Fated Day 3

It's the monthversary of that day again. There still hasn't been a chance, except that I continue to cry and usually don't let S know about my sadness regarding this event. We've talked about it a thousand times, we've cried over it and have  quietly sat there, looking at each other, trying to find comfort in each others' souls, nestled up to one another.

It's dreary and painful. I drag myself throughout the day and at night, as I am sitting down for the day, having finished nannying, my long list of things to do, finished cooking, cleaning, and made through a batch of dessert to finally unwind, and it hits harder than usual. It's painful enough to disable any kind of thought, emotion and the shame burns deep, red and redder than before, with rage surmounting and sorrow reaching its pinnacle.

I no longer know how to quell anything within me.

Locks of Hair, Clicks of Time

I cut off a big chunk of my hair in May, right before our wedding ceremony. It's August and it's grown about two inches since then. Continuity of time continues to surprise me, it's always outside of my grasp and conviction. I can never pace myself accordingly and time slips by despite of me.

So much has happened since then. It feels like a long time and really, yesterday at the same time. I can't believe the fluidity of it all.

Here's to healthy hair and a healthy well being, misunderstood, misconceived measures of time.

A dab of Organix Moroccan Oil.

Reminding of Yourself

I am reminded daily of what happened in the past, so acutely that it's disorienting in the mornings. Sometimes, I don't know what day, time period I wake up to. I confused the fine line between past delusional haunting of my mind with today. I seem to wake up in the past, continually. It is damaging to myself and a bit tiring, difficult and hopeless to work through that every morning. Speed up the process, relive through these pains and suffer these wounds daily, until time catches up again. And sometimes, because the living of the past is so condensed, the emotions that are strongly attached to my experiences bring such negative emotions that the pain is all that much more intense, hurtful and bewildering.

It's a battle with myself, everyday. To forget, to greet the day, to keep working. It's my personal battle to not descent into my personal hell of revenge, depression and abyss.

Some days are more successful then others. Some days the necessity of appointments, arrangements and promises to keep is enough to get me going, out of the house and momentarily disabling the sensory inputs and outputs, which allows me to clamor, climb and pass through the day, until I come home and break down.

Other days are bad from the beginning and grow even more excruciating in the process of noon to night. It's immobilizing and I am reminded of the hopelessness of then. Not a good feeling.

It's a daily battle.

Hello Chicago

The road back home is always long. Unfortunately though, with all that has been ripped away from me, taken away to be never given back to me, has left a sour after taste and Chicago has lost its romantic mysticism, attractive and pheromones. The admiration has left its place to hatred, hostility and anger.

Two incidents, that are far apart has forever ruined Chicago for me. Though never the less, arriving at Chicago, signals me that we're nearly home, almost home, like home and we can drop the pretenses and this charade and go back to our tiny apartment to mourn the loss we both will never recover from. We can go back to falling apart every night to pick ourselves in the morning and to run after the endless amount of paper work we have to chase, complete, file and turn in. All the things we have to do before the summer is out and all the certainty we have to secure so that we may have our wedding August of 2014.

Hello Chicago, you now remind me of hurt, loss and blood.

Burgazada

Yesterday night seemed be a circus of dreams. Never ending merry go around that ended up making nauseous. Out of all that mumbo jumbo, weird world, aliens, pickles and sheep, lots of running around and somehow a huge gun (no idea where that even came from) I saw one single dream that actually made sense.

I think I've grown homesick since the years I've last visited Turkey. That was in 2007, so long ago. Although I did not depart with the most sincere and warmest of feelings at the time, after a while the anger fades away and the way I've shamed myself eventually faded out of memories as well. Others piled onto that, so no one cares anymore.

I've realized how much I've missed Burgazada. The sound and the smell of the waves. The rich green surrounded by the blue. I like the amicable crash of the two colors. Both warming, inviting and cool, waiting to be admired. The sun, the freedom of youth I associate with the island and the etching of the memories left from so long ago. I don't think I can ever remember the islands with anything negative. I wish never to be corrected on this. I want it to stay as it is in my memories, no matter how selfish and impossible that sounds. I know it won't, but I would at least like the ability to reminiscence about the islands in that loving, longing and happy way. It's that piece of solace that I can always look forward to.

Cheers to Burgazda and all of its wild children