if you know me well, it should come as no surprise that i like to control myself. & if you know me really well, you know why: i have a condition that, if left to its own devices, will turn me wild, into a person i don't even know. but that's not important today, at least not totally.
prior to physically picking up & moving my ass to NJ, i had the whole thing planned out:
1. the last week of school--pack a little bit each night, noting the items i'd need up until the day i finally lock the richmar rd door
2. do the requisite paperwork that'd flag the change & let the corporate everybody find me
3. take two car trips to the new place to ease the move of the "big day" & figure out how much room i had for my furniture
4. have my shit together
let's see how that worked out, shall we? i packed very little on my own & only made it through a few boxes myself, even with another's help, mostly because i was an emotional mess that last week of school. too many goodbyes. way too many goodbyes. i did paperwork, but i can't remember for whom & when & why & whatever the point was because i didn't care. i've driven to NJ once so far & discovered that i hadn't packed real soap; fancy, fragranced body wash doesn't count, especially not when you're hoarding your smell-goods for nights out that haven't happened in ages.
as of right now, my place in MD looks like two frisky boxes were left without a chaperone, & only days later--an exponential disaster. this isn't me. this isn't how i live. despite familial impressions made by my childhood bedroom, i severely dislike clutter & disorganization. if my environment is a mess, then so am i. i can't think clearly. i have trouble expressing myself. i have to fight to literally think of words. i've lived enough years to know that this isn't mere laziness. something is coming. i can feel it in my bones.
i'm always fully aware of the impending emotional implosion. i used to try flash-cleaning: throw anything that looks like junk (even if it's not) in the trash, toss all scattered clothes in the wash (dirty or not), & kick all shoes into the closet (with or without their mates). just hide it, hide it all. then, maybe my sometimes-obsessive psyche wouldn't be able to find the mess & thus would be forced to go on its merry way, emphasis on the merry. & every time, to my chagrin, this desperately desired oblivion to chaos never showed up. i was always aware that i'd have more trash to take out than necessary, more loads of laundry to do (& dammit, i hate folding; it is the most inefficient chore in the universe), & more lonely shoes to couple after crawling into the dark recesses of the bedroom. i am always aware. always.
so i stopped trying. i've learned that i can't simply sandbag against the incoming tide. i can't build any kind of seawall high enough or strong enough. i've tried enough times to know that i'm not that kind of person; i'm too weak. i have to stand on the beach & watch the waves crest stories above my head, close my eyes as they break, & take the inevitable beating. sometimes, it's just one hit. not so bad, right? & sometimes, it's wave after waver after wave after wave, until my body is thrown around in a world of water, then whipped to the ground & left face down, mouth crammed with sand. either way, i'm pummeled every time, left without breath for a while, but eventually, i spit out the water, cough a little, & stagger back to my feet. it takes some time, but, however wearily, i can put one foot in front of the other & continue my walk along the edge.
here's my question: why did i think that this month would be any different? seeing the blackened clouds on the horizon & the winds punching through the sea, how in the hell did i think that i could build a bulwark against any of this? the frenzy with which i tried to steel myself only makes the storm worse, as it beat me down ahead of time. it's panic. it's fear that says, "you can't survive this if you just let it happen. you have to control it, batten everything down, & cling for dear life only to that which you know. otherwise, you'll be dragged to where you can no longer stand, to the darkest depths that give you those living-death nightmares. you'll die."
what a foolish creature i am. though i know enough not to dive headfirst into raging waters, there's nothing i can do to halt the inevitable. the only way for me to get past inclemency is to go through it. i should know that this is how i am. i should know that i constantly harbor both passion & tumult. & i should know that goodbyes, transitions, & new places tip my scales a bit more than most, & to try to deny that by frantically erecting every barrier possible is more destructive than anything else i can do. can i not admit to myself that this is reality?
of all like me, i am fortunate. it's harder for me to be torn from where i stand, as i kick & scream & claw at the ground. so long as i retain even just a grain of my unique sentience, i refuse to be lost. & when i remember this, the truth shimmers into visual existence, & i can see the anchoring ropes, hands outstretched, holding on for my life that, by some mercy i sometimes know not of, they hold dear. they will not allow me to be sucked to the bottom of Lethe. they will not allow me to forget myself. marked by tears of gratitude, i throw my hand back until we clasp one another; we will not allow ourselves to be torn asunder.
so here it holds, for now & for times to come: rather than allow fear to prepare me for destruction, i must nurture my sight & see the roots of my strength, the care that upholds me, that which says, "yes, you are worth it. yes, you are loved." life is change & upheaval, & rather than run or panic or shake my fist in indignation--how unfair that my heart should be so taxed!--i am to remember that calm will come again. because i was there when the rain & waves collided with one another, i will also be there when the sun's light first glistens across the placid waters.
truly, it is a grace that i weather the day & live to see another.
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