I feel like I've been living under a rock. Or maybe in some precious, sheltered bubble. I'm confused by people. By our squirrely inabilities to be forthcoming with each other. K was really critical of people, and I was critical of him for being critical. I have this bad habit of intrinsically believing everyone is good and kind, somewhere under their various levels of jackassery. I trust people. I think we want to be good, the way an apple falls from a tree because it's meant to (or something like that, it's been a while since I took philosophy).
Sometimes I ask K what he thinks of a situation. I imagine him laughing at me a lot, not because he was mean-spirited (quite the opposite), but because I am so clumsy about human relationships. I'm kind of like this bumbling, tripping ball of emotion with everyone I know. I was like that when K was alive too, and he was always there to tell me about it. It sounds worse than it was...he was protective of my heart, I suppose you might say. He'd kind of get this quizzical look, like "why would you do that?" not out of judgement, but true lack of understanding. In his world, of cities and hustles and grinds and ulterior motives, people are sharp pointy objects at the best of times.
So here's a thing: I decided to go out with a guy. I guess you'd call it a date, as we went to a restaurant and he paid. Isn't that what the kids are calling a date these days? But let me clarify something. I'm not ready to date. I don't want to meet another guy, or get into a relationship, or even see someone where there might be emotions. Those emotions are still in a bottle on a shelf in my heart, all locked away with things sacred. Emotionally unavailable you might say, depending on your level of jackassery. I recognize that I am technically single, but that word tastes like cotton in my mouth. I recognize that human males exist, and some of them probably even notice me. And while my eyes and brain connect to recognize attractive qualities in someone, I'm not attracted to anyone. Probably because that part of me is still a war zone, all scared over and ugly. I'm not really ready to excavate yet.
Why the date then? Normalcy. Boredom. Loneliness. Let's start there, with the lonely. I've mentioned it a few times. I'm lonely in this bored, aching way. Lacking. Empty. I just wanted to talk to someone, spend time with someone, without feeling like they were doing me a huge favor (which is how I usually feel when I'm out with someone). Then there's the normal part...first post I talked about getting to Somehow...my version of going on. I'm not moving on, I'm going on. Big difference. So I figured that a guy with a nice smile and kind eyes (and not so bad to look at either) might be okay. And it totally was. We laughed over watermelon salad and fried shrimp and talked about traveling and being young biracial professionals in a a big city. After some internal debate, I told him about K, and he was understanding. He drove me home in a nice car and hugged me good night. It was a very nice time.
I've told a few people I went on a date, just to try the word out in my mouth. And to test the reactions, I guess. Being judged is still something I worry about, if I'm honest. Waking up the next morning, my stomach was in knots. My heart was its crackly, aching old self, all filled with a familiarity that is the special kind of guilt you only get with Grief. I don't cry as often as I used to, not in the conventional sense. I cry inside all the time. More often than you would believe, to see me. The physical tears come at particular lows now, which is maybe progress? The point is, it reminded me none of this is linear. It's better, worse, forget, remember, numb, feel, numb, anger, better...it's random.
The thing with Grief, I think, is that it's like eating something sour. Like you chew it over in your mouth to test the taste, and at first it's horrible, then it gets a little better as it starts to melt away, and then that last bit is the worst. And it just stays coated on your tongue and no amount of brushing can make it go away. And then there's a smell that goes with it, just to remind you, just for the moment you think you've stopped the taste. I don't know why I have this need to describe Grief all the time, but I do. I guess I just want you to understand what it feels like, because I don't ever want you to go through this. And if you do, I want you to be prepared, as far as that goes.
I don't know when I'll go on a date, or hang out, or whatever again. I do know I will continue to try to do things to get normalcy, to alleviate the loneliness and boredom. I'm in this numb the feelings or create the feeling when I'm numb place. Bouncing back and forth. I expect that to continue. Carefully, carefully, as it goes.
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