takinginair

[takinginair]

Like This

6-16-19 - It’s so fascinating how we all act as if we can relate to one another. Recently my cousin, a new man, tried to tell me that he knows exactly what it’s like to be a woman because he can be beat up and raped at any time just like a woman. His ignorance would be dangerous if he didn’t have such a big heart. Hopefully, that’s something that he will learn in time how stats and data precede personal understandings about how other’s must act or feel. 

But we are all this dumb in some ways. Like people that try to tell me how I should feel. One of Diogo’s friends called me today and told me that he wouldn’t like to see me “like this.” The truth is, she doesn’t like to see me “like this.” And personally, I don’t care. Furthermore, she has no idea what Diogo feels, nor can she speak for him. But if she could, if she was right...I don’t care what he thinks either. He made his decisions based on him and I’ll make my decisions based on me. 

Once I burned my forehead on a curling iron, but that doesn’t mean I can relate to the woman that had acid doused on her by her husband. See the difference? 

What we confuse, as a limited society, is empathy for experience. Likewise, I have broken my arm, and certainly know what it’s like to have limited mobility for an extended period of time. I have also broken my back and had chronic pain for 5 years, which affected my life tremendously. But that doesn’t mean I can even remotely relate to a paraplegic victim or a person who lost their limbs in an accident. I may have sympathy...I may know a small amount of what they go through, but I am totally and utterly ignorant to how some people live their daily life. And some of them are totally ignorant to why I live “like this.” 

The bottom line, is I am not embarrassed of my life. I barely shower, I rarely leave my home, I’m a new found athiest. I’m waiting to die and hoping it comes ....any second, really. But I keep to myself. I support myself. I don’t bother or inconvenience anyone or anything, so I make no apologies for the way I am. 

I don’t owe Diogo anything, nor do I owe anyone anything...not even an explanation. Diogo’s desires do not interest me, just as my desires did not interest him. I’m working out life in my way, and I’ve lost friends because of that...but so be it. It pains me of course, but it pains me more to hear other’s complaints of me being “like this.” 

Part of Take Me As I Am (Preach Mary J.) is the fact that “as I am” is subject to change...subject to  acclimatize the torrential weather that can suddenly come upon us while we hold are ill equipped parasols  in a flash flood. And then someone who’s never stepped outside their house, ever in their life calls to tell us how to use that parasol as we drowned in a river. “Here, I’ll tell you what to do...it’s easy, just do this...” Ugh, gag me. 

Diogo often asked me for the benefit of the doubt. He said I never gave him the benefit of the doubt. I am now learning that it is not my culture to do so. Living in my home country I can see how we do not grant anyone benefit, because we are a society of know it alls. I’m a man, so I know what it’s like to have the fear of a woman. I’m rich, so I know what it’s like to be poor. I once had to wait in line behind an old lady with coupons, who made me late to a movie...so don’t talk to me about mental illness. We pretend to be able to relate to everyone and withhold all of our compassion and desire to hear their plight. 

But it’s not because I come from a bad culture. It’s the opposite. I come from a culture full of sympathy, such bleeding hearts that they are overwhelmed with the tragedy of the world. They are so paralyzed in their own lives, being worked into the ground and overcoming shitty parents, survivors guilt and shattered dreams that they have no more room to hear another’s soul crushing story or imagine how they’d survive such a thing. They’ve lost time for compassion and thus, can’t handle the sympathy they feel. 

And people like me, who are unshamed by our newfound depression, anxiety, insomnia, yada yada, threaten them because we need sympathy. We need understanding and the benefit of the doubt, but many in my culture won’t even grant it to themselves and will intentionally withhold it from us. 

I’m glad I am not one of them anymore. If anything good has come of this new life, it is that with my shelshocked emotions, my delusions have melted and I have nothing but compassion to give...more than time, more than money, I have endless compassion for myself and any soul around me. They don’t even need to earn it or deserve it...it’s free to me either way. And I’d certainly rather live “like this” than like that.  

[takinginair]

The Big Evolution

4-18-19 

He was Muay Thai champion of Portugal. He loved fighting. Mostly, I think he loved feeling empowered, understandably considering how he was bullied due to his tiny stature (his words, not mine). He showed up to compete in the national championship by the name of Mr. Big Evolution. But there were no competitors for his 100 lb weight class. So he asked to fight the class above him, but there was no one in that class either. It took a little bit to convince the judges to allow him to fight two classes above him, but Diogo had a way of always getting what he wanted. As the story goes, he went undefeated that day. He broke his nose during the initial fight and said that’s why he had a bump in his nose like mine. But his sister laughs at that story, she says he was born with the bump. 

“Mr. Big Evolution,” it makes me laugh. He was so proud of his intelligence and nerdy interests. I wish I would have been there that day to see him fight. My biggest regret is that I didn’t know him longer....sooner. I wish I knew him as a baby and a kid and a teenager. Since we became romantically involved, I wanted to know how he went from childhood to the piece of art I grew to love. We would have been so different in our early years, but knowing him now makes me want to know him forever -  past, present and future. 

