All of the Things, All of the Love

*warning: the following contains lots of feelings (mostly of the sad variety), grief, personal information, and possibly some self indulgence. proceed at your own discretion.*

I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe I've survived an entire year without you in my life. and I'm very aware how selfish that sounds, but it's the truth. you're one of the most amazing people I've ever met, and I was always aware of how lucky I was to have you around. I know you let me in much further than you meant to, but the fact that you didn't push me back out meant everything to me. you almost did, once, and I am forever grateful that you chose not to. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had - after all, it would've been the same struggle i'd have had if it were me. similar creatures, always. I'd never experienced that before; my brain and my soul always seemed to work so differently from everyone else's. I'm not very good with people past the superficial because I don't understand them. and conversely, they don't understand me. I just seem to be wired differently. but then there was you, who not only understood my ramblings but expounded upon them, creating fantastic, intelligent, thought-provoking conversations that helped me make sense of life and the events around me. but just as important was the silliness - the bad jokes, horrible puns, and funny pictures that we constantly sent back and forth. to have someone in my life who operated on the same basic system as me - not identical, of course; we didn't agree on everything, and it'd have been boring if we had - was a first. I'd always been the odd one out, the one who thought completely differently. I'm very lucky I'm both clever and an empath; without both those traits, I'm sure I would have been labeled a sociopath and more or less ostracized in social situations. even with those things, I'm still awkward and odd and uncomfortable. and somehow you never saw that. and I never struggled around you. it seemed that we just had the same oddities, so we made sense to each other. oh, I was still awkward sometimes, but for a totally different reason. I loved that about us together, by the way: it was just the right amount of awkward. too much awkwardness is uncomfortable, and none at all means it doesn't matter. but we were just slightly awkward with each other, just some of the time, and there was such a beauty in it. and in the fact that neither of us backed away from it. we just hung out on the ledge together and bumbled through with perplexed but genuine smiles, until the world smoothed out again and we went back to talking or being silly or whatever we were doing.

it still hurts every single day, and I'm not sure it will ever stop doing that. before you I was alone and apart but I assumed that's just the way it was. I was not made like everyone else, so that feeling of "once-removed" was just something I had to live with. I got used to it. it didn't even bother me any more; it was just a fact of life. but then it seemed I wasn't alone anymore because you were somehow like me. and it's weird and strange to suddenly have to change your world view, to have to stretch it to include someone else when the universe had always seemed to tell you that you were it - that your bubble didn't actually connect to the rest of world's Venn diagram. but we overlapped somehow, and it was amazing to discover. it's not to say I don't have friends or family that love me, because I do, and I love them right back. my parents are amazing, and I have john and jen, my inner circle, who love me no matter how weird I am. but for a brief (way too brief) time, there was someone that loved me for my weirdness and idiosyncrasies, not in spite of them. and furthermore, someone who understood them, as I understood yours. it was a magical thing. and now that you're gone, the aloneness I'd gotten used to and had come to rely on is suddenly extremely painful. because before I only knew the separation. now I know how lovely it is not to be separated - with no way to get that back. and that really really sucks.

you were brilliant and funny and sweet and kind and insanely talented. and didn't seem to really understand how rare and beautiful you were. we knew each other for several years before we became close - you always had protective walls up and I always respected that, though now I suppose I wish I'd been less respectful - but you were always on my radar, long before I even realized it. the word I always used in my head (from the beginning) to describe you was "adorable," which I meant the most literal sense possible. you were adorable in the modern sense as well, of course (and I miss seeing your face and your smile more than I could ever find words for), but I always saw you as someone worthy of being adored. no one deserved it more than you. you held a mirror up to me when I was at my lowest and helped rediscover the parts of me I'd lost or forgotten about. I just seemed to be unable to be stuck in the past when I was with you. I've always sucked at "living in the moment"; I'm always overthinking what just happened or thinking ahead to the next thing. but I was always completely in the present with you. because where else would I possibly ever want to be? you made everyone around you want to be better, to do their best, to up their game. it was something in your presence that just made us want to be the best versions of ourselves for you. it was nothing you ever consciously said or did, just who you were and how you inspired us to be. when you left, you left a huge hole, not just in my heart and in the hearts of those who loved you, but in the universe as a whole. you were such a positive force, even when you didn't think you were, and a light went out with you. it crushes me to think of the amazing music that will never be written, the thoughtful, beautiful lyrics that will never be sung. the incredible adventures and experiences that you'll never get to have, that you deserved to enjoy.  all the things we'll never get to talk about, all the places we'll never travel to, all the time I'll never get to spend with you. because I'll never stop wishing I had more time with you. I can only hope that I was able to bring into your life a fraction of the joy and beauty you brought into mine.  all of the love, always.

