Love Your Love

I’ve never in my life been a bitter or jealous person.  I’ve had my insecure moments for sure, but in general I’ve never had the green-eyed monster consume me in the way it is now.  I think I’ve arrived to a snapping point.  I’m like a balloon that has been blown too large, and the pop is an explosion that is blowing apart my entire world. 

Through my entire adult life I have been an odd wheel.  It has become a normalcy to my entire network of friends to the point where nobody seems to realize that being an odd wheel for that long is an eternal torture for the odd wheel.  I’m a pretty tough human soul, but I still have a human soul.  I’d like each one of my friends in relationships to take one step in my shoes, for just one imaginary moment: imagine every time you hang out with me and my imaginary boyfriend, you are alone.  To all my friends with boyfriends and husbands, and I am there to hang with you and your significant other, do not be fooled that I am not in grievous, lonely pain.  Nobody wants to be the downer, and nobody wants to feel sorry for themselves and have people know it, but when relationships are in your constant peripheral and reminding you that you have nobody who you love stick around to love you back… the balloon eventually pops.

This is not an entry to make anybody feel bad for being in a relationship or having me around it.  I love that I have friends in love.  What has gotten me to the page today is that last night I realized I have grown a monster inside of me.  Since my recent heart break bitterness has consumed me in a way where its dark mask has taken over my identity.  I have these half-slit evil eyes and this growl of a beast toward everyone who I deem is taking advantage of the ones who love them.  I want to claw and attack and break and shoot.  I was kind, and I got rejected.  You get angry and they still love you.  I have this irrational jealousy and bitterness which my soul is just not quite used to.  I feel I have been soured.  Poisoned.  I will never have what you have, so don’t be an idiot and take it for granted.  They love you back.  Do you not know how exceptional that is?

Love is not just about being loved.  It is about finding someone that you love, and they love you back.  The mutual affections that are the foundation for a healthy relationship.  I thought I had mutual affections, but I was devastatingly fooled.  For all you idiots in a relationship bitching about this and bitching about that, take a fucking step back and take a good look at what you’re complaining about:  is it worth it?  Is it really that important?  If it is, then I get it.  But there are so many complaints I’ve heard where I feel like I’m going to blow up in their face and call them a stupid spoiled brat.  I find myself having this snotty voice in my head, this sour, envious little shit saying things like, “Boy it must be nice to have someone make dinner for you…”  Or, “Man, it must be nice to go to bed with someone every night, someone who loves you…”  Or, “Must be nice to get flirted with…”  “Must be nice to have someone run an errand for you…”  “Must be nice to have someone make you soup when you’re sick…”  “Must be nice to have someone who’s an amazing dad to your kids…”  “Must be nice to make memories and laugh and share and be complete…”  All I want is to be complete.  I want to be crazy about him, and him crazy about me.  And that is it. Life is good if you don’t be a brat about it. 

See?  Bitter Jess is biting on through.  I apologize.

So? I’m going to try to utilize the bitterness into this:

If you are in love, love the shit out of the love, man.  If you are having problems with the person you love, fix the problems.  If you are mad about him putting the bowl in the wrong cupboard, get over yourself.  Try being manipulated, conned, lied to, cheated on, led on or having your heart broken.  It’s a FUCKING BOWL.  Get the hell over it. 

If you have someone worth fighting for, fight.  If you married your best friend, treat them like your best friend.  If you have your needs met, count it for the times for those who don’t.  You get to kiss someone goodbye and hello.  Not my fault you’re not taking advantage of that awesome shit.  You get to cook for someone.  Or have someone cook for you.  I cook for me and I often cry in my noodles.  You get to be touched.  You get to make jokes, and make memories.  You have everything so many of us lonely fools wish we had.  You can say to me a thousand times, “Relationships are hard…”.  Yeah.  But if they were so hard to the point of being something you don’t need?  You wouldn’t have one.  Friendships are relationships too, and they can be hard as well, but I sure as hell couldn’t live without them.  Try living without natural companionship.  I don’t care how hard it is, it’s harder without. 

I don’t know if I’m an idiot for writing this post… I don’t want my friends to read this thinking, “Is she talking about ME?!”  I’m talking about ALL of you.  My ENTIRE audience.  Because 90% of the people I know are in relationships, and then there’s the general public who may or may not read this.  This is to ALL people in relationships.  I don’t envy the dysfunctional or abusive relationships, I sure don’t.  But so many in normal relationships take what they have for granted.  Take my lonely, stupid bitter pain and get perspective.  Love your love, man.  I’m just sayin’:  Love your love.  Love the shit out of it because life is short and it’s just not worth it to not be grateful for someone you love loving you back.     

