The last few weeks have been a roller-coaster, and of course, the ride isn’t over yet. I am putting the finishing touches to the edits on my prospectus…and it’s a nightmare. The fear of not being good enough is all-consuming. Worse, there’s a depression that’s hung over me since the move. It’s not the apartment (I love it), it’s not my roommate (she’s wonderful). It’s just that I put way too much pressure on the move, too much emphasis on thinking that once I moved, I wouldn’t hurt anymore. Surprise! Not the case. If anything, I think I may have felt worse, because the move, with the due date for three major papers just behind it, combined with the choice timing of some douchebaggery from David, spiraled me into a very bad place over the weekend, and I’m still struggling to crawl out of that, and get back to where I was before.
Depression, stress, anxiety, and way too many tears, combined with work pressures (I’ve had to go into work on a weekend two weeks in a row) and some overwhelmingly bad nightmares, and the result most days is…this:
Sometimes, I just want to give up. My life took an abrupt turn for the worst on September 26, 2011. It has been twenty months since then. And twenty months is a fucking LONG-ASS time to be sad a majority of the time. Sometimes I get so damn frustrated with myself. Why are you not over this yet? Why is this divorce still bothering you? Why can’t you move the fuck on and stop living in the past? Why do these things still make you sad?
It has the combined effect of making me irrationally angry. At myself.
But you know, I looked back in my blog a few months, to the entry dated January 29th, 2013, entitled “Death of All Dreams.” And I read back to those words that I wrote, pre-filing, pre-moving, pre-…everything I’ve done since January:
There before me, on a funeral pyre, are all the dreams I had for myself, all the unfulfilled promise that we had when we met, aged 23 and 24, so ridiculously in love, ready to embark on this great journey of life. We were going to be different. I know that nobody goes into a marriage planning on divorcing. From day one, we said that divorce was not an option. And then…it was.
They lie there, on this mythological pyre, so many memories and dreams and plans. I turn them over in my hands before putting them back down…
And although he has stripped the memories, the dreams, the hopes, even the love, bare, and laid them on the pyre, I haven’t been able to set the pile alight. Because you see, he won’t. He won’t do it. Only I can do it. Because he never will.
He left them there and walked away, he thinks I can never bring myself to end what I never wanted to end. To light all of those dreams on fire, watch them melt and run together and evaporate into thin air.
He doesn’t realize that once they are burned, once they are gone forever, once I give them up…I can start dreaming again. I can hope again.
I just have to find a way to strike the match.
Lord, help me find a way to strike the match.
And sometimes it seems like I haven’t come so far. But when I look back on there…I did find my way. I filed. I moved. I struck the match and burned it to the ground. The only way that I could move on was by burning the past, and I did it. I did it. I burned it. It’s still burning. There’s no sense staring back and trying to reach in to salvage the pieces as they catch and burn. I’ll only hurt myself. Even if I pull them from the wreckage…they’re still charred, they’re still gone. No sense in looking back. Burn it. Burn it all.
And then, when it’s over…it’s over. And you can begin again.
When there’s nothing left to burn…you have to set yourself on fire.