Noise and Color and Feeling

I was accused the other day of creating chaos for chaos’ sake. Things were going just a little too smoothly for me.

It is a fine, fine line, a friend said, between “wanting to be fully alive and creating chaos sometimes. You know what being dead is like, and what dead and dead drunk do to life.”

I do. I watched my mother who had everything- friends, family, people who loved her so much, beautiful art, amazing opportunities, traveled almost the entire world - and she was miserable. Day in and day out, drink after drink, she stayed numb.

I’ve been dead inside, too. I shut down a piece of myself too hard to deal with, slamming the door. The pieces I remembered- because I have always remembered some of the pieces- I twisted into some acceptable form of torture. It was too hard to hold otherwise.

I’ve spent years in my relationship feeling desperately alone and waiting for any crumb of attention. I filled my home with kids, with friends, always swirling, always moving, so I wouldn’t have to look at how empty I felt.

I am drawn to chaos. She’s right. It is a fine line and I’m not sure how to navigate it. I feel like I’m forever pulled to the roller coaster ride, loving it and hating it all at once. I’m not sure I know how else to live.

Three weeks ago Jeanine started the crazy work schedule again. Again again again. Did I say, Gosh, I'm feeling really lonely right now and what can we do to change what's going on? I don't want to feel so far away... not making her the bad guy, owning my own needs, and creating a place at the table for her that isn't about her being BAD. WRONG.

Instead, I let her go, and got pissed about it. Really pissed.

I know how to make it not happen but didn't. Not consciously, by any means. Jeanine, when invited with open arms and not reprimands, for the most part, tries her best to respond. I have reached a place in my life where everything is relatively smooth. I am beyond fortunate in many ways. I have created a wonderful family around me that loves me. The kids are great, daily drama, lack of pancakes, too many pimples and a constant shortage of clean socks but nothing earth shattering.

Fucking dull.

Maybe, though, just maybe, I’m not a head case that needs to hit my therapist’s couch (with no shoes on, of course) to rid myself once and for all of the need to rush down the hill. Maybe I don’t need to take a pill to calm down, as has been suggested to me from time to time from those around me weary of the ride.

Maybe, as my friend suggested, I just need to “grab for all the noise and color and feeling” I can because I’ve spent too much time dead inside.

And I don’t ever want to go back there again.