The Wait Bench: part two

Let it all out, sort it all out, express it all out.  The sorting is the hard part.  The brain goes into an obsessive problem solving mode that has to make sense of the pain.  Did I cause this?  Did they?  And why?  If I had made different decisions would the outcome have been different?  Better?  Worse?  Believe it or not creative people can be very scientific.  It’s unfortunate that it’s sometimes a dead end journey but the incessant questions and theories and ground breaking revelations are part of the process that has to happen.  The broken-record syndrome, asking the same questions over and over, replaying the scenario over and over trying to figure out what went wrong and why.  To some it might seem like a sort of insanity, but in reality it’s a healing process for anyone who has had their heart broken.  Answers will give you clarity and closure and that is what you need so you seek it in the most desperate ways possible, like finding water in the desert, food in the wilderness.  What is their backstory?  Why did they behave this way?  Was it intentional?  Seek empathy.  Seek compassion.  Seek understanding.  There HAS to be a good reason they hurt you.  There has to be a logical reason you are going through this.  There has to be reason. 

I’ve been sorting for months.  I’ve been pursuing hope.  I’ve been devastated by the end of it.  I have been trying to move forward with acceptance.  “There’s no answers, Jess.  Accept and get better.”  But that’s like telling the flu to just go away.  It has to live its cycle.  And that is when you have to medicate.  Stage three, express it all out.

I know no other way than to express my feelings.  It has made me dangerously vulnerable, but I know no other way.  Look at what I’m doing now?  Telling the public my personal journey.  The set up for rejection is how I cope with rejection?  It’s not quite like that.  I have to throw my stories out there to seek validation, to discover that there are others like me, that my pain is not unique and that others understand.  Because connection, companionship and relatability are everything.  Love and loss is life and we all live it.   

After the ordeal with the weight bench, and after Nyki consoled my soul, I had to gear myself up for an outing.  A monumental outing.

I’ve written about my younger friend, Brianna many times in this blog.  I want to take this moment to talk about the current hatred toward “millennials” for a second here, and express my own hatred toward that hatred.  Brianna is nearly sixteen years younger than me and she is one of the most brilliant, talented, driven, ambitious young people I know.  And so are her circle of millennial friends.  In my exposure to the generation below me, which constitutes more than half of my friend circle, I see nothing but promise and strength and solution.  The next generation is less racists, less sexist, less dehumanizing and more out-spoken against authority, in the good way.  The next generation has to work harder to survive because of the mistakes of my generation and the generation before me.  The cost of living is astronomically different than when I was twenty one.  I could’ve rented a one bedroom apartment for $250 a month in 2001.  I now live in a studio for $675 a month.  So, the reason for my goings-on about this is to throw out to those crotchety, uptight “elders” for dismissing the millennial generation as spoiled, horrible human beings I say this:  some of the most brilliant, ambitious and kind people I have in my life are of that generation.  And one of them, is Brianna.

Brianna had sent me a link about a charity gala that was coming to Minneapolis, one in which Jane Goodall was going to be a speaker.  Jane Goodall (and Dian Fossey, primatologist who is portrayed by Sigourney Weaver in the movie “Gorillas in the Mist”) was one of my heroes as a little girl.  I wanted to live in the jungle and study animals and write about them too.  I had the same love for Africa that she did.  She was the face of National Geographic for a very long time, and I loved National Geographic.  I was that weirdo kid that when I got to stay home from school for being sick I wanted to watch National Geographic instead of cartoons.  And if I got to see Jane and her chimpanzees, all the better.  Jane Goodall was my star celebrity that I never dreamed in a million years I’d get a chance to not only hear her speak in person, but get to stand next to her and tell her how much she meant to me.

Brianna had looked up the prices for the tickets.  She wanted to go too for I had gushed about Jane Goodall to her over the years, about her pioneering and her conservation efforts and all the wonderful things she’s done for the planet, and Brianna is very into nature and the earth just as much as I am.  The prices seemed awfully steep, though, and it dashed both of our spirits.  But then Brianna surprised me with, “Hey I found some of the cheaper tickets and got us both tickets…”  I’m not going to lie to you, Reader.  I cried.  Happy cried.  You know the stupid wah-wah-wah, giddy-giggle giddy-giggle, wah, wah, wah.  She has been going through her own hard time, so this was an amazing thing for both of us. 

