You know how when you are busy, then everything gets busier, and your personal resources for coping become stretched to their limits and you find yourself hanging to your last nerve, just swinging there in the breeze with your fingernails dug in and you can feel yourself losing your grasp on being able to cope, slipping, slipping?
Well, I am having that happen in the heart realm. Instead of losing my hold on being hopeful, I feel as though I am slowing being covered with fluffy layers of unmet needs, pain, despair and even more need from the people around me. Truth be told, I am part of that layering of misery. Last week brought a very small and very insignificant local honor, not minimizing the project or intent of the people who offered it to me, but I am trying to keep this in perspective. It is the equivalent of a pat on the head to me, the tiny guppy in a small pond, more like a puddle, frankly.
Along with that really nice thing, there was an offer to have a regular writing gig again. Still a volunteer thing, but at least I will have a chance to be in print each month in a local newspaper. I am not sure that I should be so thrilled with another layer of responsibility, but at least it is one that will make me happy to simply have a regular deadline and my words on a page that will be read, at least by the people and families of my subjects. I am not complaining. Really. It is just that this thing and a request for help a few weeks ago to provide the service I do at our Library to another part of our community are things that have a future built in and are holding me to a geography from which I am trying, thinking about, leaving. I went to that other town, the one near my daughter and her family, to look at housing options close to groceries and other stuff. I found two buildings that look to be in my price range and tried to contact the management of them. No success yet, but I will call them again sometime this week.
And, the whole layering thing is about that all of the people for whom I provide resources contacted me in the past four days. Every single one of them. That has never happened before and it is freaky that it would happen at the moment when I have decided to leave here and be somewhere, you know, more safe. The closer I come to accomplishing that, the more I am aware of the things that hold us to a particular place. I suppose that is true for everyone. There are good reasons for leaving, for moving on in your life, that do not ignore the things that we have where we now are. I wonder, is this simply a part of the letting go? The grieving process? Some kind of acknowledgment of the good parts of my life that are being sacrificed at the altar of what I want?
If so, that is one, huge, fucked up cosmic joke. If I want a life that is safe, free from the assorted assaults that are part of what living here offers me, then to leave and be released from this means that I have to give up nearly all the parts of my life that work well. I am regularly struck that when I do something or am with some person, that it might be the last time, or one of the last times, that I can do that thing or see that person. Sitting around the table with my friends, at coffee yesterday morning, I finally got it that that could be one of the last times that I am able to have that experience. When I move more than an hour's drive away from this place, it will be only the rarest of occasions when I will see or talk to them again, and considering our ages and the various health issues we have, that will probably be a funeral. Yeah, that thought really helps lighten my mood. But, that sort of thing happens to me all the time, because I will be leaving behind amazing people and equally amazing work.
It did not help that I received a telephone call from one of them yesterday afternoon.
Apparently I was the subject of conversation between her and another of the women about my dilemma.
Apparently I am not supposed to be conflicted about any of this, that I should find a way to leave and stay at the same time so that I do not disrupt the flow of the group.
Apparently, even though I shared two stories of wonderfulness from my week, I was pleasant enough but not nearly cheerful enough for one of them.
Apparently I am supposed to not give the appearance of being quiet or subdued or sad or any of that other introspective and more serious stuff.
Apparently I am supposed to continue to be the the person in the group who is always lighthearted.
Apparently I am supposed to have rainbows shooting out of my ass no matter what is going on in my life.
Apparently I am a big, fat failure.
When I leave, I will, officially, be an émigré. I will be leaving my country of origin for political reasons, the politics of wanting to live in safety. That should be the name of a country, an actual place, Safety. We pack our meager possessions and leave everything behind, home, friends, work, all the things that are a life. Then we go to that new place where we can begin again, creating new opportunities to be sure, but maybe having to pretend that we did not lose anything of value to us in the process.
All of this is so much crap in the context of what something else that happened yesterday. One of my siblings, whom I have asked to not call me when s/he is intoxicated, did call me. S/he wanted the telephone number of another sibling, who is, by the way, the other sibling is I have asked to not call me when s/he is intoxicated. I gave the number that I had for sibling #2 and sibling #1 asked me how I was and how I was doing. I said that I was fine and that everything was equally fine, or words to that effect and asked how s/he was doing, blah, blah, blah. S/he told me that, after quitting her/his job and spending every waking hour drinking (my words, but they are just a condensed version of what s/he said), s/he tried to commit suicide a few months ago. The method used is nearly always unsuccessful and can cause some really horrific side-effects, and that is what happened in this case. All of the details of the attempt and the resulting circumstances are irrelevant, except to say that the attempt was not serious, but the resulting health consequences are, and that the end result, if there can even be an end to all of this kind of stuff, is that a few weeks ago problems developed in her/his lower, right leg and it was amputated below the knee.
Homeless. Hospitalized for some long and indeterminate time. No insurance. No financial resources. No relationships that would provide some support during this terrible experience, the time preceding it and since. I cannot begin to understand, much less judge, her/his unwillingness or inability to contact anyone during this entire time. If this sort of thing does not break your heart, then you simply do not have one to break.