It’s ironic how much he loved science and how much he valued the evolution process. He studied many elements in our universe and each of  their influences on the the human race. Even so, he took himself out of the equation. That’s not just ironic, it’s infuriating. This is what death does, it takes someone that has become a dependent part of life for those around them and cuts it off; like taking every electrons from every atom and expecting the atom to function and operate as normal.  Now the rest of us, the ones left behind, have to figure out how to continue to live in an imbalanced world, or worse...we’re expected to thrive.  

It’s understandable how much people want me to be happy. That’s how I felt for Diogo, I wanted him to just “live a normal life and like it, and avoid whatever demons he had in his head.” But it doesn’t work that way, to no fault of us with demons, and equally no fault to those that want the best for us. But if I was able to be honest, I would say I’m so sick of people  expecting me to just evolve with my new imbalanced environment, like it’s something that can happen in a split second. Of course, many would say that a year and nine months is enough time to “evolve” or “heal��� or “better,” well let be open...it’s not. To me, it feels like he’s still here. It doesn’t feel like he died yesterday, it feels like the day before the day he died. 

Relative to time and the evolution of the world, it has taken billions of years for our tiny universe to be what it is today. Surely, attempting to live without him is now the biggest evolution I have ever attempted and I’m not completely sure if I’ll make the cut.  Many species die out through evolution because they can’t adapt to new environmental changes. Maybe I’m the Dodo bird (hold your tongue, Mom), Maybe I’m the goat that couldn’t Spider-man my way up a cliff. Regardless of how I continue to evolve, I realize that I can’t take myself out of my own life-cycle. As much as I want to, it is against nature and throws off the ecosystem full of people I love. Staying alive might be the most altruistic action I’ve ever taken...so for those that aren’t real fans of me...sorry, but it’s for your own good (wink). 

Mr. Big Evolution is an appropriate name for Diogo. Meeting him has been my biggest evolution by being my favorite teacher and I miss his lessons tremendously. His decision to leave has left my classroom dark and without essential items like pencils, paper and books. Although, I have promised myself not to leave others having to learn how to evolve without me, that is not to say I don’t need a billion more years to figure out this new, hostile environment. 

Those of us that are going through trauma, depression, anxiety or anything else that may seem in the past and should be something that one can “push through,” realize that we are growing in an extreme growth spurt. Like a tree sprouting through stone, I might seem like I’m barely growing, but it’s shocking to me I’m even living considering my barriers and lack of nutrients.

Although, I’ve lived on Earth my whole life, and although, I’ve overcome many other hurdles in my life-cycle, living without him is a new environment and I’m doing all I know to get through this Big Evolution. 

[takinginair]

Speakless

It was a rough day today. I really try to shield those around me from my current state of anxious-depression...or depressive anxiety...it doesn’t really fit into a box. Regardless, today it came out and it went like I expected.  It was a rough day and I went to have a girls day with some family members. But ultimately some subjects came up surrounding Diogo, I found some old pictures of him in my phone and I just couldn’t compose myself from then on. I ended up crying on a bed for about an hour uncontrollably and sopping up my snot with an entire roll of toilet paper. 

During that time one of the girls said, “You need to move on, Brittany.” My blood started to boil but I stayed quiet. “Maybe not now but this is something you will eventually learn from and will benefit your life.” That was too much for me, I snapped back, “I’m not hearing that shit,” I said in a low voice. “None of that is on my list of things to do.” She cowered and diverted her eyes. 

Then she felt courageous again, “You’re being stubborn and that’s going to make it worse for you.”  She was very close to getting hit, but she clearly didn’t know it, she continued, “Your being obstinate and that’s not helpful.” 

I stared back at her with the calm before the storm look in my eyes and said in a sharp voice, “Your judgments aren’t helpful and I don’t want to talk about this with you anymore.” The episode died like a tired hurricane and we didn’t speak of it the rest of the day. 

But she’s not the only one. As we come to the 11th month anniversary of Diogo’s departure, I grow more sad, more depressed and more at loss for the rest of my life. And as I do that, it sends all my loved ones into a confusion where they start ripping through all the Maya Angelou quotes, biblical overcoming adversity stories and snippets of their personal life experiences and how all things are for our benefit. Barf. 

I appreciate they are where they are. I love their optimism and all the precious words and moments that brought them to that point. I respect their religion and how their faith carries them through...but it doesn’t help me. 

I wish I could just talk and cry and “get it off my chest” never to have it return. I wish I could read these same blips of inspiration and let it become the wind beneath my wings. But it doesn't help. The albatross I bear hangs tight around my neck with a chain link choke chain. 

I too wish I could get help and let my heart regain consciousness a little more each day, but that is not my reality. It is nothing I have control over, I assure you, if anyone can do it, my track record says that I can - it’s not something that is doable for me, right now. 

