what once was


there’s this really embarrassing part of me that no one really knows about; a secret that I’m about to spoil: I am far clumsier than I care to admit.

you’re dirty. you thought it was going to be sexier, didn’t you?

I took a bit of a spill in my kitchen last week after yoga. I am clumsy and short, a combination that doesn’t serve me well, especially in slippery, neon pink yoga pants. I hopped backwards on my counter – a maneuver I’ve done a million times – to reach a bowl on the top shelf. Thank to the lovely pants I was wearing, I slipped, hitting my tailbone hard on the top of the counter, then to protruding lip of the dishwasher. I wanted to scream it hurt so bad, but I was in the middle of talking to Tory and I didn’t want to freak her out, so I just kept moving. I tried the move again, this time with success…and thank heavens. At first, the fall didn’t seem too terrible, just a bit of a throbbing, stinging sensation like when you give someone a stellar high-five or something. A few hours later….it hurt to move my legs, and by morning this feeling was all over my lower half. Uncomfortable tingling, numbness in my lower back and my legs were tight with every step I tried to take.

I called in to work that morning and tried to work the following day…worst idea ever. I was seen by two different doctors, the second informed me that had I fallen any harder I’d have cracked my tailbone and been in REAL pain. I on-the-spot started mentally counting my blessings. I can’t imagine how people can endure that kind of pain, and I have, what I like to consider, high tolerance for it. I was put on bed-rest for the weekend and told, “no work, no yoga, no fun.” Great. No yoga? Well there goes my mental stability. I knew what I was facing, and no outlet for release.

After I left the doctor’s office on Thursday and dropped off prescriptions at the pharmacy, I had another stop to make before I could return to my bed and heating pad.

I powdered my face again, put on some lipstick and pulled myself together as best as I possible could; preparing myself for an inevitable flood of tears and heavy breathing…Elizabeth Taylor would have been proud. I pulled up to my lawyer’s office and breathed in my heavy heart. The parking lot was crowded. Jared was in the passenger seat next to me and politely offered to come in with me. “No, no thank you. This is something I need to do solo.” I grabbed my ivory Michael Kors bag, an anniversary/birthday/Valentine’s present (go figure,) and headed in to make the first of many signatures…my life revolves around everything in ink. I walked right in, rang for the office clerk and smoothed my dress, forcing a smile. She came around the corner and returned my half-ass excuse for a grin and told me who to make the check out to – some things just really come down to brass tacks. I was a bit relieved at the icy nature of the situation, it kept me from becoming a blubbering mess in the office in front of the notary, who seemed less than thrilled to be inking his Johnny Hancock on an under-30-something divorce.

The whole thing was over in less than five minutes and I was out the door.

“Mrs. ….uh…Po…Ms….would you like a copy of the errrr….paperwork?”

Sure.” I hesitated but I sort of wanted to read it…in the privacy of my own room. Let me say this: there is no grandeur in divorce. It doesn’t read like a poem; there is no flow or subtlety or flair. It is what it is and that’s all there is to it. Just a bunch of words printed on to a page, legally dissolving what once was.

I totally cheated on my cleanse and had a great big strawberry-coke Icee. I refrained from a cigarette that I subconsciously wanted, but only to give my hands something to do. I know my tell-tales well enough to know that I just wanted to be occupied so I wouldn’t cry, which I did plenty of later in the hot menthol bath I took. (And the shower the next day. And over cereal the following night.) From Thursday night forward, the remainder of the weekend was heating pads and hot baths and avoiding muscle-relaxers for as long as possible because they make me feel weird.

I will say, this particular time away from the world gave me a chance to really look at the things I was hoping to notice during the cleanse. I could do nothing but lay in bed Thursday-Sunday and I’m actually kind of happy about it.

Week #2 Cleanse Observations::

Sugar is still a struggle. I had no idea how much sugar is in everything and how addicted we all are to it. My case may be special because I loooooove sweet things, but nevertheless its wild how many sweeteners – artificial or not – are in EVERYTHING we eat. Though sugar is in most of the things I’ve eaten lately, I have said no to all desserts during the week. My mom made blueberry cobbler on Sunday and there was obviously no way I was saying no to that. My portion was small, but well worth the splurge on something sweet. My skin is clearing up tremendously, thanks largely in-part to the lack of added sugar and no cigarettes whatsoever. Nastiest not-actual habit I’ve ever acquired.

I’m learning a few new songs on the guitar and it feels great. I am no doubt more of a percussionist than anything and I’m thrilled about that, but picking up the guitar a few times over the weekend while I was comfortable enough to sit up longer than fifteen minutes was great. It’s an entirely different form of music therapy. I normally just beat the shit out of my drums and feel instant relief. The guitar is more soothing and pulls out way more emotion, in my opinion.

Clean eating options are available everywhere, you just have to know how to order and be confident in that choice. The salad you ordered may not look as appealing or taste half as great as the mountain-high pile of fried fish, shrimp and fries your step-dad got, but it will make your insides cleaner and make you feel better!

Alcohol is a non-issue, except I know I will want to drink socially when the cleanse is over. A big bottle-sized glass of pinot grigio sounded perfect after signing, but I opted for a nine-hour nap instead and that served me well.

Speaking of….I think the cleanse has made me an insomniac. Is this normal? I’m not sure why, but I have more energy at the wee hours of the morning after three or four hours of sleep than I do during the day. This makes no sense! I’m somehow functioning through it, though.

I’m dealing with my emotions, even though I want to shut them off. For as long as I can remember, the second I feel the sensation to cry I immediately shut the tears down, forcing them back inside my eyeballs and in to my skull and beat myself up for being weak. I won’t go as far as to say I’m comfortable enough to really let it out and cry in front of another person at this stage, but I’m definitely okay with giving myself that time when I’m alone. I almost feel like I’m pushing myself to cry it out. I’m trying to read books that will trigger all kinds of emotions and listen to music that does nothing but send me reeling. This may seem like emotional torture, but I am finding this very, very cleansing. Purifying.

Week #3 Cleanse Goal::  I’m keeping it stupid simple – keep it up. Learn from the last two weeks and appreciate the clarity. I know I’ve grown more thus far in 2015 than I ever imagined, and this cleanse has demonstrated that in ways I never thought possible. Had I filed for divorce in January, I’m not positive I could have handled it or followed through; my subconscious wasn’t strong enough, the encouraging voices in my life weren’t loud enough…but I’m there now. I can see that relationship for what it was now and I hear everything that Mark was trying to say to me loud and clear.

When I feel strong enough to do it, I will write about that experience in grave detail. Until then, I appreciate anyone who reads these ramblings and takes them for what they are: an account of what’s happening and little flashes of what once was.


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