I read through the night’s events online and saw there was going to be a book signing.  I thought, “Oh my god… I might actually get to talk to her… AND have her autograph!”  I could not have had this opportunity if it wasn't for Bri.

The gala was amazing.  Bri and I were not dressed to the nines like some people, but we fit in none the less.  We enjoyed taking a flute of Champaign off the waiter’s trays and holding a cheers to our good fortune.  Because the charity was for rescue dogs and cats we met a lot of rescue dogs that were brought to the event.  There is one that will forever be in my heart.  His name was Raha, who looked like a shepherd, husky mix, almost wolf-like.  His mouth was disfigured, parts of his jaw diminished.  His left eye was gone and he looked as if he had been mauled by a bear.  He was the sweetest soul and I could not stop petting him and letting his lolling tongue slobber my affectionate hands. Oh I was jealous of his owner! I learned later, when I read the pamphlet left at our dining table, that the reason for his disfiguration was because some sadistic, psychopathic men thought it entertaining to put firecrackers in his mouth.  I was so sick to my stomach over this.  I thought: I may never have a relationship again.  I will never have children of my own.  I may never live in the jungle and study animals like my hero, Jane.  But if there’s anything that can heal my soul as well as another’s, I want to someday have a haven for the abused and battered.  Children and animals alike. 

Eventually we had our dinner, and the charity auction took place and ended, and then Ms. Goodall came out to speak.  As I have proclaimed, I’m very expressive with my emotions.  It’s hard for me not to get overwhelmed.  As I listened to her speak I did everything I could to not sob in front of strangers.  But it was such a magical moment for me, a surreal event that I never dreamed could happen.  I thought to myself, if I could go back in time and tell little Jessie that she would meet Jane Goodall someday she would never believe it.  I felt like, Jessie.  There was something about this experience that brought me back to my older self, no wait, younger self.  Little Jessie girl who wanted to go to Africa and live in the jungle and write about animals.  Become friends with animals.  I used to bring snakes and all sorts of things home to my mother.  I once brought a wounded goose home, gaining its trust not to peck me to pieces.  I had called wildlife services in the area and they all gave me another phone number and I went around in circles trying to help this goose.  Nobody would help.  I had to return it to where I found it.  Days later it was attacked and killed by some predator. I pulled out one of its wing feathers and turned it into a pen.  I still have it to this day. Point?  Seeing Jane made me remember who I am.  And who I am, is a passionate caretaker. 

The time came.  It was time to stand in line and wait for the book signing.  We had bought our books post dinner and stood in line holding them waiting for the ultimate moment.  In her generosity, Jane was awaiting to sign books sitting on a stool willing to have pictures taken with her.  I was beside myself.  I was terrified I’d be a goon and cry.  But I stood fast.  She signed Bri’s book then mine and then we stood next to her for a picture.  You can see in the picture that I look like I’m about to lose my mind.  After the picture was taken I touched her arm (which I’m not sure if I should be embarrassed by or not…) and I said, “You were my hero as a little girl.  It’s a huge deal that I met you.”  She smiled so kindly at me and nodded her head humbly, and then I rushed off in embarrassment with Brianna. 

When I got home I tried to process my weekend.  And the common denominator in all of it was, love.  Every day, it’s love.  I have loved ones who reach out and check in on me.  I have friends who would be there for me in the middle of the night if I needed them.  I have friends who will invest in my future, who believe in me, who will set aside their own stress and give me time.  I have love in my life.  Real love.  Not the pretend crap, or the manipulative selfish crap, but the real deal.  The infinite kind. 

Heart break they say is the most tragic emotional wound a human can deal with.  This is not to placate other tragedies, but I have heard that nothing breaks the human soul more than heart break.  But the remedy is having love in other forms and in other relationships like friendship that keep you from losing your mind entirely.  Validation that you are a worthy human being is vital.  I’ve been waiting my whole adult life to feel the love from a man, which is important, but it is also important to have friends who love you enough to validate your existence.  Waiting on this bench of uncertainty and tragedy has been alleviated with the love of friends who will love me for life indefinitely.         

                             

The Wait Bench: part one

Loss and love are a part of life, they say.  Loss and love is life, I say.  It is everything.  Sometimes it’s a vicious seemingly cruel cycle where you invest in love to keep yourself alive, and then losing it makes you feel like you can’t go on.  And then you do it all over again.  My brother said it’s like when you get a dog knowing you’re going to outlive it, knowing it will die before you, knowing you’re going to love it, that the relationship will bring you joy but still knowing you will lose it all in the end.  And then you go out and get another dog and do it all over again.