If I could say everything I wanted to say and have it help, I would do it. Even if I thought saying it out loud 100 times would help, I would yell to the top of my lungs: I feel like my chest is sunken in, I can’t lay down without begging Diogo to come get me, I only have one thing to say to God which is, “I’m done with Earth,” I have been left behind like if oswald missed the ship home, I hate myself. It takes lots of drugs to forget the last words Diogo and I exchanged, No amount of love can replace all the love lost, I don’t know how to talk to his friends or family because it hurts too bad, I don’t know how to move on because I don’t want too and mostly, I wish that every plane I take goes down (and I do feel bad for everyone else on the plane), I hope a car hits me every day, I pray for physical pain to mask this nausea that wakes me up every morning, I hide tears all day long, even when I’m cooking and cleaning and most of all, I carry around sleeping medicine with me every where I go because I don’t trust myself to be able to handle my life. 

People love to be helpful. They love to feel and see their results of the hard work they have put forth or seen others put forth. It’s selfish but they get so much joy to experience breakthroughs of others, because they know that other person is better off. It’s a wonderful miracle to bring a smile to someone’s face, make them laugh, feel their evolution. It’s a once in a lifetime - every single time it’s once in a lifetime. A thousand cries that end in hugs and love are all monumental, earth shattering energy that’s been created (arguable, I’m not a scientist). 

I understand all of this and I want it for you and for me and for us...but I can’t offer that to you right now. I am the most unsatisfying person because there is no unloading of my burden. No one can carry this with me or for me. There is no relief or revelation that will snap be back into cheerleader-for-life mode. I don’t have an “on” switch that the Dali Lama can flip.

No, instead I’m an inextinguishable fire. I am a burning woman in a place with no water. And I wish I could feel better. I wish I could pull from all that I’ve experienced, read and believed and “Move forward,” but I can’t, and thus I’m speechless, and thus I speak less. 

[takinginair]

Game Changer

Many people are surprised that I’m leaving Thailand. Let me assure you, no one is more surprised than I am. People ask me why; but like all of my life right now, I fear telling them the truth because the truth is extremely uncomfortable...for them. 

I spend the majority of my life lying to other people now. In fact, I spend the majority of my life being the exact opposite of everything I have ever been. 

I was born happy, cheery, peppy. The annoying type that just wakes up full of electricity and possibilities. I came from a family that loves God and He is centered in everything we discuss. We are honest and I have always been honest to a fault. I live sober and I have done it all in the name of knowing I am an immortal being that can only get a human experience if I am clear and present in every second. When I fractured my pelvis I never took one single medication. I mean, how can I get to know myself if I’m always masking it with untruths and hallucinations? Well, that’s what I thought before. 

Then there was an incident. Let’s call it  A Game Changer, because now everything is different, and now I’m going back to California, and now I lie to everyone, and now I hide how I feel from myself and now being sober is torture. 

I’m not ashamed of my story, I just don’t talk about it to spare you. The rest of this story is probably easy to guess, but I share it because some people in my life want to know the truth and this is for those people.

The Game Changer

Days after Diogo left us I stopped sleeping and sometimes even stayed up for over 36 hours, including work days. This is insufferable. It would be different if I could be extremely productive during this awake time, but I can’t. I’m debilitated by nightmares, voices and crying jags that last hours. It causes me to go crazy and then I have to be happy and teach my students. I started becoming short tempered with them. In my world, my students are the sun and the moon and not allowing them to be the spicy children they are is my boundary. So I went to the doctor and got sleeping medication to get back to my normal.  

I’ve been taking medications ever since. I can stop taking them when I stay with other people, like when I visit friends; or If I start backpacking and get caught up in my world-wide classroom. But otherwise, sleeping is a thing of the past unless I have my medications. 

I started with anti-histamines, moved to OTC painkillers like Motrin and Tylenol, and even tried herbal stuff. I started mixing them because they are so light and barely worked and can be so dangerous for my organs, even though they do very little for my mental status. I have truthfully tried to do everything without taking illegal substances, smoking substances or even taking strong pills. 

However, a couple of months ago I went to the pharmacy and told them I needed something else. By this time, I had a couple different doctors and pharmacies so I didn’t come across as a drug addict, which I’m not.  I mean, it’s not like I got morphine or something good. I was trying to get Benedryl and Xanex, even the lowest dosage of Valium offered, stuff like that. The pharmacy gave me some pills. They were yellow and I don’t know what they were. It’s possible they were Ambian, as there aren’t too many choices in Thailand. 

I told Yogi everything that I took so he was aware and could keep track, I wasn’t hiding anything. He didn’t like me taking such things. He trusts pharmaceuticals less than street drugs. And he feels that sleeping pills are counter productive as eventually they stop working and so does your internal ability to not need them. But I had no choice. 

That night I couldn’t sleep. I took 2-3 of my normal pills and waited 2 hours...nothing. So I cried my way to the box and took another pill of something different and waited an hour. Finally at 3am, in total desperation,  I remembered my new yellow pills, so I took one.  Then I thought...”maybe take 2, I have to get up soon and I can’t have another sleepless night.”

