8000 Feet Above Sea Level and Ready to Jump

"Remember, if you come this way, don't take no shortcuts and hurry along as fast as you can." (Virginia Reed, Age 12, Donner Party Survivor, 1847)

Just a few days before my departure, I found out via a popular social media website that the ex had a special lady friend.  This all occurred while we were conversing via texts about me trying to sell my engagement ring.  He never told me.  He let me find out over facebook while we were communicating.  Who knew that a broken heart could break more.  It can.  And mine did.

I went back into full on panic mode.  I don't know why.  It had been months at this point.  We had sporadic communication, I realized that even though I loved him, he was living the life that he had to live for himself and I was doing the same.  But I still loved every fiber of him and missed him something awful sometimes.  This is the point that every ex dreads.  This is where the other one has moved on and has a new partner and you are single.

My partner was myself.  And by that I mean, I shaved my legs for me, I cooked foods that I wanted to eat, I put makeup on and realized that I was pretty... without someone else telling me that I was.  I was dating myself.  I was proud of that fact to some degree, but on the other hand, I was envious.  I have an aversion to what I call 'the empty orgasm' so I wasn't out there hopping into bed with people.  At some points, I really wished I could, but I just couldn't force myself to do that.  I didn't see the point. He had been the man that I was going to spend the rest of my life and raise our family with.  No drunken night or piece of 'strange' was going to replace that.  I'm looking for quality in my life these days, not quantity.

  Armed with a freshly filled i-pod, a tank of gas, and a google map, I headed out.  Gnoman and Somo were buckled into the passenger seat next to me and the stereo was on full blast.  I had a car stocked with instant oatmeal, a bag of nuts, and a box of ginger snaps, all within grabbing reach.  It's time to roll!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCRqK8_w6EI

The date was September 8th.  Not a date that I will forget for a long, long time.  Even though I had spent a good deal of time in Washington healing and starting fresh, this was  the start of my "road trip back to right."  I started heading South.  My parents were due to meet me for a family reunion in Truckee, CA in a couple of days so that was where the compass was pointing.

I said goodbye to Washington ("Experience Washington") and crossed into Oregon ("We Love Dreamers"), heading towards beautiful mountains,  gorgeous gorges and my family.  At a rest stop, in the light, ever present rain, I met a scruffy, unwashed guy with a beautiful white kitten named Snowy.  you KNOW I couldn't just walk away from Snowy!  It was raining, for Heavens sake!  So what does my shy ass do?  I walk up to this pungent fellow and start talking.  

"May I take a picture of you and your cat?"

"Sure.  I'm trying to get back to Oregon, I had a gig in Seattle .  I'm in a band.  They want to record us.  My girl was in a car accident and she can't travel and I'm trying to get back to her.  I'm out of money and I've been going back and forth for the past few months recording...."

Of course you have.... with a cat.

"I don't have much and I can't take you with me, because my car is full, but here is a little gas money if that helps." Get the cat some food and get her out of the frikin' rain, Mick Jagger!

  I made it to a small town called Grant's Pass ("It's The Climate,") Oregon  for the night.  I had a family dinner with the cousins, saw the babies from years ago as adults, (which is startling no matter how you look at it,) and slept in the most comfortable bed that I have EVER slept in!  It just pulled me in and cocooned me for the best night of sleep that I've had in years.  I had no worries that night.  I was safe and loved.  Nothing else mattered.

The next morning, I headed out ahead of my cousins who were going to the same reunion.  I had printed out a map and figured with me stopping to take pictures and my slow, meandering ways, I would get to Donner Lake about the same time that they did.

Soon after I left Grants Pass, I entered into California ("Find Yourself Here") and had a bit of a scare when the state line border control almost took my sad little ailing orchid (gift from his mom) that had traveled from Naples onward with me.  Luggage has been dropped on this thing, animals have munched on it, it's been on the floorboard of my car for weeks at a time, never complaining.  Hands off the orchid, man!  It's tougher than you will ever be!  but I can't bare to lose that too! (Okay, maybe I DO hold onto things a little to much...)

