”You’ll swoop from incredible highs when you’re just glad to be alive, to those lows when you wish you were dead. And just when you start thinking that you’ve accepted who you are, that changes, too. Because who you are is not permanent”
— Andrew Davidson (The Gargoyle)
I’m really busy today and don’t have much time to post but I’ve been reading one of the most incredible books. It’s called The Gargoyle. t from As Long As I’m Singing wrote a top 10 book list that I’m trying to work my way through. Of course I had to read a tragic love story first, because it’s the kind of girl that I am. I LOVE love. Especially impossible love. Redemptive love.
I’ve been thinking a lot about redemption this week. About changes. About why I’m still here. About how I could have killed a 19 year old boy that was just going to get a pizza. About my life. About slowing down. About losing two best friends. About, everything. And re-connection. And love. Of course about love. I forgot about the love for myself. The one person that I’m supposed to support I forgot about. Me.
I’ve been so busy flitting from one shiny thing to another I forgot to take care of myself. To stay in touch with old friends. I forgot about God too. I forgot to pray. I forgot to ask for guidance and forgiveness. I forgot my way. Do I believe my car accident was divine intervention? Yes, I do. I know it was. I could have killed a boy. I could have died. I looked down to fuck with my stupid phone and that was all it took.
I have no lasting injuries from the accident. I actually slept better that night than I had in years. The next day, as I lay in bed listening to Roger get ready for the day, I wrote one of my best posts about comfort. The comfort of him. Of his being in the next room. It really was one of my best. I took a pain pill and drifted back to sleep. Roger went to hang out with my mom. They’ve known each other longer than we’ve been married. It’s a long story of how we met. Some day I’ll tell it to you, I’m sure. After I woke up I called the young man that I hit to make sure he was okay. He was and I thanked God.
I’m still thanking God. For the fact that I was injured and he didn’t have a scratch on him. I thanked God for that young man having the where with all to call 911 while I sat in my car in shock. I thank God for that young man, although visibly shaken, kneeling down and holding my hands while I sat in my car. I thank God for that young man that pulled me out of my stupor and my car. For standing in the middle of the road with me and waiting for the police. He and I didn’t let go of each other. I asked him how old he was and he told me 19. I reached up and touched his face, and said, “My God, you’re a baby. I could have killed you.” After that the police, ambulance and Roger arrived. It was chaos and I remember nothing.
It took a friend telling me she was worried about me to make me realize that maybe there really is something more to my incredible highs and my incredible lows. My impulsiveness. My need to be always doing something and never slowing down. It’s all about fear. Fear that there is something wrong with me. Fear of not being happy. Fear of growing old. Fear of getting fat again. Fear of fear. Fear of love. Fear of not being loved. Fear of not being pretty. Fear of being full of myself. Fear, fear, fear. Fucking stupid fear!
Talked to Harry and Rory and told them that I forgot about God in all of this. Said I needed to pray. I’ve been praying so hard, it hurts. It doesn’t mean that I’m going to get all Christian up in here and stop saying the F word. I am a Christian and I always have been. It took me smashing my head up against my driver’s side window and the thought of possibly killing a young man to realize that I need to slow down.
The accident was a divine intervention, yes. It was my epiphany. I’ve been receiving them in so many ways, but I ignored them. I just wanted to keep feeling good. Keep feeling everthing after being numb for so long.
Now I don’t feel good. I feel like shit, and I have to realize it’s okay. I don’t have to feel good all the damn time. Because if we don’t have the bad times, how the hell can we love the good times? How the hell can we tell the difference?
I miss my friends B and K. I sent them a message this morning. Still haven’t heard from them. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I will. I know they read me. I hope they know that I love them. They’re my family. My sisters. And I miss them so. Today I’ll pray for them to come back to me. I’ll pray and pray and pray. For them to come back me. And for me to come back to me.