Tuesday, 4 December 2012


All of you read my blog with tunnel-vision, not catching the gaping holes in the stories that comprise my life. (Or maybe you don't and I just don't hear about it.)  I imagine part of it is the layout that I use. The rest is ignorance and indifference.  

It is no accident on my part: I do not want it to be easy to string together the events of my life.  What ties us together - you, the reader to me, the writer - are the emotions, the ideas and the sweeping generalizations that I make. The details of my life are of little consequence... to you.  To me, they are everything.  I do not write frivolously. There was inspiration behind each post.  I just never share it.


At my most trying time, when I sat impatiently in the bubble into which I had been forced while I awaited  judgement, I had no control over the outcome.  With every bit of energy I could muster, I did the only thing I could do: I fought what I thought was a losing battle because it was the single most honest thing I could do.

(Rewind to a couple of weeks ago.)

"Carolyn, I want you to know that I never thought less of you," he said to me across the table. We hadn't spoken in about two years, even though I'd seen him one year ago - when it all ended. The words came unsolicited, unprompted, and unexpectedly.

I had spent the last two years letting go of every aspect of the battle that was out of my control: what other people thought and what other people did.  I spent the last year trying to find peace and joy in knowing that it was all over.  I tried to find pride in that I had endured.  I had learned to quiet the voice inside my head that yearned for vindication. That need only fueled my anger and strengthened my discontentment with the world.  It made me want the things I could not control.  However, hearing these words mad me burst into tears.

I had once declared publicly that I did not need to explicitly hear one's reasons for abandoning me, but I was wrong. I soaked up the words the way the roots of a drying flower would water after a drought. It was overwhelming and revitalizing.

"I thought I was alone."

"You weren't."

(Rewind back to early 2011)  

"What are you going to do if you return?"  She looked at me earnestly, expecting an answer.  I didn't know why she was asking.  She kept asking me such wasteful questions.

I won't be returning, I thought. Period. Not a single person in their right mind believes it is a possibility.  Why should I entertain it?  The focus should be on what I'm supposed to do when all of this wraps up; when the inevitable happens and I have to sign papers forcing me to pretend the last few years of my life didn't happen and I have to start anew, ten steps back, with a gaping hole in my life that was filled with whatever filler I was legally advised to regurgitate when asked.

"I will never go back."

"You're going to walk away from every plan you've set up for yourself, from the entire life and experience you've built, as if none of it ever happened?  You're not going to fight for it?"

"Fight for what?!  To be in a world that could do this to me?  That would deem me guilty without so much as a fair trial?  Without an opportunity to speak?  I have been censored into silence. The truth has been twisted and I have been crippled, unable to defend myself.  All I can do is await the inevitable. No, I will not go back. I will find a place where things like this can't happen."


Except, places like that don't exist.  I was also wrong about what was inevitable.  When the ordeal concluded, I neither won nor lost.  It felt as though a gag was removed, my hands were untied, the lights were turned on and when I had the courage to look around I found that no one was there.  I was left standing alone, stripped of energy and confidence, unsure of how to proceed.

I wondered how I would rebuild but I realize now that I did not have to. Not all was lost. I was never alone.

December 2012. Remember this time, everyone. This is when I showed the world what I was made of.
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