The road took me through beauty, desolation, abundance, and national forests where the speed limit went from 55MPR to 25MPR in a blink of an eye and around hairpin curves.  I'm just going to put it out there that if there isn't going to be a gas station for 100+ miles, someone should let a sister know.  And if there is a gas station in the middle of the National Forest, but it's only open on weekdays/ in season/ between the hours of 9AM-11AM same day, again, let a sister know.  Fuuuuuuck!  I sent a text to the family to let them know where I was at the one spot for 300 miles that had reception, and kept on truckin'... with about 1/4 tank of gas... in an SUV... and a prayer.  Yeah, that's going to get me far.

I saw Mt. Shasta in the distance, where there is supposedly a monastery where I wish I had visited, I went through Shasta National Forest (imagine that,) tree lined and lake spotted.  Beginning to think I may have taken the long road, at the entrance to one of the National Parks, I told the ranger that I was trying to get to Truckee, and asked if I was going the right way.

"You CAN get to Truckee going this way and you should.  It's a beautiful day.  That'll be $12."

  I ventured into Lassen Volcanic National Park ("Leave Only Footprints, Take Only Pictures."), where I was 8000+ ft above sea level and the view from there is utterly breathtaking, I inhaled the rotten egg smell of the gaseous discharge from the rocks, and my heart sang the entire way.  I rolled into a tiny town with a name that I can't remember, on fumes, and almost fell to my knees in thanks that I wasn't stranded in the wilderness.  This town looked like the Old West had come to claim it back, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble.  Even the stray dogs looked like they could 'shoot 'em out' if they had to.  This town was desolate.

 

God, this land is astonishing.  The air is so crisp (or thin... depending on how you look at it,) the scenery changes from second to second, and if you can't find peace here... well, you need a Buddhist temple.  In the forest, there are pull off points where you can fish and camp and such, Port-a-Potties or brick buildings with a toilet shaped thing but nothing else, and Smokey the Bear letting you know what the fire alert is for the day.  The crystal clear, babbling brooks babbled away, the birds chirped and sang, and the soil sent out the sweet aroma of new growth and life to my nostrils.  I had my windows down and the air off, partly to save gas and partly to make sure that I experienced this beautiful moment.  Every precious moment.


After about 12 hrs of driving, multiple calls to the family to flag me in, a quick detour unexpectedly due to construction, into Nevada ("Wide Open,") I pulled into the Donner Lake Inn.  My tires were smoking and my car smelled like burning rubber/oil/not good things, but I made it and the family had saved me a plate!  And the cousins that I had left earlier that day were sitting there waiting for me... for the past 4 hours.

A couple of my cousins own the Donner Lake Inn (shameless plug for the B&B.  It's great and the people are amazing) but they were closed to the public and let our big, loud, Italian famiglia descend upon them and take over.  It was awesome!  Some of these folks I haven't seen for years, if ever.  Some I had seen that morning.  Either way, we fell into an easy routine of good food, hilarious family stories (note to self: next time bring a tape recorder) and sight seeing.

Like every family, we have secrets and drama and bad blood mixed in there somewhere.  But none of that was present.  This was a group of people age ranged from infant to 80+ living, laughing and loving together.  There was no agenda and very little itinerary to deal with.  We went on the stunning, toothpaste blue waters of Lake Tahoe ("Keep Tahoe Blue, ") where I drove the boat briefly, we visited the Emigrant Trail, where we marveled at the construction of tunnels and walls that were built so crudely and beautifully,  visited the Donner Museum and Donner Lake, which moved us all in ways that can never be explained.

