’ve just about lost it all? Remember the things you have. And consider some of the things you lost probably weren’t yours to begin with, but the lessons you learned from those things and people are what truly belong to you.

I’m kind of rambling, and I try not to do that when I’m posting. Emotional regurgitation is for leather bound books and friends, not blogs. Solidly pieced together bits about emotions are bloggable, but not emotions themselves. But I’m overwhelmed so that will be my excuse for breaking my own rule.

I don’t know. I’m blessed. I’m a little anxious. I’m working on putting two years’ worth of new (some hurtful, some delightful, all, nonetheless new) memories in plastic 20- and 40-gallon containers. I’m reading old journal entries, seeing how far I’ve come. I’m reading old entries, seeing how much further I want to go. I’m learning. I’m stretching. I’m wearing long sleeves to cover evidence of my midnight breakdown. I’m grateful. I’m whole. I’m moving on.

What are you? What have you been? What will you be?

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~ by MsInklination on August 4, 2009.

2 Responses to “(Emotional) Vomit on the Dance Floor”

  1. Hmph. Thank you, Sirita. I appreciate your words more than you know. I sometimes wonder, particularly during trying time, if I’m handling things in the most ideal way. It’s the way I try to handle things. Even my mistakes. Especially my mistakes, actually. I want them to be lessons for myself (and others, when possible). Otherwise, what purpose does a mistake have, other than making you look bad? I don’t like regretting things, so that’s the best way I’ve found to deal with potentially regretful situations. I just want to be a good human and I’m learning that takes restraint … and focus … sacrifice … and humility. I feel the mush coming on. Headed toward psychobabble? Better stop while I’m ahead.

  2. Sometimes it seems the ones God trusts the most are the ones who experience the most trying times. God must REALLY trust you.

    Girl, you ain’t no punk because I’ve witnessed you endure a tremendous amount of personal and professional pressure. And your resilience, self-awareness and focus through it all amazes me.

    This is definitely a post that encourages self-reflection. *ponders what I am, what I’ve been, and what I will be*

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