I’m not even sure how to feel right now. I’m not broken. Cracked, yes. Fractured, possibly. My dignity is bruised, and I am definitely feeling defeated. People keep calling me a survivor. I hate that word. I hate that word because its true. I’m tired of just surviving. I’m sick of just getting by. I have emotional road-rash. I give of myself too easily, I think. Now my greatest concern is if I can give of myself at all.
Something I’m learning about the world is that nothing is ever simple, no answer is ever precise. There is no set criteria for anything. This world is a mess of strings and I’m just the puppet tangled up in them. I feel like my life is taking all of these twists and turns that I’m helplessly careening down, and I’m not even the one orchestrating them. I’m tired of my life being a series of events created by other people that are completely beyond my control. If something turbulent was occurring in my universe and it was because of me, I might actually even be glad of it. I make a very little impression on this world, and I barely even dent mine. But one must take responsibility for themselves. I allow myself to be swept up in these events and subsequently get caught up in the undertow. A passive person does not a warrior make. I feel like I have heart-burn. My spirit feels concave. Road to somewhere: tonight, I’m dreaming of you.
A great friend of mine (one who knows me almost better than any other) once told me that he felt almost immediately upon meeting me, that my life was a destined tragedy. There is one tragic modern moment that we Gibbs women agreed was one of the worst a woman can experience. In Never Been Kissed, Drew Barrymore bares her heart in front of hundreds of people, in the newspaper and on national television while standing in a baseball diamond. Her time runs out, and her great, epic heartbreak occurs. Moments later, this sweeping, romantic event in her life occurs. We see what is likely the best and worst moment, romantically, of her entire life. I recently had something quite similar happen to me, only the other way around. Oh heart, are you a thing to be risked? I know I’ve been hard on you. I’m sorry for the things I put you through. I promise, I’m not going to put you through anymore abuse. I hope this friend is wrong. My feelings always seem so inappropriately placed to everyone else but me. The Kassi heli-pad is gone, people. Go land elsewhere. This island is closed.
In the meantime, I’m going to Departure Bay Beach with Mom and Glen, to improvisationally sing our shoulda-coulda-wouldas out to the sea. I pray the tide will come in. I feel hollowed out.
I think horrible is still coming. Right now, it’s worse.