I am currently in a place of grief where I lost something that brought happiness I thought I could never attain.  The idea of attaining it again is so daunting and hopeless.  I waited my entire adult life to achieve that happiness, and then it was just, gone.  And now I have to figure out how and when I’ll try to achieve it again because without the pursuit of happiness, even with the risk of losing it again, makes life pointless.  Love and companionship is the air we breathe whether you like it or not. 

Attempting a pursuit of happiness when all you want to really do is cry and hurt and mourn and insolate yourself is a very challenging task.  For anybody who is familiar with grief and depression, just getting yourself in the shower can be a very large achievement for the day.  When you decide you need to do more than that, it can be so overwhelming that you cascade back into the lonely hole of your couch and immerse yourself in insolation.  Grief sucks.  The most important thing a person suffering from loss and depression can do is to reach out.  It can be the hardest thing to do because the worst part about being a victim of depression is feeling like you’re a selfish burden to your loved ones.  You have a voice in your head telling you that they’re dealing with shit too and you don’t want to be the selfish one that piles your shit on top of their shit.  I am blessed to have some of the most amazing, loving friends in my life who have made it very clear to me that they would be angry at me for not reaching out to them.  So, even though that little voice of embarrassment in my head is telling me to be ashamed, I should be proud to declare that I have made great efforts to reach out time and time again when I’m having a really bad night.  It has saved me.  I share, because it could save you too. 

As I have taken advantage of my upswings (for the denial stage in grief is the most blissful and literally saves you from complete despair), I have tried to pull myself together.  In my grief I have gained a lot of weight which has just added to the depression cycle.  Raise your hand if you know what I’m talking about.  I’m sure many of you do.  But I have tried in all of my upswings to overcome this, to pep talk myself, to buy the healthy food and start picking up those hand weights.  It’ll last maybe two days.  Three if I’m lucky.  I’ll fall back into a sadness so deep that everything seems completely pointless.  What is life without joy?  Why do we depend on relationships to give us that?  Why is companionship so dangerous and so needed at the same time? 

I get very annoyed with people who claim to be feminist and say things like, “I don’t need a man,” or “I’m better off being single,” and shame women who want and need a relationship with a man.  I understand not needing a man to make a living for yourself, for taking care of who you are and what you want to be.  But hell, y’all, I need a man.  I need companionship and everything that comes along with it.  It’s human.  The affection, the company, the ego stroking, the high off love that maybe other people don’t enjoy but I sure as hell do.  It is such a part of my being to be a care taker, to love, to give, to ego stroke, to make people happy, to make people laugh, to make people feel included and secure.  So yeah, I want to give that to a man.  To the right man.  He’s gone now, though.  I have to start over. But here’s where the despair really takes over:  I don’t want to get back on the horse this time.

I rallied, however, a few weeks ago.  I said, “Jess?  Even though this summer is going to suck because you will not only be missing him, but you will be doing everything alone.  Again.  Odd wheel as always.  But the least you can do for yourself is get healthy and feel good in your body again.”  So.  The most efficient way I’ve ever been able to lose weight in my past is by lifting free weights.  My brother taught me how a long time ago, and it is the quickest way I’ve ever shed pounds.  Not only that, but I actually enjoy it.  So I looked around at my tiny studio apartment and I said, “Eff it.  I can find a small enough one to fit in here.  Who cares if it’s just another obstacle I have to stub my toe on?”  I was determined this would save me.  I was determined this would be what repairs my esteem and gets my head into a better space.

I literally found the weight bench of my dreams.  I had been searching for about two weeks and finally found exactly what I wanted.  It was a junior weight bench, so it was small.  It came with a bar and some weights and had a leg press.  All for the golden price of $20.  So I wrote to the seller immediately and it was still available.  I kept in contact with him about when I would pick it up.  I needed someone to help me because a) my car is too small and b) I can’t carry a damn weight bench up two flights of stairs into my apartment by myself.  So I sent out an SOS on Facebook and my dear friend Nyki responded.

Nyki and I go way back to being co-workers ten years ago.  We became friends when she found out through another blog I was writing at the time that I was a fierce Harry Potter fan.  She reached out to me and asked me out for coffee.  We had a weekly coffee date in the same coffee shop in the little town of St. Francis for several years and became soul sisters.  She is one of the most interesting and loving people I know and I am dearly blessed to have her in my life.  She is one of many, which I will touch on later if you stay with me, Reader.   