The next thing I remember was Yogi yelling at my door, “Are you coming? Are you even awake?” Dang it! I threw on my dress and jumped on his bike, I forgot to brush my teeth. Shoot. I hate getting sleep at all the wrong times, but at least I slept a bit. 

Of course I was groggy, but that was to be expected. I always felt groggy and tired in the mornings, that’s what the pills were for. In fact, the morning fog stopped most of my panic attacks and helped me breathe better. Actually, because of the meds I had been taking, I thought I was coping really well and even signed up for another semester to teach in Thailand. 

We arrived at school and I got my lessons ready for the morning. As I stood up from my desk in our office I announced, “Ok Yogs, I’m going to the printer. Wait. No I’m not. Yogs, I don’t feel good.” I sat down and my face went cold. He went to get me a muffin and some coffee. By the time he came back I was generally unconscious. 

What I remember after that is blurry. I remember him telling me to lay down and I didn’t because I didn’t want the kids to see me and get scared. But I should have realized me knocked out in a chair was probably worse. My next memory is me in the back of a car crying to Yogi to take me home. I thought I just needed to sleep it off with a tiny nap. To which he replied, “You are going to the hospital and you can shut up about it.” I started crying immediately and spoke to the driver in Thai, a student teacher, "Gat Ban!” I demanded. To which she replied in English, “Teacher Rose is not ok.”  Yogi piped up calmly, “You’re not going home, so you can stop chewing on that bone.” That was clever, I took note of how clever he is as I fell asleep again.

The next time I opened my eyes I was staring at a white ceiling. I was in the hospital and a beautiful lady-boy nurse stood above me and said in his best English, “Can me help you?” To which I replied, “Absolutely not!” And I closed my eyes and fell asleep as Yogi told them what was going on in Thai-glish.  He had a panicked voice I had never heard, I worried about him. 

They kept pestering me to open my eyes again, I saw my blood pressure it was 119/80. “That’s normal for me,” I screamed at yogi, “my blood pressure is fine take me home.” Then I feel asleep. I was awaken again to a nurse saying, “Stomach vomit?” I kept my eyes closed, “Sure stomach vomit, whatever.”  What seemed like a simultaneous moment, I was getting a shot and immediately I stopped breathing. 

Apparently, I was a little over dosed. I just had too many relaxers and stuff in my system. So when Yogi brought me in, they just assumed I was having stomach cramps because I’m a foreigner and most foreigners have food poisoning. They gave me something that  prevented me from breathing because my body was too relaxed. I actually didn’t know that was possible. My inexperience with drugs and medications wasn’t on my side, at this point. 

I used all my breath to yell for Yogi, “Call my mom, medicine is bad.” and then that was it. The next thing I know they had me upside down and kept me that way until my body could wake up more. 

I slept for 2 days without waking up. Of course I had no intention of over dosing. Of course, I felt I was taking all measures and the most inconsequential medications to even make me sleep, let alone make me stop breathing. I was honest with those closest to me and maybe I wasn’t completely forthright, but I was not trying to “hide” any “drug use.” And I didn’t even think an “over dose” was an option with these type of medications. 

Regardless of all my internal logic, I woke up to Yogi, a banana and coconut water waiting for me. It was my standard meal since Diogo died. Yogi crawled in bed with me and he said, “Rose, you over dosed. You took too much.” To this day that sentence sounds so stupid. I mean, over dose on antihistamines and Tylenol and ibuprofen and little stuff that my grandparents take, it just sounds stupid. Of course, that doesn’t account for the pills I didn’t know what they were...and also, I couldn’t remember how many I took. Upon reflection, the entire scenario sounds nothing like me. 

I looked at yogi and the next words out of my mouth were the nail in the coffin of  my Thai life, The Game Changer, “Yogi, I don’t want to live anymore.” Yogi lied next to me and held me...not for me...for him. He sobbed as he told me that he spent the last 2 days scared to check on me because he didn’t know if I was alive and he didn’t know how to tell my students, my mom, my friends what had happened. He sobbed so hard that he shook my bed and I realized at that moment...I was the worst friend ever. 

Yogi had saved me in many ways and with no hesitation he was my primary care-taker. Yet here I was, putting all my problems right in his lap. There was no choice from that point on, I had to go home. Although, I’m not an addict, I only take pills I need. It’s like saying someone that has seizures is an addict to their seizure medications. Not getting sleep causes some of the same symptoms as taking drugs to sleep. It’s a horrible cycle and one that I have never been in before. 

But even so, I had to admit that my very first words to my very best friend were, “I don’t want to live anymore.” I had to admit that my pill managing had become sloppy and by the time I woke up, Yogi had completely cleaned out my house of even my menstrual meds, because he was scared. I had to admit that I had hurt my very best friend, intentional or not. And mostly, I had to admit to myself when an accident would become an “attempt” or a success. It felt like a slippery path and scared me. 

Mom’s opinion on the matter wasn’t coded, “Brittany-Rose,” Which she only uses my full name if she’s very serious, usually when she’s telling me not to swear in front of company, “I have never told you what to do. But you have one choice, and if you make the wrong one, I will come and get you myself.” 

