One of the smartest women I know told me the secret to the universe yesterday. ‘Seven days at a time,’ she said. Seven Days… This is not a creepy reenactment of The Ring and I don’t think Samara is going to come crawling through my television set. This is where I go after one. One day at a time. That’s how it was when the world ended and now that it’s rebuilt, albeit skewed and sideways, she says I can move to seven.
Bad things are a part of life. Bad things happen to all people not just good people and regardless of where you lie on the ‘I’m a good person’ continuum and no matter how many points you tally on the good deed list, life has particular way of sometimes kicking you in the arse. Hard. Then one day something kicks you so hard that your world literally stops spinning and one day at a time seems impossible. But you do it. By the minute, by the hour, by the day until the days are no longer countable. You get yourself to a point where Optimist Prime is back as your homegirl and you think you can even make a go of this new world you’ve fallen into.
Then it happens. One more time and once again, something happens to kick you in the arse. Hard. Nothing can be as bad as the worst one but it takes a moment for you to remember that. You’ve already done the hardest thing you could ever imagine having to do so this one should be a piece of cake right? Wrong.
This last arse kicking isn’t comparable to that worst moment of my life. It’s not even my cat died awful, it’s just shit. My heart is maimed. The sides rubbed raw and a chunk missing like it’s been sideswiped by a passing bear. Having a broken heart isn’t an individual experience. It happens to all of us but we all have a way to bare the brunt of hurt, humiliation and the illogical belief that we will never love again. Generally there are tears, ice-cream, chocolate, Netflix binging, wine, exercise, more wine, constant analysis, self loathing, more wine and a night out to the Normanby that involves dancing and a cab ride home you don’t remember.
I’ve done all of those, and more, multiple times. Living through those has only left me sad, raw and with a reduced capacity to deal with the normal stressors of my life. My homeboy Optimist Prime has deserted me and instead Negatron is back in force with every decepticon he can find. It’s not quite all that bad but it has lessened my ability to detach from the things that normally just make life annoying and left me, well, sad.
This time round I forced my own hand. I made a decision earlier this year that I was no longer prepared to wait for my life to start. It’s time, more than time, for me to build the life I want and let go of the one that keeps me bound to the bar and the wine bottle that lives above the microwave. I want a family. I want people to come home to and I want real, live humans to share my life with and that meant I had to make some changes, put out some feelings and be prepared for whatever came back from the universe.
Not surprisingly, the answer wasn’t what I wanted. The answer I got was no. Not a flat out no, just a no and I can’t. He didn’t let me roll in stink of ‘I just don’t like you’, he said no with a but. ‘I just don’t like you’ would have at least let me get drunk, call him an arsehole and move on. Nope, this one was a bear who swiped, cut out a piece of a vital organ, and then hugged me, smiled and then apologised as he walked away with the blood still dripping on his claws. It’s shit, but it’s not a new story.
While the bear still walks the footpaths of the same city and no amount of wishful thinking will make it all go away. I got to the point where the ‘no’ was not as scary as living without a yes. I hate it. But not because it’s a no. Because, right now, it’s the ending of something bigger than that. It’s a no to something that was so much bigger than a bear. It’s a no to what I thought my life would be. It’s a no to the family the way I always thought it would look and it’s a no to starting a life with someone else.
It’s taken time to accept the no. And while I have, it doesn’t mean I like it or that I always make the best decisions when dealing with it. But I will. And my capacity to deal with the rest of my life is returning in spades. Because with that no, comes quite a few yeses. A yes to a new plan, a yes to my own family, a yes to more time with my family, a yes to friends and a yes to a choice to be happy. I know I’ll fuck it up. I know I’ll put myself back in positions where I will make dumb decisions, but in the next seven days I’ll get through it. Because seven days ago, I was more hurt than I am now. And seven days before that, even more hurt. And all I have to do is get through seven more and it will matter even less. And soon it will be ok. Optimist Prime is rising and the rest of the transformers are coming. My Bumblebee just needs to keep whispering seven days and hopefully Samara won’t crawl out of my television.
life in big frilly knickers 