I don't proclaim my journey in life is special. I don't proclaim it is better, worse, or even that much different. I proclaim it as mine, and in that, I have my own personal "weights" (as I have written about before).
Towards the end of September, an uncle, who I thought a lot of, died unexpectedly on the day his mother, my grandmother, would have been her birthday. To say it devastated our family, including his children, would be an understatement. Everyone was planning to meet up, reminisce, and proceed to the wake/funeral, while still being in shock.
He had a knack of bringing the family together one way or another.
I was living in Peoria, IL, working for local minor league team, a winter at Kroger, and booking bands where I could. I had moved there almost two years before. I gave up just about everything I had to move because, sometimes, you just have to take a leap of faith. I believe belongings don't truly define who you are. Things can get lost, but experiences can last a lifetime.
The day after my uncle died, my girlfriend, whom I had been living with, decided she wanted to break up. Already in the state of mind I was in, I just couldn't deal with that at the time. As much as I wanted to go to the funeral, I was stuck five hours away. I knew had I left, I would've lost what little I had and had accumulated in those two years. I had to stay there to tie up loose ends, and to essentially make sure I wasn't getting screwed out of anything. I had started packing and planning with KR, conversing with SB, while trying to keep one eye on my things so that they wouldn't walk off, which they were doing. There was money that needed to be split, and shared possessions. Not only did I not know what I was going to keep, I had nowhere to go.
Then the hardest thing I had to deal with in recent memory happened.
About the second week of October, my cat, BB, died (I don't suspect the ex to have hurt him). He was my friend, my confidant, and my child. When I was in a worse place, he was what kept me going. People who saw me and him together knew how much we cared for each other. He was my solid base in times when things seemed to be rocky. I chose to never have children, because there are enough of them I could help without feeling the need to bring one into the world. BB was the closest thing I had ever had to that, and that is how I feel about him. He taught me more about what I was capable of than I had ever known. The last part of my world that was solid was gone.
I was a wreck. With everything else compounding, I was constantly in tears. I, in fact, still cry thinking about him. I couldn't find solace or talk to enough people to ease the pain I was going through. I had officially lost it at that point. People reached out to offer what condolences they could, and some shared stories of the loss the had with their fur babies. That didn't help me much, because I was in a self-absorbed depression. Then I would also hear the phrase "it was just a pet...".
Here is my reply to that: fuck you. If you lost a child, would it make you feel any better if I said "well, you didn't lose anything. They didn't live that long. They were just a kid."? The only real difference is that it didn't happen to you. i don't wish any harm to these people, but it would be nice if they were to experience the magnitude and insensitivity of the words they brought to me, for only so they could have the realization of the reality they act so confident in supplying.
As it was the end of October, I had what I thought at the time, was a solid plan. To make due, I was going to have to couch surf for a while until I got on my feet. I had spoken to people who offered to help, and I felt I could move forward with at least a little bit of what confidence I could muster up so that I didn't end up up "stuck".
Also, at this time, a glimmer of a positive thought came out of me. At 45 years old, I was given an opportunity to do something many did not have to do: I was able to pursue my happiness without "weights". I determined that it wouldn't make me happy where I was, but whom I was with, and that could be anywhere, and to cherish this rare opportunity. It was time for the rebuilding to commence.
I moved back to Owensboro, KY, which, in all honesty, other than family, there isn't much here for me. I feel like I am dying too fast here, but I had to do something without having very few of the things that were actually mine. In other words, I offset her bills for the winter involuntarily.
I want to say that around the first week of November, I had heard my dad was really sickly, and they were going to have to some dangerous (for him) surgeries. I always loved my dad, even if we had a hard time getting along with each other. I think at times we were just too much alike. In his mind, i was his son, and even as an adult, I often felt he saw me as the 5 year old boy that was taken from him. We shared a love for music, the Cincinnati Reds, and, at one point, beer (although I had quit drinking a few years before at this point).
I want to guess around the second week of November, he passed. My sister, her son, and myself went to Ohio to go to the funeral. I tried for the majority to stay strong, but I think it was obvious to anyone around me, I wasn't. Everything in my life felt tenuous, and still does to this day. It comes with the freedom I mentioned earlier.
Plans to couch surf had fallen through. I had no chances to get on my feet again that would've been fruitful for any amount of time. It feels like I am waiting for my turn to die.
It has always been extremely hard for me to open up. I feel I have real strong abandonment issues, which leads me to not trust people often or easily because I don't how long they will stay in my life. Slowly and surely, I know this is something I have to get out of. I don't go into the past much because of the negativity it brings, which, for me, is the same with opening up. I recall times where I did it before, only to get hurt and/or have it used against me. I had to choose better.
I am still fighting, but I am trying to grasp what and whom will come with me, which is extremely tough for me to do at this time.
This is my journey.
To be continued...
Until we meet again...
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