So I spent the last month in Thailand preparing myself to leave my beloved home.  I spent the next two months getting support from my friends around Asia. I went to my good friends in Japan, My american friends in Korea and my Muslim friend in China. All just waiting to do something I never ever ever wanted to do, bury Diogo in Portugal in May. 

Everything is over now: my apartment is cleared in Thailand, my FB page is full of the new experiences I had in the last 5 countries I was in, and 3 days ago we put the love of my life in the ground, proving he really is gone and no matter how many more flights I take, I won’t find him. That’s the toughest pill I’ve ever had to swallow. 

In 7 days I will be back in Cali and I have no hopes, dreams, plans or expectations. I exist because God isn’t always merciful. I exist because I don’t think I have a choice. And if I don’t talk about it it’s not because I’m ashamed or it’s more painful than my actual reality, it’s because I care about you. 

[takinginair]

Running For My Life

Tonight I walked in the house and it was all dark like it normally is when I come home from Yogi’s after watching Breaking Bad and eating spicy fried pork. It’s our routine. I walked into the bedroom and fished around on the wall for the light switch. I felt the plastic and right before I turned the light on I saw him on my bed. 

For the instant that the room was dark, right before it became light I saw him sitting on my bed, looking directly at me and smiling. He was in his jeans and shoes and faded blue t-shirt.

I knew I had a few milliseconds before the light came on and in anticipation of seeing him I wondered what to say. Then the room was illuminated with a stark florescent bulb that hung in the middle of the room. The room was empty.

The rest of the night I thought about what I would say if he was sitting on my bed. I thought about what he would say to me. It’s easy to imagine what he’d say to me, nothing. He would literally smile his completely, charming-big-dimpled smile and act like he just got back from a store run. 

Diogo was just like that. Sometimes I’d be so annoyed and he’d just smile, “Oh stop looking at it like that,” he’d laugh indignantly. “Just see it differently.” I know for a fact he would be thrilled to see me and he’d fully expect me not to be upset about anything. He always wanted me to see things in the most positive way possible and be happy. He’s such a twat. 

But what would I say to him?  I truthfully think I wouldn’t say anything. There is nothing that I want to say to him. There are no words to fully encompass how much I’ve missed him, been deprived of his love, felt the absence of his heart and soul and genuinely missed by best friend. He already knows it anyway. He knows it because he must feel the same, it’s only this strong if it’s on both sides. 

No, it’s settled, when we see each other again, I will say nothing. I will run to him like I’m running or my life, because I am. 

[takinginair]

Harsh Life

The thing about suicide is who can you talk to about it. People consider it a condition, disorder, a cry for help. But what if you just want to end it? It always astounds me that Diogo kept it from me. In a life where he manipulated me and always got what he wanted from me, he never told me anything about taking his life. Obviously, he really didn’t want to manipulate me, as it would have been the easiest way to convince me to do almost anything. 

In the many hours we texted and video’d and called each other he never said anything at all to me. How is this possible?

Thinking back, how could he tell me? I understand now, because I can’t talk about it either. People want to hear about hope, exciting occurrences and “What’s new.” So what do you do when none of that matters to you anymore? 

People ask me, “Are you happy to be going home? “Are you excited to fly all over Asia?” I never know how to answer these things. “Happy?” “Excited?” Those feelings don’t really exist in me right now. 

I generally feel a half-awake acceptance that this Earth is where I have to exist physically. I’m uncomfortable, and I can’t say anything to anyone because what will they say in return, “Maybe you need help?” 

So I just try to stick to politics, religion, things people are emotional about so they talk about themselves. Today a friend called me “rigid.” He said, “I just miss you before when you were softer.” My mom confirmed she thinks I’m harsh. 

I’m surprised people think this of me, as I feel so weak. I feel like I’m nothing, but not nothing enough to be gone. I’m nothing inside and the wrong thing on the outside. I don’t remember who they liked but she must have been magnificent because I have never felt so raw and fragile and soft, and yet according to them this is the “hardhearted” me. 

It’s a terrible place to be: on this Earth without desire, alone without the person that used to kiss me/fight with me/ and who I’d tell EVERYTHING to, and letting everyone down because you’re not who they used to like. 

Diogo couldn’t tell me that he wanted to leave this world because I didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t tell me because I’d try to change him. He couldn’t tell me because he didn’t want to burden me with his harsh reality, a reality that lead him to think about it all the time and plan it down to the last detail. 

The harsh reality is there is no one to tell when you’re ready to leave this party called life. 

[takinginair]

Peace, What is it good for?

Sometimes living feels unjustified. Having to move through life and wait for a reason to exist seems futile. Sometimes hanging around this life is a chore, and death seems like nothing deeper than an overdue nap. 

I suppose this is how he felt. Maybe he’s giving me these feelings so I understand why he left me. I get it, now. I wish he’d come and get me too. 

