Getting There

Last week, on the same day, I found out two things.  I found out that Alix was leaving for an indeterminate amount of time (at least a month and a half) and I found out that I was losing my job.  It was not a good day.  Just as I was becoming fully responsible for the rent, utilities, electricity, and pet care costs, it turned out that I am no longer employed.  In addition to the fact that yesterday morning, I had to hug the person who I love most in the world goodbye in the bustling lobby of an airport, both of us trying not to cry, as I told her, "Be brave.  You got this.  I love you."  I got home to the apartment and promptly burst into tears.  Huge, shuddering, gasping sobs (I am not a pretty crier.), snot pouring down my face, the works.  I know she's coming back.  But in the meantime...I miss her so. much. 

Today, I drove eight hours to visit my parents in their house on Lake Ontario for a few days.  Rupert gets to frolic off-leash, Tucker gets the run of a real house, and I get to hear things other than car horns and sirens: the grandmother clock ticking, the pages of my father's book turning, the fan as it slowly oscillates around the living room.  There is a rhythm and breath to this house, these lives of my parents, that is as sure and as peaceful as the steady lapping of the waves on the rocky beach below.  Often, when I'm here, I feel as if I'm shifting everything just slightly off-kilter.  In I barge, with my high-energy dog, my grumpy cat, my strange eating habits (or lack thereof), my tumultuous moods, and my glaring computer screen.  I try hard to believe my parents' reassurances that my presence here is welcome, because I know they mean it.  I just don't know where I belong anymore - here, this is their place and their lives, and, welcome visitor that I may be, it is not my forever home.  In New York, the apartment without Alix feels like it's waiting for something as simple as her return from work or a visit to her dad's house.  Meanwhile, the rent accrues, and I remain unemployed.
 

Life's like this, I tell myself: up close, it may look dark and ugly and scary.  But behind it, if you look around, past, and beyond the dark and scary parts - there's light.  There's a whole lot of beauty and hope and good, waiting for me and Alix.  We just have to get there.  And getting there is the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

Thank you to everyone who wrote or thought kind words about my last post.  My struggle with eating disorders has been a topic that I have considered discussing for a long time before finally deciding do do it.  Your support and encouragement mean the world to me.  Thank you.