I knew the weight bench was in Pine City but I had very mistakenly thought it was south of Minneapolis and not far away.  I should’ve looked it up.  I’m an idiot.  So I was alarmed when I hopped into Nyki’s car and she punched in the address into her phone and she announced, “It’ll be an hour and eight minutes!” I was exasperated and she responded with, “I knew it was that far.”  So, she drove all the way from up north to Minneapolis to pick me up, made me this homemade extraordinary card to cheer me up for she knew my current grief, and was willing to drive all the way to Pine City to help me get my savior weight bench.  In case some of you struggle with the concept of love, THAT is love.

We enjoyed the car ride for the most part, getting a chance to catch up with each other and talk about life and reminisce.  But it was a long drive.  We just kept going north, and north, and north.  I kept watching the passing signs of towns that were close to where my parents lived.  And we still kept going north.  Finally we found the house.  Finally we made it into the right driveway.  Finally, I was going to get my savior weight bench.

I rang the doorbell.  The seller’s father answered the door.  Now, I knew it was his father because in our messaging back and forth he had mentioned that his father was there but could not help load.  I said, “Hi!  I’m here for the weight bench?”  He looked at me bewildered and said, “Oh we already sold it.  A guy came and picked it up a while ago.”

My heart sank in more ways than one.  I was hopeful and blindsided with disappointment.  I was angry.  I was devastated.  This bench meant more than just a bench.  So I said, “I said I was coming!”  Which I had.  I had messaged the seller telling him when I was going to arrive and when I left my apartment.  He did not deem it necessary to let me know he had another buyer.  The rudeness is beyond my comprehension.  I could never do this to somebody, so how could they?  The same question I’ve asked in so many personal situations…

Nyki fired right up and told the man off.  She didn’t know he wasn’t the actually seller, but regardless, she said what needed to be said.  “It’s really shitty you let us drive an hour out to pick up the bench and you already sold it and didn’t let her know.  That’s really shitty.”  The seller’s father actually nodded and agreed because I think he was in as much shock as we were.  Side note: the seller posted the item sold later that night at 10pm.  It was sold before 10pm, you asshole.

This was a disappointment that manifested itself into a metaphor of my recent loss.  So hopeful.  Blindsided with rejection and no communication.  It’s not easy to go out and find another one, set up a dear loving friend who will help me, plan out a time to pick it up, actually find that one, perfect-for-me weight bench that will make me feel good about myself…. Again.  I couldn’t help it. I cried almost all the way home.  My dear friend who is so understanding put on melancholy music, sang softly to it and told me, “You be as sad as you want.  Don’t hold back.  I’ll just play this music and you be as sad as you want.”  So I was sad.  I stared out the window for miles and just wept.  How could he do this?

We came back to my apartment with a plan.  We were going to drink and eat comfort food.  We ordered pizza from Slice of New York, the only place I feel I can get a sort of true taste of hometown pizza.  We had choice of desserts, either baklava or cannoli.  We decided on cannoli because I wanted her to get a true taste of Italian dessert.  The pizza was amazing.  The ONE cannoli we got was revolting.  She was so relieved that I spit out my bite because she was afraid of insulting me for thinking this was supposed to be the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten.  It was crap.  But that was okay.  We had a wonderful time of laughing and enjoying each other’s friendship, sisterhood.  You can’t heal without friends.  You can’t heal without love. 

I woke up the next morning feeling the Jack Daniels I had the night before.  Nyki asked me if I was okay.  I said, “Yeah, I just think I’m still a little drunk.”  She shook her head and said, “No.  I mean, are you okay.  You have me concerned.”  And this is where I lost it entirely.  I started crying uncontrollably and told her I was suffering from depression.  I was completely unhinged.

Emotions are very annoying.  Not being a socio path is a wee bit of a struggle, and that’s just a general human being with a conscience.  I’m an extra feely human being with a very deep sense of all emotions and even though that may seem like I’m “sensitive” and get hurt easily, it’s not quite like that.  What math equations are to a mathematical genius are what emotions are to an artist.  They are what drives us in a powerful way but can be very overwhelming.  The healthy thing to do is to let it all out, sort it all out, and then express it all out.  And that is my process.  So, melting down in front of Nyki was my letting it all out stage.

Every time I experience the love of a friend, I feel an overwhelming gratitude for the air in my lungs.  It is a spiritual experience because by all rights love is a phenomena that those "mathematicians" can’t figure out but we artists sure as hell know a thing or two about it.  I’m not saying “mathematicians” can’t feel love, or know love, I’m just saying we know how to define it.  And that is the purpose of this post.  This blog.  I’m about to define love.

Please stay tuned for Part Two….