Days after I married my first husband I realized we had made a big mistake. Oh shit. I was afraid to admit it, to myself or to anyone else, so I kept it inside and for a month I went totally crazy inside (I'm a sharer, I need to talk about it!). I wish I could find my journal from that time. I'm sure it is full of very interesting rants from a lunatic.
The culmination of this crazy time happened one night when he was at work. It was pouring rain outside and I lay on the hardwood floor of his house sobbing. I had so much anger and sadness in me I wanted to take a kitchen knife and carve FUCK into the beautiful brown wood so they would look how I felt. I sobbed and raged, and PRAYED. That's right, all caps praying, saving my ass prayers, making deals with Big Guy upstairs if he would just SAVE ME prayers. I kept waiting for someone to come, for the phone to ring, for a knock on the door, for something to happen that would change the situation I was in, but it didn't happen. No one came. Nothing changed.
The rain fell, my tears stained my journal, my soul ripped apart. At some point through my haze of pain, I realized that no one was going to save me but myself. I got up off the floor, I opened the front door, and I walked into the night. I went to find some of my friends because I knew I would need them. I left my husband the next day.
When I was listening to Sweet Sarah sing about the angel, I had a very real sense of being curled up and comforted by the divine. Those are my favorite prayers these days. I imagine myself curled up on The Committee's table receiving all the comfort they can give, not saving me, but loving me as I stumble through this life. They have the faith that I can figure it out....eventually. They just love me through it. I trust them to handle me with care, and love me at my ugliest, darkest moments.
It is funny how we have such profound experiences, yet we have to learn the lessons over and over again. This week I found myself wanting someone to change my reality, I wanted someone to fill my vase, and it made me so uncomfortable, dissatisfied, and anxious. It made me angry with the person who is not filling my vase (bastard ass mother fucker, and also sweet gentle soul) So I sat down this morning to write and see what came out, and what came out is this: I am my own savior. All that I need is carried within me. Expecting someone else to do it for me is just laying on the floor, sobbing in the rain, waiting for a knock on the door that will never come, and really, what fun is that?