It’s like living a double life. I fake it in public. Not all the time, sometimes I feel grateful, joyful and even happy. Like when I ride on the back of Yogi’s bike and we go to run errands uptown. Or when I see the buffalo herders bring the buffalo in at night. Or when my students see me in the streets and wave and blow me kisses. At those times, I’m glad to be on Earth. 

But the second that moment passes, I envy that dust that spins off the tuk-tuk tires and disappears into the sunlight. I just want to vanish like a whisper, leaving no trace behind. 

I think about it when I’m at parties, I think about it between bites at dinner, I ponder it while typing up lesson plans, and mostly I feel it at the end of the day when I brush my teeth realizing that a truck didn’t run me over, I didn’t trip and land on a barbed fence, no one murdered me at the bank when I took out money, and somehow my heart didn’t stop beating today. 

I feel so close to him when I remember that since he was 18 years old, he had all these same feelings. I wonder how many times he felt it with me. Did he wish for his ending while we were happy and giggling, or when we fought and he said, “This is the last time I’ll contact you.” Is that what he meant when he said that? 

I don’t know what he meant, and I don’t know when he thought it, but I now feel what he felt. I wish I was gone. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to miss out on all the great times with friends and family, I just want my head to stop pounding and my organs to unravel. I wish for the peace he described in his note. 

[takinginair]

All Summer In a Day

There’s a short story written by Ray Bradbury, about people that live on the mostly sunless planet Venus. A little girl from Earth moves there and tells her class all about the sun, but no one believes her. She misses the life that it gives her so much that she becomes obsessed with it. Eventually the children grow sick of her unbelievable tales about the fire in the sky and lock her in a closet. They leave her shut-in while they go outside to play. In those short moments, the sun happens to show itself just long enough for the school yard to become illuminated and the children basque in the newly felt warmth. By the time the Earth girl is found and set free,  her precious sun is gone leaving only the buzzing tales from the students. The Earth girl missed it all. 

I too know what it’s like to miss the sun. To be malnourished from the lack of vitamins that you receive from a necessary source in your life. To miss something so big that it affects your day and night and how you see the world. I very much miss it’s heat and how it felt on my skin, even from half way around the world.  And how it changed my features when I stood in its rays and in its shadow..To feel something so strong that it radiates through your body filling your heart with heat and something so brilliant that looking straight into it is blinding and yet captivating all at the same time. It feels like God.  

It’s just so hard to explain the sun to people whom have never felt it, seen it, or bathed its glory. The same goes for those that never experienced love with Diogo. 

[takinginair]

Difference

Today I woke up soft. I wasn’t drugged (for once), I wasn’t sad, I just opened my eyes and wanted to proclaim my love. “I love you.” I said with a sigh out loud. Sometimes, I just want to talk to him. I just feel like we haven’t spoken in awhile and I want to share my heart with him. 

There’s a cat video I know he hasn’t seen yet, a new theory from Elon Musk I want’ his opinion on, and he hasn’t seen my new hair color. He would want to see it. I have an entire life full of words and thoughts that at one time he couldn’t sleep without knowing; likewise, I couldn’t end a day without telling him what he means to me, so I need to share it all with him still. Having to hold all this in usually makes me angry and sad, but sometimes my feelings take on different emotions. 

Today I woke up and just wanted him to know I’m not mad. “I’m not mad, I just want you here. My love for you hasn’t changed. Also, we need to know where to plant you...so tell Gianna because I don’t think I can hear you.” I shared with him. 

It always feels good to be vulnerable and honest even if the other person doesn’t feel the same or doesn’t reciprocate. He should know, I love him and that I still need him whether he chooses to be here or not, my feelings are independent from his. I love him, and it still feels good to tell him.. Although, I have to admit, I hope this brings him sadness and guilt. 

[takinginair]

I know I’m Not Who I Used To Be, And I’m Sorry For Your Loss

I want to be reborn. I want to exchange this skin for new skin. I want to be a baby and give up all the heaviness in my heart. I wan’t a clear mind that knows nothing. I want to be dumb and ignorant. I hate myself and wish I could out run me. I need space and distance from this world and I want to go away, but I always am follow me. I am trapped in me. I am unable to move independent without the everything that he touched holding me back like iron shackles around my waist, wrists, feet and neck. I’m held down, held back, held in solitude. 

No one can touch me. I’m caged in my torment. I want to rip the flesh off my body to rid it of his touch. I want to rip out my heart to rid it of his beats, I want to rip out my brain and rid it of his memory and if I could bleed my body of it’s soul, that he shares, I would. I really would. 

I have lost friends at this time. I don’t blame them at all. They don’t distance themselves because they don’t love me, they do it because they can’t relate and the heaviness I feel, holds them back too. It’s too much to bear and it’s too much to witness. Like watching a friend accidentally fall off a cliff. You didn’t want them to fall, you wish you could have prevented it, you want to be with them in every way, so they are not alone, and yet, you don’t want to witness their decent and final crash into the earth. 

I know I’m not who you once enjoyed. But please know, I am not who I once enjoyed either. I hate myself and all I want to do is run, but these iron claws of despair prevent me from being the person you or I once loved. 

