gone baby gone . . .

Well, shucks. I really thought this blog would turn out to be a proverbial victory dance, championing the plight of a broken-hearted girl in Brooklyn, who rises above the adversity and eventually ekes out a living among the stars (veiled as they are beneath these bright city lights)

. . . But friends, I'm going home. Back to the south. Back to my family. Back to my roots.the truth is, I'm just too tired. I'm too alone. And I'm afraid that if I don't find some peace I might actually fall apart. There's nothing left for me here. I've lost everything I once owned-- not that it mattered-- it was all just "stuff".

More devastating have been the heart-losses. My heart is still shattered to pieces. I'm tired of quietly crying on the subway as I make my way back to my empty house. I miss Badger.

I actually called him earlier this week to see if he was up to spending just one more day with me. He, characteristically, insinuated that he thought I was silly and that he really didn't care one way or the other. It's quite possible that once I'm gone he may never see me again. . . AND HE DOESN'T CARE!!! (Ouch).

So Badger, I'm leaving. If you wait 4 more days you will have missed out on one last chance. . .to be with the girl you swore you once loved. The girl you swore you would never leave. The girl you swore you couldn't live with out.

(Does this make me pathetic? Yes: most definitely.)

Has anyone ever been hurt like this? Itks changing the color of my entire life. . . So I'm going home. So long, broke-lyn.

. . . gypsy heart. . .

if my life were a screenplay, it would be face down in the rejection pile. It's just not "believavle" enough. Really. So I was robbed on saturday. Some guy crawled up my fire escape, jimmied open my window and took everything that had any value.
I guess it's a blessing I don't have anything of real value- save my laptop and an old blackberry (both of which he took)- I'm writing this post from my phone! Hah. . .
I'm just so tired. It's been a rough go for me lately. And you know what? I think it's time for a change. I'm going home, folks!

"beautiful"

Ever so often you meet a person who sees something in you . . . and has the confidence (audacity?) to vocalize his/ her thoughts. . . and what a blessing it can be for the recipient. I was lucky enough to meet such a person this afternoon at work. . .

I work in a restaurant and was manning the door this afternoon when a young man walked in, looking for one of our servers. He walked up to the podium, sort of spaced out for a minute and then said, "My God, you're beautiful."

I had absolutely no response. I haven't felt "beautiful" in a very, very long time. Thank you, gutsy stranger, for sharing your opinion so boldly. . . I didn't even realize how badly I needed it.

and then on days like today . . .

I think I might actually be "too blue to fly" . . . my world caves in and all I can see is this vast emptiness . . . and endless and barren desert stretching on for leagues ahead . . . My very soul yearns and weeps for the losses that have gone before. Why does life have to hurt so much?

I miss Badger, and I keep wondering when I get to stop missing him. When does the longing for him end . . . or at least diminish? I feel so utterly and terribly alone. I spend my days surrounded by friends and colleagues, laughing and working together . . . and then I come home to my empty box (well, it's not empty: there's always my cat, Olive). . .

And on days like today . . . on lonely nights like tonight . . . I lose the desire to carry on. I don't want to do it all over again tomorrow. Pretending to be fine is killing me. The tears stream down my cheeks and I wonder . . . do you miss me, too?

stuck between the pages. . . or free to fly away . . ?

I feel so strangely. . .

In many ways I have been set free. . . Free from the future that I had so carefully planned, free from the prospect of a marriage to a man who could never truly love me, free to create a life on my own . . . I've been simply set free. . .

But I've discovered that "freedom" is, (at first?), terribly discomfiting. I'm fearful of the new wings I've been granted. I haven't learned to control them and glide along. . . Rather, my flights come in short, powerful bursts that leave me breathless and generally end with a crash-landing. See. . .

• my apartment catastrophe
• my craigslist fiasco
• the bicycle incident
• my first few attempts to "see" other people . . . ugh.

(the list goes on, really)

I miss Badger. But I know he's bad for me. I feel like an addict: The only thing I crave is the one thing that is the very worst for me. The drug has been taken away for good, and I find myself in rehab . . .

And I wonder if he misses me. I'm still so hurt. How long will it take for this wound to heal? I'm happy for fall. . . October has always been my favorite month. . . and it's almost here. I can smell the leaves turning already. . . come on, Autumn. Take me home. . .

unwravel. . . slow. steady.

I've been working tons and tons. . . I can't think of a better time or place to have lots of work. Lord knows I need the money. . . and the distraction's not half bad either!