Always Something There to Remind Me

when something is no longer part of your life - when someone dies, yes, but also when a friendship goes sour, you break up with a partner, a pet dies or runs away, you lose a job you liked, or maybe you move away from a city you lived in for years - the memories of it are everywhere.  often they pop up in unexpected places  or catch you when you least expect it.  (like in the song "call me maybe" - why is chirpy bubblegum music making me cry?)  but it happens, and it's normal, and we assume it will happen when we lose something we love. i anticipated this, but i was not even a little prepared for how extensive it was. and still is, six months later.
eric and talked about everything. important stuff, sure; the world and how it works and how we felt about it and all sorts of deep, philosophical thoughts. but also - and more often - lots and lots of mundane and often silly things. music, tv shows, really bad jokes, where we were taking each other to visit when we (someday) had money, horrible puns, the pros/cons of moving to idaho, what animals we identified with, harry potter, doctor who, being geeks in general, emoticons, and whole host of other ridiculous things. i loved all our deep conversations, but i absolutely adored our dorkiness. and because said dorkiness ranged across so many subjects, the reminders are everywhere.
the other problem (maybe problem is not the right word - complication? issue?) is my eidetic memory.  granted, it's much more selective than it was when i was a kid due to the years of undiagnosed celiac and the resulting brain fog, but now that i'm mostly healthy, it has started to return. and moments from the last few years are burned indelibly into my memory circuits.  although, now that i think of it, maybe it's not just that. maybe it was just him. because even before that, before the onset of the worst of my symptoms, before my brain started clearing up and remembering more of what it saw, i seem to have filed away all sorts of little interactions. unimportant things, casual conversations, nothing impressive. and all stuff before we really started spending time together and became close. but he was always on my radar, i guess. and my brain - however many holes and gaps it has when it comes to other subjects - found a way to tuck him inside to keep.
anyway, the point of all that is this: saying that everything reminds me of eric - of some conversation we had or some joke we shared or some time we hung out - is not hyperbole. it is actual fact. and while sometimes i'm too busy or preoccupied to always notice the connection or to let myself dwell on it, it happens. a hundred times a day. and at least a dozen of those random times cause me to, if not out and out cry, at least tear up. and there's nothing i can do about it, because the emotion is just there, and so strong that it just bubbles out before i can stop it. (which is super professional when you're working with a student and something stupid like the word "doctrine" or a reference to a platypus suddenly brings tears to your eyes.) not to mention the countless things that cross my path that make me immediately think, "i need to send this... never mind." i mean, who else is going to appreciate a star trek/beatles crossover meme on all the levels? or fantastically illustrated puns? the conversations that would've followed those shares would've had me laughing all night. and i miss that so desperately. there seem to be a million things i miss, deep, important, life-changing things, and maybe i'll be able to discuss those things eventually. (those roots go deep, though, and - since i spent much of the writing of this blog with tears trickling down my face - i'm not sure i'm ready to sob openly while trying to write that one.) but it's the smallest things that make my heart ache the most. the hello-theres and what're-you-doings and what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-peoples and so-this-just-happeneds. they were the best parts of my days and now they're gone. and nearly everything in the world seems to remind me of that. i hate the reminders because the initial happy thought is invariably followed by a vague but crushing sense of "and i never get to do/see/talk about that with him again." but oddly i love them, too, because they mean those things happened, and i got to be a part of them, and i wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

Social Drawbacks

sometimes i wish i had more friends. let me clarify: this is not some teenage-y, emo, nobody-likes-me rant. i know and am friendly with lots of people, but i’ve never been the sort of person that has lots of close friends, which has always suited me just fine. i'm an introvert and an empath, and am very selective of who gets access to my energy. unfortunately, at this point in my life, most of the people closest to me live very far away. and on nights like these - when i just desperately want to go get a drink and listen to some live music - i really feel their absence. any one of my inner circle would absolutely hear that i need the company and the distraction and would make plans to join me. but they are not here, and i don’t really have anyone else to ask. those near me either can’t because it’s the middle of the week, or aren’t going to put my needs above their own. which is fine and understandable, but not helpful to me at the moment. i know i’m being selfish right now, but i really am so rarely selfish (and i really kind of need to be) that i simply can’t feel that bad about it. which leaves me on my own. and while i have never had a problem with hanging out alone, i’m not really in a place where sitting and drinking by myself seems like a good idea. so that leaves me on my couch without distractions, wishing for once that i had more willing-to-go-out-at-a-moment’s-notice friends.

