Rains

There is no harmony, here. Experienced fleeting bout of it Saturday when Facebook taught me the above referenced (post-it) passage and I proceeded to plow into my office work with a vengeance all the while finding new tunes on Pandora radio (one song influencing me tremendously called "Orange Ball of Hate" whose adorable lyrics are as follows):

When I hear the screeching weather vane
in the wild wind and the hissing rain
I know that one of us, I'm not saying who,
has got rocks in her head
as the rain comes through the open window
But you don't think so

I sure do love you
I sure do love you

When I notice that the radio is broken
I see you standing there in the doorway soaking
The water drizzles off of you down to the floor
and I say that I don't want to live in New England anymore
Some flower petals stick to your skin
I grab hold of your hip, and I pull you in

When the building establishes control
When the thunder from the north begins to roll down our way
I know I've been right all along
and you start singing that stupid children's song
You think I don't know it
but I just don't feel like singing it

I sure do love you
I sure do love you

Wait. I take back the absence of harmony. It is raining ridiculously hard right now in LA and those sounds are soothing, almost as if the Universe is pouring down its heartfelt sympathies for me. Weeping, weeping, weeping down from the sky, saying, Kristin, we hear you. We feel your sad pulse.

Over the weekend, I did meet some outstanding new friends. When I say "outstanding," what I'm meaning more than anything with that adjective is that they temporarily made the pain of being me go away. I thank them for that temporary measure of light, and ideally I'll see them again soon, specifically John and Aaron, both who made me laugh on repeat numerous times. Oh, and Ricky, who has such a contagious smile.

I'm so exhausted. I just came to this realization in this moment with the rain hammering out its intentions on our office roof, with my heart so heavy with sadness that it feels like its dropped from my chest cavity to the bottom of my belly. I'm very, very much in hurt, with it, cradling it like a broken bone in my palm. And I barely know what to make of it or do with it other than drown it, suffocate it, put it out of its broken misery. Send it down the river, naked, unable to breathe.

How this works is this: today, I stare at my computer awaiting some form of communication, anything. It isn't coming and I gather that, but no thought or emotion in me will will me away from awaiting. I actively try? I pull my mind from one corner of ailment to another, say, stare down at the endless pile of proposals requiring my red pen mark-ups? But my eyes drift back to the emptiness that rests there, cavernous nothingness. It's not new for me to have such uncontrollable weakness. It's aged, actually, probably about as far back as I can remember, this has been here with me.

He tells me things.

But all I'll say is it's not like with you and while I know I shouldn't give up my adventuring because it's a part of me, there's no adventuring like with you. Ours are epic. And I couldn't help but think of them, and what you'd do if you were part of yesterday's, if you were there too. I would have been different. And more ridiculous.

How do I force myself to really see and believe these words, from him? Logically and in my semi-halfish-intelligent brain, I know he isn't a liar, and I know he speaks from genuine tenderness, and meaning. But somehow, there is some dark red streaked gutteral anguish which chooses more often than not to rear its ugly head at me and convince me that all people are untrue, and unkind, and it's only a matter of time before all people turn their backs on me, despite the number of times I'm asked if I'm okay? What happens when I stand up on a chair with my fist raised and announce, "EVERYBODY, I AM NOT OKAY." The room fills with silence and then gradually empties? Because, frankly, that is what I'm afraid will happen. Fuck, it may happen now on a recurring basis for all I know. Plenty of rooms have emptied because of the dread of my nature, because of my openly exposed delicacy. I hate it. I hate this part.

For the time being, I imagine the best solution is to continue to find small life gems like the song I referenced above, or the post-it note sentiment (although, the latter is harshly ironic given the current state of things.) Ultimately, I want to run far, far, far away. From me. Get away from myself before I fall too far in to ever clamber out. How do I do this? How do I continue with one foot forward, keeping in motion with life as it proceeds all around me? Can I just...decline? The answer to that is obviously no, for many, many reasons, but I am observing a sadness in myself that somehow far and away has beat the experiences of the past. How can that even be possible? Is this all real? Where is the life support in this massively oversized empty room?