I've been thinking about choices. And options. . . for so long I have been set on making New York my home, and establishing myself here. . . but the events of the past few months have softened my heart, I guess. I feel New Orleans calling . . . and for the first time in my life I am falling in love with the South. (distance makes the heart grow fonder?)

I had a long talk with my daddy the other day. . . he said I could come home and go to culinary school. . . I have to confess, the offer is more than tempting. But maybe my gypsy heart just likes the idea of "home". . . and escape.

apathy cancer

I had an epiphany the other day. . . I don't actually remember where I was when I had it, but this realization suddenly helped me to begin making sense out of the seeming senselessness of this broken engagement business. . . and here it is:

Ever since I have known Badger, he's had a bit of an apathy problem. He has no real driving passion, hasn't figured out what it is that he wants "to do," or what it is that he loves. . . and when we first fell in love, I actually filled that space in his life. I became his passion: the thing that made him want to wake up in the morning. I was his direction, and I actually became his purpose. . . I was effectually filling a space in his life that I had no business filling!

And yes, dear reader, I'm sure you're thinking, "well, that's just plain sick! No human can fill that kind of gap in another person's life." And you're absolutely correct: it was unhealthy and unbalanced and weird.  . . And you're also right to say, "well no wonder it fell apart! Something that wrong can't last." And you're correct again (feel free to say I told you so- even though you didn't- you know, you really should have).

But the thing is that I did make it work! I was able to fill the gap, and pretty adequately for a pretty good stretch of time! I even convinced him that he wanted to make me his wife! BUT (and here comes the epiphany: drumroll, please . . . )

Badger's apathy is a cancer. He has apathy cancer. It was killing him before he fell in love with me, eating through the organs of his life, one by one. When I came along I was like an experimental treatment that appeared to solve the problem . . . and I actually sent his cancer into remission for a good year or so. But then the cancer flared up again, and this time with a vengeance. It ripped though even more organs and eventually ate out the place in his heart that was my home. . . and it killed me.

What I'm beginning to realize is that Badger never really loved me. He loved the idea of me, and he loved that I gave him purpose and some sort of trajectory. He loved the distraction from himself that I provided, albeit temporarily. But he never really loved me.

. . . sigh . . . cancer is a bitch. Especially the apathy kind.

"all by myself."

 These were actually the first words I ever uttered as a child. . . some kids say, "mama," "daddy," or even "dinosaur." But My first words were "All by myself."

I guess I've always been immensely independent. I love being alone, self-sufficient, not needing help from anyone. . . but when I found (the boy who broke my heart. . . shall we give him a fictional name?? Let's call him "badger.") Badger, I allowed myself to need him. . . something I have never in my life allowed. I actually let him take care of me from time to time. . . I shared with him all of my deepest, darkest fears and longings, insecurities and neuroses.

But what happens when the rug is pulled out from beneath your feet? Well, I'm still figuring it out. How do I find my way back to "all by myself" . . .

. . . and he's already kissing someone else. . .

It's been all of a month. . . and he's already kissing some new girl. Everything in my being is shouting. . . "HOW COULD YOU???" I loved you more than I ever thought it possible to love another human, and our history means so little to you that you can bring yourself to latch onto some new girl so quickly?? We were ENGAGED, a-hole!! How is it possible that you care so little for me. . . What happened to loving me and wanting to MARRY me??

And I'm sure that my blogging rants only serve to confirm the fact that I'm just crazy . . . of course he wouldn't want to marry me! I'm effing out of my mind!!

But then again, I'm really not so crazy. . . well, maybe a little crazy. But I'm also just incredibly hurt. My happily ever after's gone awry and I'm perpetually wedged between laughter and tears.

. . . and then there was the bicycle incident.

So following the apartment fiasco, I was instructed to file a police report against the young woman who stole my savings (she actually committed grand larceny and fraud). I did so at my local Bklyn PD. The experience itself was, well, odd. I waited for an officer who was dealing with 2 hookers and some other crazy, shouting man. I filed my report, and headed home to collect my things before heading off to work.

I waited for the light to change (and give me the friendly walking man signal to cross the street, and as it did, I reached into my bag to look at my phone. As I stepped off the curb, I was DECKED by a cyclist who was aiming to race through the red light before the cars started in the other direction.

The good news is that EMTs in New York are super nice. When I came to in the ambulance, I was able to convince them that I didn't need to go to the hospital, that I didn't need to file (another) report, and that I was fine to limp on home. They wrapped up my arms and legs like a mummy (you know, to prevent infection, etc). I was laughing about my "luck," and actually I was pretty lucky! No broken bones, no concussion, no real (lasting) damage! I did have some awesome bruises and actual tire marks up and down my arms and legs. . . and yet another great story to tell.

