The Overshare

I have had to, in recent days, revisit the version of me in this picture. This was 2010.

While I would love to be slightly less skinny than this (this was a tad extra) and have that same skin quality, I don't EVER want to be this version of me again.

This girl, as happens to all of us in this journey of life, had had a couple or more (might even have been just one bad year - the details are hazy, and I don't care to delve into them) of phenomenally bad years. This girl.... I... was not ok. Far from it. I was on the verge of tears 24/7. Yes, I know I am generally supremely emotional, but this was a whole other level. I was feeling many, terrible, hopeless things all at once. And simultaneously I felt vacant. A walking shell. I was forgetting to eat. I was oversharing. Constantly. In a chasm of despair and emotion that I really could not find me way out of. Trying to find sense in events that had no reasonable, neat, pleasant explanation.

I look back now and I wonder how ANYONE tolerated me - how the people who stayed weren't completely put off. Weren't they sick of the constant, futile pouring of emotion and tears? Weren't they tired of a regurgitation of events and emotions day after day?

I know. I sound like so much fun. And honestly, I couldn't bear to exist. I really didn't want to.

I felt so alone. Isolated.

The past few days have required me to examine the events that led to 2010 me. I had, some months after this picture was taken, found myself again and had resolved to take charge of myself and my life again instead of staying trapped. Because I truly felt trapped. With nowhere and nobody.

The resolve came about suddenly. And of course, true to human nature, I believed that its arrival meant I was fixed. Not broken.

I was obviously wrong. Many tears followed. But less indiscriminate and not as frequent. Somewhere along the way, I buried the things that I could not make sense of. The things that had hurt me the most.

And I went along my merry way.

However, even if recent conversations hadn't forced me to dig the hurt up and examine and face it, small incidents in the last several months have made me aware that I need to do THE WORK. It is unresolved and it has bobbed up. Close to the surface. And the most random, innocuous conversations have struck deep and I have had phenomenal meltdowns. The hurt still lives and is demanding to be dealt with. It lives because life - as amazing and blessed as it has been since 2010 - hasn't stopped doling out some measure of crap as well.

The events that led to the 2010 me, eventually resulted in the dissolution of certain major relationships. I was heart broken. It's weird when your heart hasn't been broken in a relationship that isn't romantic. There isn't much understanding that anyone else seems to be able to lend you. There isn't much support in lore, and music, and popular culture. It deepens the feeling of isolation. It actually makes you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. You are grieving the loss of someone who still exists. A loss you choose for your own well-being. A loss that is necessary.

Anyway. Back to me on my merry way. Some amazing things happened. And some sad things happened. Life things. Milestones. But I was dealing. I was alright. I was functioning.

And then other relationships dissolved. Not by my own choice. Big ones that I depended on.

Several things happened at that time. I discovered what people say and what they mean can be very different. I lost my trust in words. This is when writing became difficult for me... (until then I could ramble on for days on end). Not only did I begin to mistrust words, I didn't realise it then, but that mistrust became convenient. Writing is when my truths flow out. My hurts were my new truths and I was not ready to face them. I was too scared of what would happen to me when I had to re-examine my life. Too scared to get lost in that fog.

I also began questioning what it was about me that made me so dispensible. I still struggle with that regularly. Every time a person chooses to break things off, I take it hard. And I go over every loss. And I ALWAYS think it is me. I am not saying it is not. I mean hey, if I am the common factor...

I also know that this is life. People come together and part. Misunderstand and walk away instead of communicating. I am not alone in this happening.

But every ending of a significant relationship (obviously of the do or die variety) takes me a step back to 2010 me. 2010 me has not died. She exists within me. She is still wounded. And she refuses to be ignored. This has become obvious to me. And I have postponed giving her the spotlight.

I have been terrified of going into a darkness that almost crippled me before. I don't ever want to be 2010 me again. I was finally gathering courage to revisit her when, as I mentioned, I had no choice but to go back.

It was as terrible as I imagined. As paralysing. I was reliving a highlight reel of the things that have hurt me most and it wasn't pretty. Literally. Because there has been a lot of crying. And I am a disgusting mess of snot and tears (you are welcome) when I cry. I have no delicate subtle ways of doing it. If I could change anything about me, it would be this. How quickly I cry and how disgusting I am when I do it. (It hasn't changed in 37 years, so really, it's a losing battle.)

As I was saying, it has been pretty bad. I was pretty useless for a whole day or so. I had zero appetite. It sounds dramatic and it was. Don't think I don't feel totally ridiculous about it. I do. I am a lot better now. It wasn't easy talking about the stuff I needed to. But as soon as I did, I lost that uncontrolled edginess. The tears stopped lurking on the surface. I don't feel as heavy. And while it is still fresh, I must do the work now. Give the hurt an examination and see where to go with it. How not to let it colour my view of myself. Because it always makes me look inward and find myself wanting and worthless. And honestly, objectively, I have begun to own that I am not THAT bad.