However, it is kind of breaking mine because I insisted that s/he not call me when s/he was falling down drunk, and s/he extrapolated that to include not calling me at all, not even when this terrible process happened. The drunken calling was too stressful and I simply could no longer take listening to her/him divest herself/himself of all of the pain and leave it with me. It is complicated by the fact that s/he ran away from her/his life four years ago and lives several states away. Just a total, fucking mess. And, the worst part of yesterday's conversation is that s/he would like me to swoop down there, fix everything and bring her/him back here and take care of everything, medical, personal and financial. I could not say a single word. Not yes or maybe we can work something out or no or hell no. In the moments during which I was trying to think about how I can use my resources to help or how I could find some help or whatever, and my mind was spinning with how I have always been the sibling to pick up the pieces and make everything better and how the hell was I going to be able to do that this time, s/he became angry and told me not to worry about it, that s/he would find a place to live, a roommate on Craig's List.
This is where I am supposed to rush to attend and say that I will take care of everything. But, I did not. And, in that crystalline moment, I realized that this circumstance is just another area of my life where I receive threats. If I do not immediately, without thought or reservation, jump into the situation and fix everything, then, well, I am not worth anything. I do not count for anything unless I immediately fix whatever it is that needs fixing. God, I am not minimizing her/his suffering or all of the bad brain chemistry, heinous childhood experiences, poor life choices that have brought her/him and every one of us to this point.
But, baby, this is not bailing you out of jail or giving you money or rescuing you and your cat or paying your rent or buying groceries and medication that you will later trade for booze or drugs or advocating between you and your daughter. It is not listening to you moan about your life for hours, whilst the alcohol processes out of your system or you go through withdrawal. This is not a circumstance where I could even say any of this to you. This is the crap that I carry about our relationship and to burden you with it is not my way.
And, again, I could not say a word, none that might might more pain, but not even any that could help. Then, the crying began and I was asked, then begged, to not be angry or upset with her/him. I am not, not angry or upset or judging, and I said those things and more. And, given my circumstances, I wonder what I can say or offer.
I barely have resources to care for myself, yet something, some help needs to be given. If I stay here I have some additional resources to help my sibling, as well as doing and helping in all the other areas. Unfortunately, they are not mine to give, as they belong to someone who is not me, and I am fairly certain that if he will not share any of what he has with his own daughter, that he is not going to allow me to bring my sibling here to live and be supported by him. Even long-distance I can help with research and the disability process. I can help with early use of her/his social security benefits. I might even be able to take a week and go down there to make some local connections for her/him. I can work with social services there to find housing and daily living resources. I do not believe that I can find a way to bring her/him here, but if I stay here, in this house, I might be able to give her/him some of my own social security funds. It is too new and raw for me to make any decisions today.
I am not a fatalist, nor am I dedicated to omens, portents and other signs. But, there is something about the quality of all of this that is telling me to pay attention, that there is something important that I might be missing in my plans to leave, and it is my leg story. Three weeks ago a double wound appeared on my right leg. It was oozing for two days and then formed scabs, although it stayed red and swollen. There is not, has not ever been any itching or pain, no discomfort or anything, not even when I press on it. The swelling included my ankle and foot and was so bad that I planned on making an appointment with my doctor this week. Approximately five hours after the conversation with my sibling, I noticed that I could bend and flex my ankle and foot. By the time I went to bed, the swelling was significantly reduced and it is even better this morning The swelling around the wound is gone, as is some of the redness. Now, I am not saying that my mystery leg problems are related, but they certainly are at least a fascinating coincidence.
I know that everyone has a life as complicated as mine. I know that there are legions of people who experience challenges greater than mine. I understand about the suffering and danger in the world and I pray and use my resources to help alleviate some of that, to the best of my ability. My heart will not allow anything less. Yet, surely, that does not mean that it is wrong for me to want some lesser quality of suffering in my own life. When I was waiting on Thursday for something associated with this newspaper thing, I had all of this stuff in me that needed be to let out and I found an envelope and some papers in my bag and used the empty spaces on them to write about how truly privileged I am. I wrote about how I could be in that place waiting for this little thing and that I had a way to get there and clothes to wear and could even afford a couple of things from the dollar menu at the place where I was waiting. It was chock-full of the abundance of my life here, and it explored a bit of why I am in such a rush to leave. It was about having perspective, appreciation for what I do have and whether or not the personal costs of having access to all of that is worth the price. What that writing did not have was any conclusions, and that is exactly where I still find myself, even after this new information about my sibling.
What price am I willing to pay, what needs am I willing to release in order to the right thing? Can I afford to make any wrong choices, even if they turn out to be temporary or reversible? In this moment, it looks very much like I am going to stay here and pay whatever personal costs may be required. Never before, even during some of the more challenging parts of my life, have I felt more indecisive and unable to sort through everything to find the truth, the rightness, of what I should be doing. I have no idea where my path leads.
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