[takinginair]

Like Sand Through a Sieve

I have dreams we are together. In my dreams I am doing mundane things and he is there, standing beside me. 

He never says anything, he never speaks. He never influences what’s taking place, like if I’m speaking to friends or trying to get somewhere. He does nothing but stand next to me moving through the dream, going where I go, being where I’m being. 

His attendance is barely noticed until I suddenly wake up and realize we were together, and I close my eyes so fast to try to get back to that place. 

Last night I had a dream that he had his arm around my neck, hugging me but it was restricting my air. When I awoke I had my own arm around my neck and it was going numb. I moved instinctively, just to realize that only one second prior he and I were together and I felt whole again. 

I wrapped my arm around my neck and tried to fall asleep before my brain was fully awake. It didn’t work...I couldn’t get back to him. 

_________

One time when Diogo and I were fighting over the phone, we were finally reaching a point where I felt he understood me. Our fight was starting to evolve into that phase where we remembered how much we loved each other and that no difference in the world, however catastrophic, would impact our desire to be together. Not fundamental, core morals or lifestyles could keep us from trying to force each other to come to a common ground. 

And whether we came to a common ground or not we shared a world that grew, evolved and eventually spilled over into our Earthly life. We met in a sphere in the dark. We found each other in a place no one else knew about, because it didn’t exist...until we made it exist. We communed, laughed and shared stories on a realm that no one else could see, feel or touch. Like how the Lord started to form the darkness and then created light in the first three days Earth, we found a dark spot in the atmosphere and began to make it our own. The more time we spent there together, the more our new realm developed like a city in inception. And eventually it became our world coexisting with our Earthly life. 

We stopped fighting long enough to agree that we both needed that place, in this life. With every kiss and every touch, we wanted that to be the main place where we lived, only visiting the world where we met, but fully emerging into the realm that we built together. 

But when he died, I couldn’t go back to that place. That plane was wiped clean as there were two keys that unlocked it’s door, and I only hold one. Our place is gone and now I’m stuck in Earth...and without him. There’s no evidence that what I”m saying is true or real, my only witness is silenced and that place is locked...and I’m left to defend myself, alone. 

___________

Sometimes when I dream of him, it feels like we are back in our world, and it feels less like a dream and more like my real life. Waking up from that sleep fills me with panic and I need to sleep again, before he’s left our place. Like trying to run while desperately holding sand in my hand, it’s an impossible task where I always lose. 

[takinginair]

The Darkness is the Light

I used to beg that the Lord would take me so I could be with him. That hope dwindles more and more every day. At this point, I’m almost positive he has evaporated like rain water in a humid jungle. He’s turned into steam and now he is everywhere and yet nowhere.

Now I don’t long to leave this Earth to join him. I long to leave this Earth to rid myself of his absence. My spirit is already nowhere, and now my existence feels like when you slam your hand in the door. I’m in two places at once and it’s my physical body that’s begging for relief.

Would I love to be with him, yes. But if I can’t, then better to be numb to his memory.

[takinginair]

I've started telling him that I don't believe he's here - he's dead, there's no God, there's no place where Diogo looks down on me with sympathetic love and strokes my hair as I talk to him. The voice in me head is just me. And he's dead and I'm alone and there is no lingering ghost, magnetic field or trace left from him. He's erased. And that's all. Sometimes I think if where there are still pieces left Of him. Dead skin left in the sand near his home, old nail clippings when he clipped his nails at my house in Spain. Traces of his hair when he visited Poland. Places where he spit in England. I wonder where he still is and how long it takes for physical remnants to die when a person has been reduced to ash. And how long does the ash take to leave at what point will all his DNA be erradicted from the world? I guess it doesn't really matter, he's already dead.

[takinginair]

losing air - bat cave crazy i just cried i. the darkness i just crued and it made me teakize yhats all i want to do when i cant even see myself. 

In the dark I could be free. I couldn’t see my own hand and it was there that I realized, no one could see me, not even me and all I wanted to do was cry. 

In the dark of the cave, I opened my eyes and saw nothing, and then it flooded from me. I let go of his hand so he couldn’t feel me shake. I covered my mouth and cried into myself. In a room full of 25 people, while they contemplated the gravity of that moment, I took their presence as an invitattion to let it go. 

Some moments in life surprise even us, I didn’t even know I wanted to do that until my body did it instinctively, I cried until the flashlight came back on and we were summonds deeper into the cave, like a lowering of a body to the grave, I felt cold, hard rocks trapping my body and it felt as cozy as the fetal position and as natural as a womb. I felt like birth was only possibly through death. I want to die so bad. This must be how he felt every day. 

Some things make life worth living...and when those things are gone, so is the will. 

[takinginair]

Hatred

I don’t feel him like I used to. I used to talk to him all day, now he generally only comes to me at night when I can’t sleep...so, every night. I just cry. I know he hates that. He hated me crying. It was usually the only thing I could do to make him soft. Over time he became immune to that too. 

But today I’m sick of feeling him. I don’t know what to say, I’m so angry and have so many unanswered questions and whatever he wants from me now, he doesn’t deserve. 