The great thing that has come about other than this very tentative, probably temporary, peace that I feel is that I have a much better highlight reel that I am watching in my head.

You see, I thought I had done all of this on my own.

I hadn't. I don't always remember this, but I am always blessed with the best people around me. Family that isn't always blood. And people came through for 2009-2011 me. In so many countless ways. I remember more and more every second. From close friends who listened to my pain on repeat and who made me DO things, to the people in the periphery who showed me kindnesses I didn't realise at the time, to the girl on my flight who I traumatised by bursting into huge angry sobs and who hugged me and checked on me a couple of days later.

In forgetting the pain I forgot all these lifelines. And I hope those who I may not have communicated my eternal gratitude to have an inkling of what they did. I am me because of the people who carry me. I forget this way too often. But it is also what gets me to try again after every heartbreak.

Also... perhaps... the words are back?

Translucent

I'm barely there.

I don't mean this in the au naturale make up goals kind of way. I don't mean this in a sad kind of way. I've just realised that I don't know me anymore.

I've never been very identity-oriented. Labels are still not my thing (I think). And this isn't even about that. But you always kind of know who you are - in your core. Hopes, dreams, character, failings - all those intangible things that make up that unique being that is you.

Perhaps this is what happens in life. Bits of you get wrenched from you. Others don't quite fit. Others are suddenly necessary. If I went down memory lane I might see where and how all these pieces were discarded - a chronological map of this new me.

This me that feels like less.

The jury's out on whether this is good or bad.

Forget

I forgot and held you up high again. I gave in to seductive expectation. I forgot how little I matter.

Who fails who when it is I who forget?

I fail me.

Because I forget all the times you have showed me who you really are. I forget all the times I let you let me down.

This awful amnesia.

I forget how it feels to be cracked open with all your hurts and insecurities pouring out in an old, familiar, ever-worsening, heart-wrenching pain.

And when I remember I am at fault again. Because instead of you, it is myself I blame.

Lately

Lately she looks in the mirror and it's a different person she sees. More broken than ever before, and somehow more whole than she has ever been. Closer to completion. To flawed perfection.

She is all the opposites in alarming, peaceful unity. A powerful force, standing still.

She knows the person in the reflection. Fully. And yet she knows she is entirely mystery.

Her face shows it. There is a hardness there. From uncountable, unspeakable despair. But the deepening grooves by her eyes curve upward, like her ready smile. She is joy and laughter.

Despite.

Always, despite.

Humpty Dumpty

Humpty fell too many times. Initially, it was easy to put the shell together again. A little glue, a little wariness. But with every fall, Humpty became uglier and harder to put together. Inside and out. More broken. Harder to fix. Things went missing.

Not long after the outside became a mess of glue and veneer, the more important part - the interior - became unrecognisable. Wrong. Irreparable.

The falls are less meaningful now. Because slowly some pieces have gone missing. Every incident lately has taken something away. Humpty can't ever be fully put together again.

It is not good, nor bad.

Just inevitable.

And maybe, a little sad.

The Best Thing About Being Married

So I've been married about two and a half years now. It feels a lot shorter and longer at the same time. And, every so often, my mind wanders and I like to introspect about what I love most about being married.

There are truly many things. But increasingly one has steadily moved upward in my list of favourites.

It's not the crazy giggling fits.
It's not the secure knowledge that I have a partner through thick and thin.
It's not the stupid fights that surprise you and draw you closer simultaneously.
It's not the companionable silences or the intense competitiveness over the silliest of games.
It's not love, respect and blah blah.

The best thing for me about being married is when we eat. Specifically, when we eat Indian food. Because, you see, before marriage it was I who would always win the Indian food treasure hunt. Now that I cook a little I know better how the medley of whole spices adds to the complex flavour of desi cuisine. Before they were just a royal pain. There I would be, enjoying a sumptuous curry, chomping away in gastronomic delight, when my teeth and taste buds would be assaulted by an unwelcome bite of a clove. Or a cinnamon stick. Or my personal worst: cardamom.

Bleughhhh.

Really. Bleughhhhhh.

It seemed as though my serving of food would somehow capture EVERY. SINGLE. WHOLE. SPICE. in that dish. I think they even multiplied when I wasn't looking.

I think this is why divine intervention sent me the man who is now my husband. It wanted me to enjoy food again. 'Food without fear' must have been the slogan when it tried to fix my dilemma.

