I woke up crying, missing Will. As I felt the grief rise I was okay with it and thought, "I'm going to cry for awhile and then be rid of the grief or maybe it's going to be a grief day. It's all good."
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| Still from a comparison video showing time and fortune happening to all |
I didn't go to the office because of ice on the road. Toked a doobie around 7:00 and did some housework (I still haven't done the floors for, ooooh, how many months now? But that is totally not grief related. I'm a bachelor without a housemaid.)
I met Trinity friends online at 8:00 and talked about Marianne Borg's sermon. I wound up, as I often do, in favor of the more ancient (ie, back to the Council of Nicea) choices -- ie, the full Episcopal (prayer book 1979) Lenten litany. Basically, Borg's sermon spoke against the full Lenten Litany I'd experienced on Wednesday at 7am. She didn't find it helpful to call herself "wretched" as in the opening prayer
Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have
made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and
make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily
lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wretchedness,
may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission
and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives
and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever
and ever. Amen.
She also didn't like to be in a group confessing to wickedness as in:
"Indeed, I have been wicked from my birth, * a sinner from my mother's womb"
Instead, she presented Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass and a celebration of life and self as an antidote to the Book of Common Prayer. I disagreed so, so much. Marianne knows she and I differ in our theologies, as we wrangled before about the negativity in Nadia Bolz-Webber's Lutheran Theology. But I see very little wrong with privileged, white, Americans feeling bad about what they have gained through being privileged (and I speak for myself). I see nothing wrong with feeling culpable in part for my generation's further ruination of the planet. I also feel bad about the ways I hurt some people in my past. I also feel guilty for not giving away everything I have to the poor and I know I'm not going to do that so I feel like I'm sinning while I'm breathing. Fortunately, I understand "sin" as "missing the mark". So I'm missing the mark this time around. Not getting off the wheel this time! So the full Lenten litany (which I, by the way, understand as I understand ALL litanies, as theatre!) assures me that I am not alone in feeling guilty about, well, stuff. And then it frees me through JC's forgiveness! So right after mass, I made sure my ash was firmly in place, and then hauled ash over to Turtle Island Coffee Shop downtown to have some Gay Coffee (actually, a golden oatmilk).
So I told the group my thoughts about the litany and how I felt refreshed, not bad, after the service and went out to have Gay Coffee. I was nervous about expressing my point of view because, well, I was still high and I felt very strongly and I knew I was going against the ideas of several folks in the group. And I said so.
Anyway, the group folks who disagreed with me were awesome about understanding me while disagreeing and I was awesome back in the same way and we all showed love for each other and I felt good.
That got me to about 9:30. I still felt sad but putzed around for awhile, doing some housework, watching some facebook reels, waiting for my exercise class at Exercise Coach.
Went to class. Worked hard. I said my voach Cameron, "That was awful! Thank you!" They know I hate exercise.
Then went home. I felt myself fighting the urge to smoke again. I putzed around, cried some more. Told God how grateful I am to have a house, to have clothing, to have food, to have warmth. Told myself I have gratitude for all I have.
Then I went to my appointment with my new Therapist B. at the OSU counseling center. The counseling center lacks a receptionist. So I followed someone in through the "pass needed" doors but was walked back out and told to wait in the appropriate room. Back in the waiting room I saw a nice, small, poorly placed 8x10 sign about "feeling comfortable in our waiting area". I felt tigerish and angry that there wasn't a mammal there to greet me so I started pacing. the B. came to get me.
It was mostly a "get to know you" meeting where she laid out all the rules, explained the videotaping, and asked me questions and I asked questions back. She was really good at articulating what she was seeing of my behaviors and so good at active listening. We talked about my goals: 1. Get my mojo back 2. Get off weed. She listened hard to me and also heard me talk about being able to 3. Make connections with people. This was after I asked my question about "how can I be authentic and still have friends". She laughed at my jokes, was comfortable with my style of communication. In spite of her youth (and she's probably older than I think she is - most slender blonds are) she seems to have wide experience of geography, at least. She's a good fit for me and I hope she can help.
During the meeting I told her that a big reason I'm seeing her is fear. Fear fear fear. The anger I was feeling for everyone last year was covering it up. I don't want to be an angry asshole. One can't have friends that way. So now I am right down to the fear. Fear of quitting weed. Fear that people are lying to me when they say they like me. Fear that I'm incapable of functioning "normally." Fear that I really am a terrible, horrible, person. And, let's face it, just plain fear of other people. Fear of asking for help. Fear of being judged.
She said how strong I was to be so vulnerable. I felt myself looking down to the left and away. I wanted to scream, "DON'T TELL ME I'M STRONG. That's what people say when they don't want to deal with my weakness. When the weight of my heavy presence is too much for them to bear. When they are like my mother who behaved as if every time I was sad it hurt her so if I wanted her to be okay I had to stop sharing my sadness. I want my counselor to be strong so I don't have to be." But I didn't. I admitted I'm resilient. And I felt it.
Until she left my side and I walked through the parking lot to my car and started to cry. I was crying on the way home. Howling/crying in my car. Howling/crying in the house. Pacing back and forth. The need to injure myself growing and growing. So I drove out on errands. Walk the dog on a sidewalk that wasn't wet. Return uneaten dog food to Bend Pet Express. Drop off a 1962 Time Magazine with Karl Barth on the cover to church for Pastor Jeff but he had already gone home. He's been talking about Barth and the Barmen Declaration at the adult forum. I am three degress of separation from the great, modern theologian (who had a long-term mistress his wife knew about.)
Tried texting friends and my sister but for awhile people were busy. And people will always be busy. Another fear. Tried contacting Sarah. She had her daughter's birthday and I understood the importance of that. She said that she could call me in five minutes but I didn't want to take her away from family. My brain hurt worse and worse.
At Sarah's suggestion I dialed Deschutes County Crisis line but hung up because I knew I wasn't suicidal or homicidal so why waste their time?
Finally, responses from friends started coming in, making appointments for the future so I began to hold onto some hope. Then Lilli Ann called me back and asked what was happening and if I would like her to come over. I had texted her a few times and saw that she saw and finally texted a messy, passive-aggressive, "oh-god-I am-so-fucked-up-so-please-help-me" type of text. I said "yes, please come over". She was in a meeting but would be able to be with me in 45 minutes. That was great. I finally sparked up my second doobie of the day, when I'm used to three by then. I paced some more and watched some funny Bistro Huddy reels.
And then she was there and I felt okay again. She was proof to me that I wasn't a bad person. It was awhile, however, before I could sit down. She sat on the floor but I couldn't sit for about ten minutes while I talked and talked and talked. I finally sat down.
She didn't leave till she knew I was safe. I told her I was hungry and had to eat and asked if she needed anything but she didn't. So we said good-bye and she went home to do chair stuff.
I made myself a turkey sandwich (back to not being able to cook). While I ate it I watched Monday night's NCIS tribute to David McCallum as they presented a whole special show (with a specially moderated theme tune) about the death of Ducky Mallard. Michael Weatherly, as Tony, was a walk on (looked like he's had some "work" done). No Gibbs, though. I cried then, for Ducky. For David. For my lost youth when he was my big 8th grade crush. For the pain felt by the characters. My eyes were sore by then after a day of tears, so I didn't cry that much, and the tears I did cry were clean and not filled with self hate.
Lessons learned:
1. Help will arrive if I hold out long enough. I need to learn to ask for it more directly and to be more aware of the level of my fucked-uppedness.
2. I should not brag about being "okay." This is what is known as "tempting fate" or "poking Jehovah in the Eye" or, more anciently, hubris.
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