Today, for the first time, I told him to go away that I hate him. I hope he doesn’t listen to me. 

#sad #devastated #suffering #suicide #interrealmal #coupling #alone #nopeace #suicideawareness #suicideblog #disorder

[takinginair]

Pennies For Your Thoughts

Money dropped from the sky today. No, I’m serious, it totally dropped from thin air. I was filling up my water bottle this evening, as one of my nightly chores. I was pouring my 5 gallon bottle into smaller water bottles so I can keep them in the fridge and drink them later. I was squatting and pouring the water when one single bhat(3 cents USD) fell right next to me. 

It made a loud noise and circled around in one spot, as change does when it’s thrown down. I watched it perplexed as to from where it came. Did I have it in my hand when I grabbed the bottle? Did it fly out of my pocket when I knelt down? Could it have dropped from something hanging around my house? Although, I had no pockets, I had nothing in my hands and there was nothing but the blank egg shell colored walls of my home. 

Dorothy, my step-dad’s late mother, used to say that angels leave coins to show they love you. She said a coin with the heads up are left by our loved ones beyond the veil. I walked over to the coin with my eyes shut. I wanted it to be heads up, I wanted it to be from Diogo. 

I felt bad if it was any angel other than Diogo, as I give him credit for everything right now. In some ways I didn’t want it to open my eyes as it would break my heart to see a worthless tails sided coin. I really wanted it to be communication from him. 

I opened my eyes, “You could have dropped a larger coin, even in heaven you’re cheap!” I said to the empty room as I picked up the coin with the heads up. 

#goodluck #angelstalk #interrealmal #coupling #suicide #communicationfromheaven #suicideawareness #suicideblog #blogger #writer #pleasecomeback #coping #surviving

[takinginair]

Movie Therapy

I watched the creepiest movie today. It stars Melissa McCarthy and Ryan Reynolds, so I assumed it was a romance comedy; and it kind of was, but it was dark and twisted. I was trying to find something that made me laugh, but I found this intensely deep and thought provoking piece of art called The Nines. I really  changed my perspective of life and death. 

I’ll try not to spoil the movie but I make no promises. 

It starts out with a depressed actor on house arrest. He’s being “handled” by his manager’s assistant who ends up becoming his best friend. It becomes a puzzle as to what he did  to get arrested and where he will go from there. Then the plot changes, that life is gone and now he’s a television writer and all the characters around him have similar roles, but in a completely different plot. For example, the manager’s assistant/ best friend from the previous plot is now his best friend actress and she’s teaching him lessons in friendship. So in a way, she’s still “handling” him. 

Once you’re in the thick of that plot, there’s an explosion and he’s in another life again. None of them recall the other plots but again, their roles are similar and they use some of the same words. For example, one women that seems to always be drawn to him, whom he follows and she always back stabs him, keeps calling him a 9 and other people are lesser numbers. The fact that he’s a 9 is an ongoing theme. 

Ultimately, we see that life is interchangeable. People’s roles vary and decisions can be born and die like miniature lives of their own, but there are a few things that don’t change, like the people in our lives. The ones we want there are always going to be there no matter what life we choose because we were meant to be with those people. And also, no matter how drastically different our decisions are, we always leave certain characters and we always are drawn to others.

I had trouble following this movie. In my defense, I thought it was a chick flick with a hot actor and an adorable actress. But of course, as the ending came near, I could see where it was heading and it made me think a lot about my relationship with Diogo. 

One line that really sums it all up is when each character can look back and remember all the scenarios and all the good and bad that each character has done to them.  The character that played the handler and best friend realized that she is not a 9 and she will never be, which puts her in a different world than the main character. Her daughter sees that she’s reminiscing and missing what she once had in her other lives. she touches her mom’s hand and says, “He isn’t coming back, but he gave you the best of all the lives.” A heart piercing line and of course, it  made me cry uncontrollably. 

I imagine, this theory is as good as any in the way of religion. It’s just as plausible that we have many lives with one another, as it is that we have one life then all end up at a Roman-style dinner table in the sky. But religion aside, The Nines made me see my relationship with Diogo in a new light. 

He brought me more fun, laughter and sheer joy than anyone I have ever met. And yet the heartbreak I feel from him has cut me to the core, even when he was alive. Maybe in every scenario we would always be addicted to each other, hurting anyone that got in our way. It’s possible that in every life together we he would have always left me, some how. Had we had other lives together, I’m sure we would have rotated around each other like the planets to the sun, only going so far way but only getting so close. 

Diogo was a 9 and I was a mere 7; and just like in the movie that puts us worlds apart, regardless of how much we love each other. While this might seem sad to many of you, this actually brings me comfort. It’s helpful to think that in a million-trillion chances, maybe this is “the best of all the lives.”  

#movietherapy #pleasecomeback #bestcasescenario #moviecritic #thenines #suicideawareness #suicide #manylives #worldviews #religions #istillloveyou #imissyou #heartache #heartbreak #illwaitforyou #surviving #coping