It's bad, that's all.

Disconnected. I'm looking at the most stunning sunrise I've ever seen and wishing I could sublime into the clouds. It was dark before the dawn. It remains dark even as I shield my eyes from the burning rays. I'm trying to focus on the rock that soars from the mountain's edge, saluting and absorbing the sun's warmth on its blade. Casting a lavender shadow on the mountain's bushy green brow. Too much beauty and I'm on the verge of succumbing.

These dips make everything that is good-fade into a haze. My heart, my spirit, my whole being is shattered, pieces floating in a soup of garbage. Lacking even the courage to cry. Dreaming of hell. Bloated purple bodies and brown, oil-stained memories of meaningless rituals and empty praises. Confounded at how an infusion of undivided free time in an unspoiled land can feel so confining. Stomach in knots. Fearful that I won't ever touch the earth again, or the sea, or even the air. I'm nowhere, dissipating/disappearing into the space between everything.

I'm lost in a maze of chemicals. Slashing at everything and not even sure why. I'm slashing at the pills that are supposed to free me from this, to which I owed my life at one point. A regimen that once pulled me out of despair is now trapping me inside its walls. I want less. And I want more. I feel nothing but it hurts so much. Even crying hurts. Loneliness hurts, and companionship hurts. Hairs dropping from my scalp. I'm traumatized down to my pores, and completely numb.

Started writing this on my personal web site, then cut and pasted

It's been an unbelievable 2 months since I turned the page on the longest chapter of my life.
I spent 42 years in Illinois. Half of those years I lived in Mount Prospect, in the  "Triangle" to be specific, a one square-ish mile of land that was the birthplace of the town. The land was settled by hard-working Germans along a direct train route between downtown Chicago and the Wisconsin border. I never questioned my purpose growing up in a town like that; I had the same goals as most other kids. Do well in school, attain a respectable job, marry a responsible person, and have a family of my own. Gender roles were changing in the 1970's, so one of the harder things to imagine was how I was supposed to be equal to my brothers, yet still be as dedicated to parenting as my own mother was. Throughout my teenage years I fought with the notion that I had an impossible task ahead of me.
I pushed through my adolescent years, mostly copying the friends I liked most. I blended in well enough in my 20's, making friends and trying new adventures like living on my own in the city, traveling to deserts and small towns to see what else the world had to offer. In my 30's I started "checking off" the same grown-up to-do list items that my older brother and friends had already accomplished. Marriage. Child birth. Day care. Schools. Doctor visits. Work anniversaries.
I was the first in my circle of friends to get divorced. For the first time, there was no one I could copy. This was a foreign land where I had no answers. I coped by seeking out others in my position, but no one had the same history or struggle that I had. My one comfort was living in a large city where I could sink into anonymity each day on the train. I could pretend to be just like everyone around me for a while, and let my guard down.
I gave up my anonymity when I moved back to my home town. I needed help with after school care for my daughter, and the only people I trusted were my parents. It was the path of least resistance, and I relished it. Asking for help has always been challenging for me. They didn't require me to ask for anything. In the course of those three years, I became so comfortable allowing others to choose for me, that I lost my ability to express what I wanted. During the short time I lived in parents' home, my mother and I got into a discussion about the course my life was taking. Frustrated at my inability to make a decision, she asked me "WHAT DO YOU WANT?" and I tearfully responded that I didn't know! I thought I knew but it all turned out to be wrong. I was paralyzed by fear and lack of confidence.

After a couple of years, I got back on my feet, bought a home nearby, and got the hang of being a working single mom again. I was dating again, but only on the weekends when Z was with her dad. It was the fall, and my boyfriend asked me if I could get away to attend a conference with him in Vienna. My parents had agreed to care for Z when I went away with him a couple of years earlier. But this time, when I asked for their help, my mother gave no explanation except that no, they could not do that. It broke my heart. It was obvious that they felt it was a frivolous trip, that the relationship itself was frivolous. So I turned him down.
It wasn't a complete disappointment. Deep down I knew I didn't want to leave Z a second time to go to Europe without her. But saying no was very hard for me. It carried the shame of giving in to my parents' wishes. But saying yes meant I would be succumbing to my boyfriend's wishes. Ultimately I began to realize that all of my choices culminated from my being controlled by others.
I did eventually get away on a trip. Not the Vienna trip, another one. To Italy. A real vacation, not a conference where I'd be a tag-along. That was exactly a year ago. Same week that my best friends in Mount Prospect packed up their car and moved to Colorado.
It came as a shock. They had talked and talked about moving there, for the wilderness and liberal way of life. But they just did it, got the kids in school, rented a house, boom. When I got back from Italy, my best friends were gone. I could barely get my head around it. How do you just decide one day that the comfort of family and friends and a nice home you've worked so hard for isn't good enough? I chewed on that question for months. But I got to see how happy this new life made them. New challenges, new rewards, new horizons, new everything. That's when I started to understand. That's when I replayed my mother asking me that question in my brain, years later, and this time, I knew the answer.

New friends

Entering our 7th week now in Colorado...it still feels like we are groping around in the dark, or in the blinding sunlight to be more accurate. Today is the day I enroll Z in school. I'd have done it yesterday, but the events of the day gave me some reason to pause and rethink my original plan. We moved here, to this most coveted and costly neighborhood, to be eligible to attend Whittier school, the oldest continuously operating school in Colorado. Zoe's friend Jordan is enrolled there, and his family loves it. For years we have felt like an extension of their family. We have traveled together, conquered fears, drunk our way through traumas and obstacles, and pulled close together during hot summers and cold, miserable winters. Now we hardly know them. They haven't visited us once in the time we have lived here. Our only time together was on their terms, their turf. It's no longer a mutually beneficial relationship. Even Z feels let down.

