Parts of me have been missing for some time now and I need to get in touch with them. I'm not really sure how to go about doing that, but I know it does not involve the internet.
The parts that are missing are:
1) The part of me that drew and painted all the time.
2) The part of me that wrote: wrote stories, wrote poems, wrote novels, wrote songs.
3) The part of me that played guitar, ukulele and sang. Sang other people's songs. Sang my songs.
4) The part of me that skied and kayaked- the part of me that loved the feeling of motion over water, both liquid and frozen.
5) The part of me that dreamed dreams that were not stressful, scary, full of missing connections, engagements, appointments, of losing things, husbands, friends, myself.
I am missing a lot of parts. I know I've been barely keeping it together these days, and I'm not beating myself up over this. Yet. I know what I've been through these past few months, years, has been a nightmare, and it's little wonder why I had to draw myself inwards, not outwards. Now there's an image: myself inside of myself, trapped.
But now the excuses are gone. Booth is healing. He went in to work for the first time in almost two months today. "The Sperm Donor" or "Blob" (that is what I call my father) has been banished from my life, my cell phone, my psyche, which is much simpler to write than it is to accomplish. My brother, David can't handle the psychosis that Blob slings his way, so he calls me or texts me to dump it back in my lap, as if I know how to get rid of toxic waste, the latest radioactive crap being that Blob decided to inform the wonderful Ballard Landmark that he wanted to move out, then changed his mind (which happens practically every second of every day) but they accepted his "resignation" happily, and now he is buying a microscopic street level studio condo for more than it's worth, and less than what he has now in security and comfort, not to mention healthy meals and weekly cleaning services. He also told my brother that he wants tattoos on both his neck and his arm. Sure. Why not? Don't all 81 year olds get tattoos? I can't imagine what the images will be, or maybe I can. There is another image for you.
Sigh. Yes, this excrement is still going on, and I do feel more detached from it than I've felt in the past, but it still runs in the background like a computer virus, slowing things down and ruining my files.
So what am I going to do about these missing parts of me? I thought about writing letters to them, asking them to forgive me and to please come back.
I'm offering sacrifices, the biggest one being Facebook. I realize that it was a real comfort during all of the bleak moments and I needed the love and support of my friends to get through one crisis after another. But now it seems hollow and empty like a pretty shell that I don't need to collect right now. At this point I need to build a solid structure, a foundation for the future. I can allow myself a little "check-in" but where I really need to be is in my studio and office, at my computer and/or journal. (Like I am doing right now.)
For my missing art parts- I need to make myself draw and/or paint something every day even if it is just a doodle.
For my missing writing parts- I need to do this- what I am doing right now- and more.
For my missing music parts- I need to open those cases and tune those instruments and make some music- each day, even if it is just a few chords, or one song.
Now, I know I can't ski or paddle each day, but I need to treat myself to it when I can, and I need to keep doing my workout or walk each day, which I have been doing, which has kept me grounded and makes me feel strong and makes me happy that my clothing fits and helps me not worry about the time that my butt is in a chair.
The part of me that dreams will be harder. I think that is going to take longer to heal. But I can help it by reading good books before I go to bed and then hopefully dream of the good books that I will want to write, and then I will begin to feel whole again, and not just a collection of missing parts.
I truly hope this will work, but I understand that this will take time and practice... recovery can be slow, but in my heart I know it is what must be done, and it must be done with love.
I'm off to find myself. Hope to see you along the journey-