Because not only has he brought all the wonderful love, respect and blah blah to my life... but he wins the treasure hunt now. Every time. I'm a little more in love with him as I write this. Every occasional whole spice that errantly passes my way is one of those divine reminders to appreciate him. You know, just in case he does something stupid and I forget.

Voice

It started with whispers. The whispers themselves were not tentative - no, that is not the nature of this particular voice. Perhaps they sounded like whispers because I was not ready to quite acknowledge its new existence. I might even have ignored it. It was unfamiliar. Different. Not the voice I was accustomed to.

It got louder. Or maybe I turned the volume up, getting ready to listen to it. To use it. To choose it.

It was a bit of a battle. Because, you see, I must reiterate that this voice is different. It is not timid or shy. It's more matter-of-fact, than apologetic. It's ratio of grateful to apologetic is higher than any voice I've had before. It's no-nonsense and a lot less diplomatic than I've ever been.

It's the embodiment of the current me. Which is why it's taken a while to actually hear what it has to say. And to adopt it as my voice. But it's here and I like it. I choose it. I want it.

It frees me.
It acknowledges that I am my own judge and jury before the noisy chatter and clatter of everyone else's opinions and judgements and negations.
It's self-aware.
It stands up for itself.
It is authoritative and hopefully not too loud. I do not want to drown out others.
It has zero tolerance for bullshit.
It does not make excuses for people's behaviour or look for fault within to explain their behaviour. It realises that somethings simply are.
It has cut the strings of duties and obligations and doubts that have mummified my words.
It is unapologetic when it is true to itself.

This voice is also transient, and knows it. It is a work-in-progress and happy to try different strengths and tones and modulations to fit me as I change and learn and accept myself.

It is me.

Reminder

I forget sometimes. Who I was before you. Who I could have been before you. It's not a case of more, or less, but of the different possible me.

I love being us. Most of the time. Probably more times than you! But sometimes it's good to take that time and just let me be me and you be you.

A you without me. And a me without you.

Very Good

The other day I received a pleasant comment from someone in my acquaintance about something I had made. Notice, I say 'pleasant comment'. He did not gush or shower me with flowery praise. He just said it was very good.

Not a compliment to write home about.

Not a compliment to shout about over the rooftops.

Not a compliment grand enough to evoke gurgles of happiness from deep within the part of my heart where joy resides.

And yet, the simple unassuming words brought a tear of pride to my eye. A blush to my cheek. It was extremely hard for me to moderate my voice and behave normally after that. And in the car ride home I was dancing in my seat much to my husband's amusement and bemusement. I danced up the stairs and danced the length and breadth of our living room.

He definitely wondered what he had married. But you see, he didn't understand. The giver of the 'pleasant comment' is usually frugal with his words. Not particularly emotive. And, I have never in the entire span of our acquaintance done anything worthy of receiving a 'pleasant comment'. This was my first, and how delicious it was! That 'very good' was synonymous of having Simon Cowell compliment a contestant in American Idol.

It blindsides you and makes you speechless. And all warm all over. You feel... very good.

Roll Call

People come, people go. Over time, relationships grow and wane and alter their shapes and colours. It's a part of life. I say this with ease, and rather matter-of-factly. Of course, the reality is often a roller-coaster and typical of what this journey of life is about: growth, and change. Some of these comings and goings are subtle... you don't quite realise when someone has lodged themselves into your heart or quietly slipped out of it. Other movements are a little more bombastic, and leave you significantly different with their arrivals or departures. I'll understate the significant shifts in internal joy and sadness, and call it... personal growth?

But you know what I mean.

It's not something I really dwell on, unless it's been one of those remarkable shifts that either seared my soul or set it soaring. I mean, those quiet movements are those that hardly register unless some random incident or memory sparks an internal query: 'Isn't it funny how we became close?' Or, 'Whatever happened to her?'

However last weekend I was forced to take a sort of roll call of the people who I've been privileged to know and love. I was looking through some photo albums for a particular picture and realised there are so many people absent in my current roll call - people I had at one point or another thought would always be around. There were others with whom the entire equation has changed - the closeness has gone. I felt quite sad, and I won't lie: I sat for a few minutes feeling a little sorry for myself, walking down memory lane, and missing a lot of people. Missing the way we were (yes, with Barbra Streisand singing in my head).

As I looked at photo after photo, the sadness dissipated to a bittersweet feeling. I still had some wonderful memories to peruse, and I recognised that in the same way that my position in so many lives had changed, so had theirs in mine. It wasn't a bad thing, it just... was. I had forgotten my belief about people. Whether for a short stint, or for an entire chapter, they come in for a reason. I've been lucky that way. Each person has made me richer, in ways I may not have recognised at the time. I am a little bit of every person I have loved. And the best bit? There's some amazing people still present on my roll call, slowly enriching me, and teaching me. 

How can I be sad about that?