Posts tagged with "Heather"

to drink all damage into love

My three-year anniver­sary with Heather came and went with­out fan­fare or cer­e­mony (or even notice, on my part). Our time together went by in a blink; being chron­i­cally sin­gle for me, and trapped in an abu­sive rela­tion­ship for her, made the three years prior to that feel like an eter­nity by com­par­i­son for each of us. It was only halfway through that I real­ized part of me was keep­ing her at a sig­nif­i­cant distance.

When we first started spend­ing time together, I was drawn most to her inno­cence. The way she viewed the world with an open mind1 made me feel com­fort­able in a way I imme­di­ately found attrac­tive. I could tell her calm demeanour belied a dark­ness though; she knew a tremen­dous amount of pain in her short life, and that made her the same kind of old soul as me. Still, I never dared imag­ine things may work out between us, cause my pre­vi­ous lover was com­pletely unex­pected in both the com­ing and going, and the expe­ri­ence left me raw. Somewhat con­versely, I was also too numb to believe any­thing was real. It was only a cou­ple weeks after Heather entered my life that I tried to hang myself, and sur­viv­ing meant every­thing felt posthumous.

Continue read­ing “to drink all dam­age into love”…

  1. I relate it to the con­cept of an “uncar­ved block” or “pu” in Taoism: a state of recep­tive­ness, before the taint of expe­ri­ence, that gives one the poten­tial to see things with­out judg­ment or prej­u­dice. []

whales in the bodies of tiny fish

It’s been months since I had an appoint­ment with my ther­a­pist. I’ve needed the time to work on myself before mak­ing fur­ther progress with him; a sign that I’m at a point where there’s a sense of direc­tion, instead of relent­less con­fu­sion and dread. Now it’s a mat­ter of absorb­ing the con­cepts I should know by now, devolop­ing health­ier emo­tional habits, and let­ting time heal what rea­son can­not. As my body recov­ers from the phys­i­cal reper­cus­sions of depres­sion, find­ing the energy to do these things gets a bit eas­ier each sea­son1.

As a result, I’ve been pick­ing up new respon­si­bil­i­ties in my pri­mary rela­tion­ship, which I have to care­fully bal­ance with my per­sonal goals. Maybe that’s why my wants have become such sim­ple mat­ters. Some days, I look for­ward to noth­ing more than eat­ing ice cream after din­ner, or play­ing a game until my thumbs are raw. The dis­til­la­tion of my dreams has given me another child­hood, which I’m deter­mined not to squander.

underboob

Part of the rea­son I stopped tak­ing pic­tures is because I needed to believe Heather was real. To prove to myself that she wouldn’t sud­denly dis­ap­pear and only exist as a col­lec­tion of pix­els on my screen, like so many lovers of my past2. Mostly it was because every­thing was ter­ri­ble, and just being con­scious was a bur­den. Some days I was too sad to walk or eat, let alone decide what lens to put on my cam­era or how to frame a shot. The start of any rela­tion­ship tends to be a time of won­der and excite­ment for me, but I don’t remem­ber those years with par­tic­u­lar fond­ness3.

Continue read­ing “whales in the bod­ies of tiny fish”…

  1. There have been many steps back on the jour­ney for­ward, enough for the progress to be indis­cernible from a week-to-week (or even month-by-month) basis. []
  2. It’s strange to real­ize that my drive to pho­to­graph things was par­tially a way of deal­ing with my aban­don­ment issues. []
  3. At least I feel secure in the knowl­edge that Heather stuck by me when I was lit­er­ally at my worst. []

eight lives left

A lit­tle while ago, Byron stopped hold­ing down his meals, and we’d con­sis­tently find chicken parts scat­tered about the house shortly after he ate. A visit to the vet, along with the usual blood tests, came up empty. It was only an x-ray at the ER that showed a small object lodged at the start of his small intes­tine, block­ing the path of digestion.

It didn’t come as a huge sur­prise. Byron was a relent­less cat when it came to search­ing for food. I couldn’t tell if he’d roam the house for things to eat cause he was hun­gry, or if his hunger came from the con­stant roam­ing. Sometimes we’d find chewed up toys passed through his sys­tem, but more often than not they came up the other end, cov­ered in bile. It was only a mat­ter of time before some­thing got stuck.

cat in cone

The face of a killer defeated by a fur­ni­ture screw.

I try to have a prag­matic view about my cats. Operations of this scale on any sin­gle one are hard for me to jus­tify, when I could use those resources to save sev­eral more (espe­cially when I wouldn’t love a new cat any less). So I left the deci­sion up to Heather, con­sid­er­ing the fact that she’s the bread­win­ner now, and she’s had a stronger con­nec­tion to him ever since she started tak­ing care of the cat’s meals.

It wasn’t a dif­fi­cult choice for her, and she gave the vet approval to oper­ate with­out a sec­ond thought.

Cat at Wintersday

Heather’s spent more hours as his ranger alter-ego, Byron Tightslasher, than any other char­ac­ter. Every detail of his vir­tual per­sona is care­fully cho­sen to mimic Byron in real life, from the pat­terns of his fur, to the tilt of his muz­zle. In keep­ing with his per­son­al­ity, even the ranger pets that fol­low him are named after foods, such as his juve­nile eagle called Drumsticks.

