That was a month of breaking camp. And breaking a rental lease. My spirit and heart were already broken so why not break everything else? I had already started making slow moves four months prior….renewing my passport, making lists, crafting spreadsheets with neat formulas, purchasing certain items, slowly ticking off my to-do list.
I lived in a small studio in the back of a craftsman house, and it was perfect in most every way, except I could start to feel it push me out. Don’t ask me how I feel that shit, I just do. The studio was more like a tiny home, with an efficient yet spacious Ikea kitchen, original hardwood floors, crown molding and plenty of light. But I had an upstairs neighbor who sounded like Bigfoot and my studio shared a wall with the landlady’s kitchen. So the opening and closing of drawers and cupboards started early in the morning.
Yet the little home served me well. It was warm, cozy and safe.
The studio also looked out to a lovely backyard. The spring prior, I took myself to the nursery, scouted out shade-friendly blooms and fauna and planted myself a nice container garden. A small space where I could potter about in the mornings with my watering can. I found a large planter saucer and fashioned a little birdbath with a large rock in the middle for perching, and thoroughly enjoyed watching various feathered beings flock to it for cocktail hour and bathing. Many a day I sat at my desk, depressed, staring out at the birdbath, at least taking in some joy from little beings washing themselves, chirping at each other.
It served a purpose. And it was time to go.
Also I was fairly nonfunctional at that point, or I guess you could call it under-functioning (which turned out to be a major theme of 2023). Under-functioning messed with my head, as my mind told me I needed stagnancy and safety in order to survive, yet my soul was screaming at me that fleeing, the “leap and the net will appear” kind of fleeing, was the only way I was going to survive. The former is certain death, the latter…more like a risking death.
Even in my nervous system shutdown, I still had “plans” and “intentions” for my “best year ever”. But as I was soon to find out, whenever I tried to “accomplish something” or “make a plan”, life lol’d at me.
I didn’t realized it at the time, not consciously…maybe instinctively, but on some level I knew beyond feeling that I needed to defrost myself, thaw out the trauma. My entire midsection was frozen. Twisting to wipe my own ass hurt (I know, so sorry for the TMI). During the previous year, I had various skin flares, angry rashes appeared on my lower back and inner thighs, even my face. I don’t have skin issues and I wondered if it was anger that I couldn’t express outwardly, so it came through in my skin.
Another thing. Every time I stepped into the shower, the angry conversations in my head would start up. It felt like fountain bubbling up from my deep center. As the water flowed, so did the rage. I don’t know why I’m even calling them conversations. It was me raging at everyone. When I turned off the water and got out of the shower, the fountain died and the rage receded back into my deep center, waiting for the next shower.
A year ago, I had no idea the year would be about fully feeling the rage, sadness and grief I had kept bottled up for 18 months. I just thought “get me out of here”.