It was these friends who suggested we rent a studio from a nice couple who I happened to meet just as I was leaving a party back in May. If that was our parting gift, I am grateful. We did rent that studio, and in genius fashion, the homeowners rented their adjoining home to a delightful family of 5 from the east coast. Their daughter is my daughter's newest and sweetest friend. Their sons are a whirling dervish of grinning and mischief-making, and their dogs are a couple of geriatric piles of love. We're still getting to know them, but all signs point to us having a spectacular few months nestled into our mountain hideaway on a cushion of friendship as we grow new roots.

And as far as growing roots, this could mean shifting our original plans a bit so Z and her new friend can attend the same school. Nothing would please me more than to see Z with a partner in crime as she embarks on the 4th grade in a new city. Today I'm making the necessary calls and filling in the necessary paperwork to get the ball rolling.

Then it's time for me to settle into my own new routine! Living off of my savings this long was a frightening possibility, but now that my leg is healing...I need to push ahead.

You have the right to remain silent

I can't remember the last time I felt so detached. I was lying down looking at the clouds today, thinking about how it felt to be 9 years old in the summertime. On a typical hot summer Saturday my parents would be reading or sleeping upstairs, while my brothers and I watched tv, played with Legos, or rode around the neighborhood on our bikes. It felt like a wonderful gift to be surrounded by my family at home.

When I chose to sell my home and quit my job, I wanted it to fall early in the summer. This, I hoped, would allow me some time to be close to my Z as we both adjusted to our new environment. I was told "just get here!" And that the rest would work itself out.

I know you can't predict everything in life. I thought I could plan my pregnancy in order to have a Pisces child, who would be sensitive and musically gifted. Ha! Or better yet, a Cancer like me, so we could snuggle up in our little shell and surround ourselves with art. I certainly don't regret that fate gave me a Virgo child, in fact I couldn't be more grateful for her, exactly as she is. This summer, though...I'm curious how fate will reward my patience. I'm keenly aware of my disabled-ness right now. Deep down I feel vindicated for freeing myself of an unfulfilling job, and reaching this mecca where anything is possible, and there is no history to hold me back. But here I sit, taking in the same view day after day, all plans on hold indefinitely.

I'm succumbing to the idea that I will begin emptying my savings each month. And because money is a concept I don't grasp in a concrete way, I feel nothing. I should be guarding my prize, that's what I'm told. I should invest my savings, and aggressively go after a partnership or business opportunity so I can continue my financial growth. I really should be doing that right now. Instead of daydreaming and journaling.

Lies and how to inhabit them

We have art so that we may not perish by the truth. -Friedrich Nietzsche

So that's it? That's why I'm lost without a book or a film character I can latch onto? I guess it's fair. At least I have something, a life preserver, to keep me from drowning in all this truth.

A life saver, like the one my brother nearly choked on as a toddler. Or at least that's the artful version that is filed in my memories. Mom said he choked on a life saver, a green one, I remember the cylindrical package, and even the fresh taste of the one I'd just eaten, and he couldn't breathe and the firemen's shoes got our carpet dirty but it didn't matter because they needed to save him fast. A life saver almost, well, how's that for irony.

I need a mountain of art, an ocean, a galaxy filled with art to distract me from the pain of seeing all the truth, or is it lies, that surround me every moment I'm awake. Lies engulf me the moment that sleep leaves my eyes. Burning, searing pain. Joan of Arc on the stake.

Give me that art then. Just load me up with it, squeeze it over my eyes, stop this burning, for chrissake.

Reinventing Susan

I started reading about how narcissistic people manipulate you into giving up your boundaries and basic rights. Nothing new to me, as I was married to a classic narcissist for 7 years. I could write a novel about the gaslighting (there's a name for that specific type of abuse that made me start to lose my mind), the frustration, the helplessness of watching him work his way through superficial relationships, and finally the breaking point when he could no longer face himself and turned to drugs and club kids to soothe the pain. My cue to exit.

For some reason, we all repeat patterns in our lives and I am guilty as anyone in this area. It's constructive if you take the time to be mindful of the patterns, and to take actions to break the cycle. So I'm posting these rules for myself to reread and ponder as I embark on a new pool of friends. Try to remember, Susan.

You have the right to be treated with respect.

You have the right to express your feelings, opinions and wants.

You have the right to set your own priorities.

You have the right to say “no” without feeling guilty.

You have the right to get what you pay for.

You have the right to have opinions different than others.

You have the right to take care of and protect yourself from being threatened physically, mentally or emotionally.

You have the right to create your own happy and healthy life.

Tantra Lake

Not a bad little neighborhood where we landed. Last night I demanded that Z walk with me to this spot a few minutes from our home. We watched the sun set behind these mountains as a juvenile goose made its way toward us. One feather poking up from its back, which made us smile thinking about an old cartoon Z used to watch as a toddler, where a crotchety old penguin had the same single feather-sticking-out problem. A male mallard started swimming toward us. Then more geese. 17 to be exact. And 3 more ducks. And signs to watch out for baby turtles underfoot. I've always dreamed of living in a place like this. Even our cats seem happier here surrounded by new bird calls and cool dry evenings with the windows open.