This Christmas, Byron’s “Santa Claws” per­sona includes a snow­fall aura, Wintersday weapon set, wreath back­pack, and Ho-Ho-Tron mini with match­ing santa hat.

After leav­ing Leonard at the hos­pi­tal for an emer­gency oper­a­tion, then find­ing out the next day that he was gone, I was ter­ri­fied that I’d never see Byron again, but he soon came home with a new col­lar and a shaven belly, weak from not hav­ing digested a proper meal in so long.

It’s been a few months since, and he’s rebounded quite well, though a lot more cau­tious when it comes to the things he decides to put in his mouth. I sus­pect he’s learned a very painful les­son about not eat­ing some­thing just because he can, which means by now he’s at least smarter than most puppies.

shaved belly

BELLY NEEDS BOOPING

I could tell Heather loved my kit­ties, cause she obsesses over their health, projects their per­son­al­i­ties onto other ani­mals, and talks about them cease­lessly (whether it’s to me or peo­ple she just met). She even role-plays as them in Guild Wars 2, her favourite part of every sea­son being the chance cre­ate a new cos­tume. But after see­ing the how much effort she put into sav­ing my lit­tle boy, then nurs­ing him back to health with del­i­cate patience, I’ve started to under­stand that love goes deeper than I real­ized, for both them and me.

backstory

It’s taken me a gen­er­ous dis­tance, as well as a healthy break from the pain, to real­ize I don’t under­stand what my mom thought of me. In my ear­li­est years, I believed she loved me, cause none of her demands were unrea­son­able. After all, chil­dren are often help­less and don’t even know what’s best for them­selves. Then I grew up, and devel­oped an iden­tity of my own. That meant I had dis­tinc­tive needs sep­a­rate from hers, and she would deny every one of them unless they were in line with what she wanted. It was impos­si­ble for me to believe there was any love at all when she was the cause of so much of my pain. I’ve since come to real­ize that rela­tion­ships are full of nuances, and that it’s pos­si­ble to love some­one whole­heart­edly and be ter­ri­ble for them at the same time.

Continue read­ing “backstory”…

facing eternity, or the lack thereof

Heather man­aged to snag a job at a great com­pany on the other side of town. She started her train­ing last month, and I couldn’t be more proud of her for mak­ing the cut after months of resumes and appli­ca­tions, hope and patience.

While it makes sense for her to start work­ing, I’ve been forced to deal with an unset­tling void in the house — like the deaf­en­ing silence of a black­out, when the elec­tronic hums and glows cease to pro­vide their per­pet­ual com­pany. We never spent more than an hour apart before this, when she might have stepped out to grab some gro­ceries or a pre­scrip­tion1; nearly two years where we couldn’t help but be closely in tune with each other’s needs and moods. Now, it feels like we barely have a chance to get our dailies with a bit of extra con­tent before it’s time for bed.

Cadem Forest in Plains of Ashford

I always travel with my menagerie of cats; this month with Zuzu, Cat of Darkness at my feet (in cel­e­bra­tion of Halloween) and Brill on my back (who’s actu­ally a tiger cub).

Losing so much of each other has been a dif­fi­cult adjust­ment. I wasn’t ready for this. It wasn’t a deci­sion I made. I’m not use to being so alone, or even tak­ing care of myself, for that mat­ter2. When she’s away, the void makes it painfully clear how much I sur­rounded myself with her. I can’t even write with­out men­tion­ing her, cause there’s rarely a deci­sion I make with­out con­sid­er­ing her first, whether it’s how we’re going to spend our time or what I’m going to say next.

It’s a dif­fi­cult reminder of many years spent with­out a part­ner or par­ent to rely on. I’ve been try­ing to reclaim my inde­pen­dence by pick­ing up small respon­si­bil­i­ties. Something as sim­ple as mak­ing my space more com­fort­able, whether it’s a thor­ough clean­ing or new light­ing arrange­ment, turns into a chance to suc­ceed and feel accom­plished. Even games become lit­tle projects, ways of exer­cis­ing my cre­ativ­ity or keep­ing myself sharp.

I knew Heather would even­tu­ally be work­ing, and I’d be alone. Now the day has come, and I’m con­stantly won­der­ing: who am I when I’m by myself? What do I do to fill the hours that she’s away?

At least it’s given me a chance to write again. The break hasn’t been entirely inten­tional. Part of it is the fact that writ­ing takes energy, and I rarely have any to spare when I’m try­ing so hard just to feel okay. Another part is the fact that I haven’t needed this in the same way since I met her. She’s become an impor­tant out­let, one who always makes her­self avail­able to me. There hasn’t been the same long­ing to write, cause I haven’t needed to vent, or sort out my thoughts, or feel validated.

Nevertheless, this period of empti­ness has become a chap­ter in itself. A change that will be a great deal of the rest of our lives. I’m stuck here, while the days stretch out before me with end­less pos­si­bil­ity. The hard part is finally stum­bling into the life I’ve always wanted, find­ing a part­ner who fills in my gaps in all the right ways, but not being ready for it all.

  1. Aside from a few days she spent vis­it­ing her fam­ily last year. It was the first sig­nif­i­cant amount of time we were away from each other since we met, and I had a panic attack before she was out of the city. []
  2. She still han­dles the meals, and has a sys­tem where most things are done in the slow cooker; all I need to do is pour the con­tents of a bag into the pot and turn it on at a cer­tain time, although, some days, even this can slip my mind. []