Why Do I Not Wanna?

what is it that causes me to not want to do things - to make me believe they’re too much effort? i mean, obviously i understand the situational cause, but there’s got to be some sort of scientific explanation, too, right? like my brain isn’t producing enough [insert latin chemical name here] and this is what causes me to be unable to do (what should be) simple things like do the laundry or call the doctor’s office. i need to be enlightened because if there’s something i can do to offset this symptom, i need to be doing it. i don’t do much anyway, what with the being poor and living far from people and not having a lot of going-out-with friends; i need to keep from being completely inert. my life cannot become only work and sitting on my couch browsing the interwebs and crying, because that’s certainly not going to help my mental state. any science-minded people have any answers?

I Don't Know How To Answer That

"how are you?" seems like a simple enough question. and most of us answer it automatically, just like we ask it. we hear it so often - from our neighbors, co-workers, the cashier at the market - and most of the time it's only asked out of politeness; the person asking really doesn't care, or at least doesn't really want an answer other than "fine" or "good." and that's ok, really - it's a social conditioning to ask, to be polite, to show possible interest. sometimes it's asked with real concern, by the people who know and love us, and it seems easier to answer those inquiries honestly. but i seem to be having some real problems responding to the casually-asked version of this question lately.

i'm odd anyway (like that should be a shock to anyone) and one of my weird ocd things is accuracy. in this case, it prevents me from replying "fine" when i'm not. if i say "not so great," then the next question will undoubtedly be some variation of "what's wrong?" i realize that most people don't want a dissertation on why i'm not fine, and in 95% of cases, i don't really want to tell them anyway. inner circle and family aside, people want to be supportive, but aren't really equipped to deal with others' loss. it makes them uncomfortable, and understandably so. no one wants to imagine what that sort of thing feels like, and besides, what do you say? "i'm sorry" seems woefully inadequate and doesn't really do anything. and asking for more details will probably only intensify the sad and possibly bring on tears - even more uncomfortable for the person just trying to be nice. none of this is fun for anyone involved.

the other issue i'm having with this question is that i honestly don't know how to answer it. i'm definitely not fine, but what am i? awful? well, yes, emotionally i suppose i am. i am bereft of my connection with one the most beautiful human beings i have ever known; i have to wake up every day knowing i will never again get a silly text from him, or ruminate with him about life over drinks, or see him onstage doing what he loved, or hear a new piece of his music. and that knowledge sucks harder than i can possibly put into words. but i also know - objectively, mind you, in those brief moments when i can get around the sheer horribleness of the situation - that i'm dealing with this fairly well. (ironically, i can deal because of him, but that's another subject for another blog.) i sit around and cry all the time, i'm frequently overwhelmed by the need to hear from him, or the want to send him a silly picture, or just by the intense feeling of without.  but i get up. i go to work. i occasionally do things with people. i eat (though not terribly well, i admit). and i try my best to go to yoga because it seems to be keeping me sane. sometimes i even enjoy myself for small pockets of time before something random reminds me that everything sucks. but that's the point: not everything sucks, just this one thing. granted, it affects how i deal with and feel about everything else, but i have work, i'm mostly making ends meet for the moment, i have my drama classes to teach, and i'll have dance again soon. most of my life isn't sucky, technically. so how do i feel? i don't know. mind-bogglingly sad. grateful for my jobs. alone. appreciative of the friends and family that love me. kinda angry. mindful of the beauty around me. heart-broken. all of these contradictory things, and usually all at the same time.

so i think i've come to the conclusion that it's just best not to answer in casual conversation. i've had enough theatre training and guest/client/parent contact over the years to enable me to smooth over and redirect the conversation. usually just repeating the question will encourage the person to answer, and few follow-up questions should be enough to put the focus on them. eventually i'll be able to go back to "fine" and "good" but until then, i think i'll just stick with, "how are you?"