Sometimes you wonder why you did the things you've done. It all seemed logical and right as I was doing it ... God knows it was holy causes and pure motives ... and things worked out for the most part but at what cost?
When you're in the middle of gross unhappiness, you don't really know you're there ... getting up every morning and giving it your best, telling yourself it's a new day that will be better than the one before.
Then it's not.
A lot stay stuck right here ... getting up every day, trying a new start by doing the same thing. The anchors of unhappiness take hold and dig deeper in the deep dark nothingness. Eventually life fizzles out. The obituary is an attempt to capture highlights that are exceptions to the rule.
Some leave the unhappiness of who they are with, where they're at or who they are. Picking up life, they re-mix the salad, throwing out the old and getting a lot of new ... which may or may not replace the old. Moving to new places running from who they are ... only to discover that Hell is portable. You take it with you wherever you go.
Or you are the left one ... wondering how could this possibly happened to you. You did everything. Never missed the opportunity to be the caregiver, took care of business, gave everything asked. Only to discover that you didn't have the answers to the questions being asked. You gave yourself when they were asking for somebody else. You're left with ... you ... just you.
Maybe, like me, all of these things happened to you ... in rapid, machine gun fire succession and your holiness is full of holes.
You appreciate shells ... because you are one.
In spite of it all, you continue to believe ... you're just not quite sure what it is that you are believing in ... yet you do.
It's funny too how you find yourself surrounded by others who seem ... just fine! They smile, joke, are happy as a lark, forever seem to get ahead, doing everything just right. If you hold on to your senses and don't become to self-absorbed or absorbed with them, you eventually figure out they're just like you ... Fucked up and struggling.
Rich or poor ... it doesn't matter. The only difference is the more money you have, the more you spend to try to hide how your problems, or family, are no different from the homeless woman on the street or the addict in the alley. They're the same tears spilling on satin sheets as falling on a bunk bed in a shelter. Lies told at the Country Club are strangely similar to those in a jail cell. Enthusiastic greetings at Church are as meaningless as political promises.
You know what?
I've lived all of these things. I'm OK with me still being here ... which is much easier said than done. I'm in love with someone who loves me. We struggle like everyone else does who is in love. We hate it when we're on different pages. We want to make others happy and accepting but it's not our problem. It is theirs. When we're alone, we're just happy. We have kids we want to be happy too. And we have friends (the ones still here and the ones who have returned from the dead) that wish us the same happiness we wish them.
I was reminded of these things last night.
This morning, after chores upon chore, mitigating fights and meeting deadlines ... I pause ... and look at her.
In spite of what it took to get here ... which I wouldn't wish on anyone ... (that's a lie, there are several people I do wish it on) ... it's a better place to be.
I'll take this.
