A couple weeks ago, I really thought I was losing it. It felt like I was being run over by fear and anxiety, and I didn’t understand where it was coming from. There was a day when I had to attend an event in the evening and I tried gearing myself up for it since morning, but when the time came around to actually do my hair and sort my clothes and get ready, I just couldn’t follow through. It felt like I just couldn’t muster up the energy, my insides felt hollow, and all I could do was lie down and try to calm my nervous system, and breathe.
There are times when I have felt thus before, especially on those dreaded first days of my period when I have pulled myself together despite cramps and moodiness, dressed up and showed up, just so no one would ‘feel bad’ that I didn’t turn up for an important event in their lives. I even had to show up for my own wedding despite feeling like utter crap. That’s probably why all weddings trigger me on some level.
But lately I feel like I’ve been struggling with something that is demanding something else from me, and I need to give that feeling some more importance now, give it some space. Maybe a LOT MORE space.
It’s been a month since Fuzzy suddenly slowed down, went very still, and finally let go of the life in him. We knew this day would come, he was sixteen years old after all, and I low-key always worried about where we would bury him. But we never thought he would die so peacefully, so quietly, and that his dying would squeeze my heart quite this much, given how much trouble he gave us all his life. Who would have thought one can have a karmic relationship with a cat? And what a lesson he taught in what it means to love unconditionally. We buried him right in the middle of our courtyard, wrapped in a piece of light blue cloth along with the little dish he always used to drink milk in, and a paper crane I folded while I kept vigil for him in the night. His passing in the morning, and the manner of it, triggered memories of other deaths. There was also this profound sense of laying to rest a whole way of being, a chunk of history, along with Fuzzy.
I think there is a bit of unprocessed grief stashed away in corners of my body, which comes out in unexpected ways sometimes, but predictably around my usual breakdown moments around the new moon. Sometimes I hear songs in my ears and I sing along until I realize those songs are linked with people who no longer ‘exist’, yet I feel their absent presence so very strongly in my heart, and the pain comes out in tears. I miss my mother so much, her voice, her language, her wisdom, her hands. Her humour. And I miss her spirit. I never thought I’d feel so rudderless. I still can’t believe I’ll never see her again. I so want to see her. I think that each death in my close family has taken a piece of my soul with it. But time is passing by, one day at a time, and life is going on, and I get up each day and I do some random shit till it’s night and I brush my teeth and get into bed and toss and turn with my lower back pain which is a constant, and I get up again and it’s a new day.
I’m not so sure about some things, I don’t feel very confident in my skin sometimes when I’m amongst people. Small talk feels almost painful, because I suppress all the things I’m actually interested in taking about, because I don’t like being looked at like I’m an alien, and it takes a very long time to clear the debris of social interactions from my aura, stuff that I automatically internalize unconsciously. I have come to understand that a lot of the things I judge others for are often things I’m guilty of myself. Against my better judgment, comparing myself unfavorably to others, I judge myself relentlessly and often feel like everything I do or have ever done in my life has been completely wrong. And yet..
There are many many moments when I feel completely right, grateful for everything in the present moment, focused in my thoughts and actions, filled with a sense of purpose, wonder and joy and love. My inner world feels rich and alive with possibilities, my dreams are like powerful stories to dwell on and understand. There is yoga to practice, nourishing food to be made, rest to be had, plants to be nurtured, seeds to be sown, cats to be loved and admired and groomed, my two besties to talk things out with when the negative thoughts get out of hand. Just being.
No one needs to grant me the permission to take what I need, I can simply reach out and take it. All I have to do is allow the old version of me to fall away and let the new one flourish. The new me, which is actually the oldest me ever. Sometimes I catch sight of her, and I want to reach out and give her the biggest hug. I did that once, in one of my dreams. But it was only when I woke up that I realized who that little vulnerable girl was, the one I first thought was Amu, and my heart burst with love for her.