Do you know much about the Donner Party?  I didn't.  Read up on them if you ever have a moment.  Maybe I was so taken by it because I was on the verge of my own voyage, maybe just because it is an astonishing story.  Seeing the craggy rocks that they navigated wagons over, the visual of how deep the snow was (22 feet,) how there was strife in the party that started with 87 and ended with 48, how a man that they ostracized was the only one to go on ahead and send a rescue team back for them, how some had to turn to cannibalism, understandably, to stay alive.  Truly a nonfictional page turner.

But under that umbrella of rich history, loving family and delicious sunshine, I let go.  I covered myself with the blankets of stories that flowed every night about my ancestors, swam in my own memories, and relentlessly asked for ideas of where to head next.

I learned that Winnemucca ("There's More Than Meets The Eye",) NV is where everyone has to pass through to get where you want to go.  I also learned that there ain't shit in Winnemucca!

Drying out in Washington State

"What brought you to Washington?"

"A new life"

There it is again.

"Warrants?

"Funny you should mention that."

Washington is just beautiful.  It was the the perfect backdrop to be reborn.  The area code where I was is 360.  It took me almost the entire time that I was there to realize that that is what I was doing.  A 360.

Let me just go and get it out there that I'm a throwback hippie.  I'm a tree hugging, animal loving, make-love-not-waring fool.  I analyze my dreams and listen to my intuition.  Freak?  Maybe.  Observer?  For sure.  I love people watching.  And where I was in my psyche at this point, this is what I was here to do.  I needed to listen to myself and to observe everything around me.

I don't know if you noticed this or not, but 2010 was a hard year.  Not just for me, but for millions of people.  My situation aside, the stories that I heard of tragedy were astonishing.  Starting with the earthquake in Haiti everything just seemed to go downhill.  Natural disasters, relationship mayhem, job loss, personal tragedy, death, and general unease.  You may have felt it, but didn't have anyone to talk about it with.  You were not alone.  To this day, I still have conversations with people that say (mostly March-June) 2010 was Hell.  In the the shop that I worked in, (staff count of 8,) there was divorce, separation, serious marital disconnection and general romantic pain during that time.  And that is just 7 people that I know.  This does not include the deaths, illnesses, and geographic disasters.

But there were also births, milestones, pregnancies, and inspiration.  There was a lot of joy in 2010.  People that quit their jobs to follow dreams, did just that and succeeded.  Hard births turned out healthy babies and mamas.  Couples that seemed to be on the rocks found each other again.  Cancers that came back went into remission again.

To quote Kahili Gibran,

"Sadness is but a wall between two gardens."

We made it through.  I celebrated my 33rd year of life, in Washington.  I froke out only a little when I realized that I was a barista, unattached and with no children at 33.  When I was young, I thought I would be married, with children, by 21.  Thank God for small favors.  I have a friend that had a stroke at age 21.  She called me one day and said that she had learned to pucker again.  This is what I was doing; learning to pucker again.

The friend that took me in is just as kooky as I am.  She sees the spirits that walk around, she picks up on energy, and she is rooted into this world more than most "normal" people.  I love her.  She never let me get away with any s#@t!  she forced me to deal with my pain.

"The best way to get through something is to live it.  Feel it."

Ef you!  I don't wanna!

But I did.  On her porch, I shook, cried, trembled, laughed, sang, and talked.  She relived the past few years of my life with me, some that she was there for and some that she was not.  I relived her life too.  I was reminded of the fact that when we are off living, others are too.  Lives filled with so much joy and so much pain and a lot of filler in between.

We planted a garden that mostly died, we cooked some really good food, we bounced ideas off of each other, and we listened.  That was the biggest thing.  We just listened.  To each other, to the night, to the animals in the neighborhood, to the kids down the street that only liked one Lady Gaga song, to our family and friends, and to ourselves.  Funny that, listening to yourself.  You say some insightful things, but unless you have a sounding board, most of the time, it just gets lost.

