"I'm a warrior princess....I'm a warrior princess....I can do this....."
I repeated this in my head about a million times while I half-humanly drove to the place My Love and I lived together....I knew the instant I walked in the door I would be floored by emotions and literal beast like blubbering....so I prepared myself with affirmations and chick-pop- specifically affirmations that made me feel like someone who has a palace, suitors and unnaturally thick hair and Tigers for pets, the more magical I told myself I was the more I'd be able to endure the next couple hours of my life with grace.
Yeah, well you know what isn't fucking graceful? Clutching to someones dirty laundry in an attempt to make them "Real" to you again, thinking if you just squeeze his shirt close enough to your face and close your eyes that maybe he'll come walking through your front door and say he was being an idiot and didn't mean it- I went to our apartment to retrieve, well, my life and ended up spending two entirely unproductive hours bawling on the floor into his favorite t-shirt. It still smelled like him....the musk, the collar, it was worn like he was practically still in it.... I didn't want any of our STUFF, I didn't want the dishes, the curtains, the rug....everything just looked like it was only half-mine. I didn't even want my clothes.... every brightly colored floral, button down, tattered jeans had an attachment to memories of US...they lived through our "moments."
Listen, people don't prepare you for this kind of shit- there's no handbook. There's no amount of "warrior princess" you can call yourself to withstand physically moving THINGS out of a life you were perfectly happy living and into one that is now completely empty. Stuff doesn't even matter anymore- nothing feels worth having if you don't possess a HEART to even enjoy it.
I pulled out the trash bags...and started throwing random objects in it. Nope, I don't want his shirt. Nope, I don't want my blankets. Nope, underwear are unnecessary? Nope, who needs forks and board games? Useless. Nope, I don't want.....fuck- I don't want anything.....but you know what I DO want, these here winter gloves?
THAT'S THE THING; When you finally feel like taking something it's the most NON-THREATENING object you can find. In the middle of summer all I really wanted to take with me were a pair of wool, winter gloves.
....you know why? Because these gloves didn't fucking tear my heart out of my chest. Gloves don't tell you they need "space" and "selfishness." Last I heard, gloves make snowmans? And hold cocoa. And are probably around during magical Christmas times that involved caroling and merriment and blushing cheeks?
The only things I wanted were things that held no attachment to what was so achingly void in my life now. I haven't bothered looking in the bag yet, but in my fog of sifting through my life I think I ended up leaving it with gloves, a stapler, a pair of turquoise tights, and a few sports bras ....and my book of Life List goals- at least I could start crossing some of them off with warm hands and a uni-boob.
The last two weeks have been all sorts of EPIC DISCOMFORT and manic mood swings.....but through it all I've been reminded of what an INCREDIBLY LOVING, SUPPORTIVE group of friends, family, bloggers and readers I have. From deliveries of flowers from Rachel, Derek (hi ladies, this one here is a gem) and Jenny....down to every single comment, email, message and moments of genuine mothering from my girlfriends who have (despite my reluctance to be cared for) huddled around me like animals in a pack and let me grieve and drink too much shamelessly. I honestly didn't even know how many people I had that wouldn't just be there for me, but that would be ROCKS for me, unwavering, strong, ports in the storm. The salvation at the end of the day has been all of you and these Earth angels that have swooped in, thrown me on their wings and said, "it'll be okay....maybe not today...but eventually." I've also found salvation in Cabernet, convincing myself that Jake Gyllenhaal would love me if he knew I existed and back episodes of The City, but whatever.
So, maybe Warrior Princesses do throw themselves on the ground and cry....maybe what makes them warriors is the fact that they show up to battle, suffer the tragedy, let the wounds bleed and heal....and allow themselves those moments of fragility and surrender. In the absolute stillness and pitch black of night they decide to pray out loud again...maybe for the first time ever...and admit that yes, this time around I'm gonna need some assistance. It isn't ideal to have puffy eyes and snot pouring out of your nose and eyes and mouth (??), it isn't regal or composed to find yourself debilitated by heartache, or pitifully staring at photographs of when it was "good"....it isn't the "strong, inspired, independent Chelsea Talks Smack".... those moments aren't the picture of warrior-like attributes....
...no, not those moments......
It's the moments AFTER- the ones where you pick your Warrior Princess off the floor, throw your bags of useless objects in the back of your car, take an exaggerated deep breathe like it's the first and last one of your life....and continue.
What makes you feel STRONG????