I texted my big broseph, "Just got hit by a bike. Is this a movie?"
And my brother, who usually good-naturedly laughs at my misfortunes, making me feel tons better about life in general replied, "a sad one." Boo, broseph. Come on! This is HILARIOUS!

craigslist (ed)

. . . and so I found the most perfectly wonderful studio apartment to sublet in Brooklyn. The young lady was going away for a year and needed a place to come home to when she returned. . . and I thought,"perfect!" I signed her lease and handed over my entire savings to cover the first month's rent and security deposit.

I began to settle in. . . and as I was coming home from work, about three days after having moved, I ran into the superintendent on the front steps. He casually asked who I was, where I was going, and I promptly informed him that I was subletting #4! His response was, "hrm. . . let's have a chat."

Apparently, the young lady I was "subletting" from actually hadn't paid her rent in 3 months, was in the process of being evicted, and actually just stole my savings and skipped town. . .

I was devastated. Where was I supposed to go now? Holy cow, how was I going to pay for another place to live if my entire savings was gone?! I sat on the floor and cried great big alligator tears that pooled around me. I felt so small and stupid and again, utterly alone.

Luckily, the super and landlord were nice enough to work something out with me. They moved me into another (much smaller, less scenic) unit and are working out a payment plan with me so that I can put down a deposit, pay rent, and maybe have some money left over for food. Still, there went my savings. . . and here I am, just barely making ends meet, all alone, somewhere in the middle of nowhere Brooklyn. . .

and somewhere in between . . .

Somehow July came and went. . . and so did August.

And somehow I stayed afloat. It's September now. (Thank God.) I made it (but then again, we all do, don't we?) I have some amazing friends. I really do. I have the kind of friends who call me and make me come out of hiding and insist on loving me, even when I don't feel lovable, or even like being loved. And I have a wonderful family who loves me, even though I've chosen a life that's a thousand miles away . . .

But there's so much more to tell . . . that happened. . . following the broken heart catastrophe . . . One of my wisest friends said, "cities, with all their beauty, culture, and opportunities, have this way of turning on people when they're at vulnerable points" . . . and that's exactly what happened during the month of August. . . to be continued!

an end. . .

I suppose it all began on July 2, 2009. But let's start on July 1st, shall we?

On July 1, 2009, I was happily engaged to the love of my life, my best friend, my favorite person in the whole world. We had plans to conquer the world. We were "epic." Our story was strange and beautiful and complicated and so wonderfully rich. Our relationship was never easy, but is anything in life (that's really worth the effort) ever "easy"? And yes, he was my very best friend. There was nothing about me he didn't know. . .

On July 2nd we broke off our engagement. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe the words coming out of our mouths. Everything we'd worked and fought and struggled for for the past few years. . . just vanished into thin air. And of course it wasn't all that abrupt. We'd been fighting more than usual, I'd been crying more frequently: things weren't perfect. (But they never were!) I guess I thought we would work through the rough patch, just as we'd worked through all the other rough patches before. But this time it was different. This time we just let go. . .

To make things more complicated, we were living together, in a commune of sorts, with all of our best friends from college. . . in this house that used to be our home. There wasn't a corner in a room that didn't remind me of him, or carry some memory of the two of us. . . and I needed to get out.

To be honest, I don't remember July. I do remember numbly walking across the Brooklyn Bridge on the 4th of July, feeling more terribly and utterly alone than I have felt since my parents dropped me off at summer camp for the first time. . . Homesickness. I had lost the home that was my best friend, my fiancee, my carefully-planned future, my favorite thing in the world. . .

Loss and homesickness and heartache and anger and paralysis and hurt and nausea and nothingness.

a beginning . . .

"The first page of a new notebook is one of the most daunting things in life . . . "

Words I have meticulously etched into the front cover of every journal I've kept since the 5th grade. The sentiment is still true. . . where do we begin? How do we pick up where we left off? As if journals were meant to be read at some point by someone other than ourselves. . . so that other people remember us accurately? But really, a journal serves to help us remember ourselves correctly and to remind ourselves who we are, where we've been, and where we're going.

(Can this preamble serve as an excuse for the ramblings that are sure to follow??) For anyone who has haplessly stumbled across this blog, forgive me! I don't even know where this journey will take you . . . or me for that matter! Read at your own risk, dear browser. . . these are the confessions of a broken (mangled?) heart.