Alchemic Verse

A harrowing work week has come to an end and looking up from two back to back 12 hour days that went from 4am to 4pm I realized – oh, I’ve been here a week now. It hit me while cloudgazing outside of this temporary sanctuary; unusual winds pushed the storm I awaited north and east, to where I watched the majesty of electric violence flash brightly, spilling mourning veils of shadowed rain from the hardened base of nimbus clouds.

My near-distant vantage point afforded me the flow to reflect on the first week here. Astonished, awed, by the spectacle and the introspection, I took inventory of how I’ve changed as a person since even ~six months ago me. It’s been ~six months since I separated from my ex, nearly to the day. After more than a decade of so rarely sleeping alone, I now occupy beds where I am a lone tourist, or sometimes share with only my sweet doggo instead. It’s delightful, despite her proclivity for – with precision envied by the very bow and arrow of Artemis herself – landing powerful dog-dream karate kicks at the singular square inch occupied by my b-hole in the darkness.

Regardless of this … startling and unfortunate tiny violence [hahahaha], I wake up to cuddle her and smother her velvety face in kisses. This is a shift from instead of rolling out of bed, cowed by a mantle of dreading another day pretending, or at the very least masking, assimilating to keep peace with people and circles. This mantle was the ringmail of accumulated exhaustion of my second full-time job  – method actor, the most convincing performance, the performance of a lifetime.

This halfish year later, the mornings are moderate, as I work toward better morning routines and structures, starting with Phase A – cuddly dog-devotion, cozy reflections of gratitude, stretching/yoga [even if just sometimes, just a few minutes] and at least 8 oz of water to go with the requisite coffee and soon-to-be-quit-again am cigarette.

Six months ago, I was nervous to go out on my own at all, where home never felt like home, and its community often overtly hostile to my very presence. This week, a stranger in a strange land [exaggeration, not Mars], I levered myself out of hermit mode to get a haircut, to shop for things I need – pharmacy, groceries, department store, a local retro game store, a local coffee shop. Everyone I met at all of those locations was friendly, helpful and genuinely interested in what I had to say. My favorite today I must admit was ‘Where’ya comin’ from?’
‘<Where I’m coming from>’
‘HM-hm-hm. Wull – that’s differnt.’
Yes, and thank goodness. Thank goodness it is different here.

I love the haircut I got, after years of being discouraged from anything remotely this short. It’s similar to one I had 15 years ago, a wild experience doing some amateur hair modeling, and I feel more beautiful/myself than I have, arguably any time since then –  honestly maybe even moreso than I did then. Twenty years old, thirty-six years old.

This time I’m significantly less concerned about what anyone else might think of my appearance, quite the feat for anyone in continuous recovery from disordered eating, abysmal body image, physical and emotional trauma [understatement here, personally], and a compulsion to earn approval/acceptance. Six months later, having shed the mantle of the expectations of people – particularly of those who live lives I wouldn’t choose for myself, see prev blog – I seek my approval, and I accept me.