Brains is stoopid

I had a rather remarkably nice weekend. Then I had a horrible nightmare. The brain, perhaps unwilling to admit some level of peace in this tumult, has deigned to sabotage any emotional stability, eschewing inner happiness for inner pain. Which is to say, eff you, brain.

I will start with the unhappy, then delve into the happy. Though chronologically, the story did not happen this way, I’d much rather leave the reader with a sense of the upbeat, perhaps drawing them away from the thought that things may not be so peachy as this past weekend would lead them to believe.

… So I went to bed feeling inner calm, excitement for the future, and a good sense of feeling wanted and loved, which has not been the case in recent months. Alas, my brain did not want me to forget or move into peace so easily.

Certain details of the dissection and biopsy of our relationship are, as agreed by both Klimchee and myself, best left between only us. One great reason for this is that we both lived through the context of these moments, and understand them as parts of a whole, a larger narrative to which only we have been privy. My feelings on this very issue cemented after several presumptuous DBs made comments to both Klimchee and myself regarding how they “always knew we would never work out.” It was at that point that I determined some details were best left out of public or even private consumption. Whatever happened is something that only two people will ever even marginally understand, and any semblance of relation from an outsider is at best projection, at worst over-reaching ignorance bolstered by a sense of self-importance.

Or maybe you really do understand and can relate to everything? Perhaps you are the uber-mensch!

So the details of the moment I will touch upon are not significant to your understanding of this nightmare. I will say this, and only this: our separating has been marked by very few traumatic moments. The majority has been long drawn out contemplations and ruminations, and a heap of private lonesome mourning. However, a few traumas existed. One significant one occurred in late January, a moment that, I am realizing, will forever be etched into my heart.

I have said, and will probably continue to say, that it stands alone as the single most painful and traumatic moment of my life.

Sadly, the contentment I felt in my waking weekend could not sustain. As has happened in the last 2 months, I was again visited by specters of that trauma last night. The cast of characters was somewhat garbled and substituted, but the action played out in precisely the emotional cues it ever had. Everything was fresh, and new, and painful, and powerful, myself empty and devoid of control or power.

I literally shot up in bed and sobbed. It has been weeks since I have sobbed.

I offer this tale only to say that my brain wishes to remind me of where I truly am. Life is not full of roses yet, despite my attempts to take an optimistic view on things. Despite everything, there are scars I will carry with me. Scars that are not going away, and do not wish to be forgotten or hidden.

I choose not to hide from them, but I will not let them drive my life. If I must lose any part of myself, let it be my dreams. They are the most easily forgotten.


I have started dreading the move from my brother’s house. I considered myself a floater there, a hanging variable mostly valued at free babysitting, devalued at excessive wine consumption.  So it was difficult when my nieces first started demanding I simply stay and live with them forever. It was harder to hear my sister-in-law declare how much they’re going to miss me when I am gone, mourning that they had lost me for so long, and now that I am finally back they fear losing me again.

It struck me as odd, to be so needed, so wanted. Through no direct intention of any party, the events of a post-Thanksgiving world have left me scrambling to feel anything besides worthless and unlovable. Certainly unwanted. This is, I can assure you, the natural feelings of the cast-away. It is not permanent, more fleeting. It is a feeling that dissipates over time, becoming less and less extreme until it faintly echoes as a choice of mindset rather than an oppressive and dominating force of mind. It was deafening at first. Now it merely hums in the background, expecting to be remembered.

I mention this because the move has gone extraordinarily well.

Friday night I made dinner for the family – Veal Pistache (adjustable to chicken, I assured Kyndri [I give credit to Klimchee for this now 3-person moniker]) and we drank wine and listened to music and enjoyed the hell out of each other’s company until the wine ran out, at which point the company became less enjoyable for not having brought another bottle! I watched the Social Network with A&J (to my own surprise actually thinking Mark Zuckerberg is just kind of awesome, regardless of the heavy-handed tone of the film), then went to bed to rise early for the move.

Details of the move aside, I soon found myself in the apartment in DC, surrounded by things to do. Once Henri left to something something baby whatever, I was struck by a surprising sense of loneliness. Living within the stormy chaos of childhood has made me somewhat fearful of silence. I brewed some coffee, cranked some Weezer and D-Plan, and set to work. Just about the time the loneliness was creeping up again, Glynnenstein knocked at my door, arriving with beer! Beer and coffee and Glynn, putting together some furniture and organizing my kitchen, 80’s tunes cranked in the background. Soon Henri was back in the mix, and the beers continued to flow. Soon Rudesy McBeardface was there as well, post-brewery tour and slightly tipsy. We walked 2 blocks down the street where we enjoyed a patio dinner of Greek food and expensive raka, met by Dre2D2 McBeardface who had just arrived from work. We enjoyed the anise-flavored liquor, the heat lamps, and the company thoroughly.

Back to the apartment, XYT popped in next. Suddenly, I am surrounded by familiar faces of my past, all joining me to celebrate (pre-emptively) my move to a new city. And truthfully, some part of me knows that these friends all know I am in a bad place, a sad place, a place of loneliness and met up in concerted knowledge and effort to help me feel better.

Or perhaps, perhaps …. perhaps they merely wished to meet up, wished to see me. Perhaps there are those who, like my family, really do just want me around.

So I slept (passed out) in my new apartment, feeling very good feelings of belonging and being welcomed to DC.

On Sunday, I drove home early, went to Ikea and, fully en-Ikea’d, headed BACK to the apartment to drop off boxes. While having lunch with my dad, Henri texted with the idea to get margaritas with Kyndri! At 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon, I found myself enjoying frozen swirly margaritas and chips and salsa on the patio of Lauriol Plaza, thinking to myself “oh yeah … I remember this …”

Back at home, my family was excited to hear about my weekend, my trip to Ikea, and the delicious margaritas. So I went to bed feeling inner calm, excitement for the future, and a good sense of feeling wanted and loved, which has not been the case in recent months…


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