I shucked my first oyster out there.  I was okay with it until I realized that it was my hand that killed the slimy little bugger, and I couldn't even eat it.  I met beautiful people, older and younger, that became my rocks.  I fit right in at work.  I am as sick minded as the rest of them and also as human.   I inhaled pure, salty air.  I relived and healed every day as my co-workers told their stories of loss and love.  I battled with the DMV from 3 different states to get my license back in good standing.  I drank a 4 Loko and smooched with an 18 year old.  I wish I knew his name.  Every Wednesday when I went to work, my co-workers would cue the i-pod to play "Shots" by LMFAO.  That was the joy of my day.  Horrible song, great memories though.  Before I left Naples, I filled out the census card and included myself on it.  I just wanted to be counted.  Here, in this strange little Navy town, I didn't need a census, I was counted.

While there, I formed a new relationship with the ex.  Not a good one per say, but a new one.  One that I was good with sometimes and sometimes not.  He may have felt the same way.  In some exchanges he was apologetic and I missed him so.  Some were more raw.  I hope I'm not alone in saying this, but there is something with an ex.  1st off, the comfort level.  2nd (and in this case) the need to know that you still have it.  We had dirty exchanges and sometimes even ones of real substance. He is an amazing person.  So simple and predictable, but also full of the complexities and passion that I fell in love with him for. 

His mom's cancer came back soon after I moved out there and I felt so helpless.  Now, I'm not "in" his family, and I never really was officially, but I still love his family.  From the moment that I met them, I included them in my prayers. (Yes, I pray.)  So when she got sick again, I felt it.  Every doctors appointment that she went to, every cough his grandfather had, I felt it.  I have been told that I hold onto people too much but, at least for now, I'm okay with that.  I'm Italian, so family (and food) is life.  When I met them, I stuffed them into my pocket to be held dear for all eternity.  I'm not going to let a break up get in the way of love for good people.  His family means the world to me.  And as it is with all of my friends, all become my family.

But I was scared.  It's silly, but I felt like I had deserted her.  Not that I could help her, but just to be with her if she needed anything.  Again, I was angry with him. The drive would have been much easier to go and see her when I lived in the same state.  It wasn't his fault.  I was scared and I looked to the easiest scapegoat.  It wasn't fair of me to do that.  I was scared because it wasn't just her cancer.  It was the health of my parents, the growing up of my niece and nephew, the births of babies, my cat.  I was missing out on their lives and the time difference made it hard to catch people on the phone.  Just to hold any one of them in my arms was what I longed for.  And just to have them hold me in theirs.

My paternal grandparents are buried in Oregon.  Just a few short hours away from where I was staying, an old world life became the American dream.  I won't go into that story here, that is for my dad to write, but I'll tell you about going to "see" the grandparents while I was out there.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdP3nZMZQbs 

My roomie wanted to do something nice for me.  As said above, we are both woo-woo people.  I 'talk to' my ancestors every night before I go to sleep and I wanted to 'see' my grandparents.  I know that they guide me (Maybe this comes from a childhood in Africa.  Maybe I'm crazy.  Maybe it's just the way it is.)  So we set out, with music in tow (thank God she is as musically driven as I am,) through a landscape that would take your breath away.  And she is so giving; she let me jump out and take pictures whenever, shared stories with me, and drove the whole way so I could stare out of the window.  And I was in a very bad place at this point.  I couldn't tell my ass from my elbow then.  I needed help.

We found the cemetery with little confusion, and I wandered over to the graves.  I knew they weren't 'there' but as soon as I saw the names, I teared up.  I didn't know this at the time, but their wedding date was one that he and I had talked about for ours.  Ouch.  And I felt like I had failed them in some way.  I have no idea how, but that's how I felt.

I fell to my knees (this is cliche, movie-like stuff) and talked to them.  It was a holiday weekend, so there were fresh flowers and flags on most of the graves.  I told them that I missed them and that I was happy to see the old neighborhood.  I have very few memories from my childhood, but the ones from here are fresh and sweet.  The rain started to fall and I looked around the cemetery.  There were a few other families there, but I didn't pay them much mind.  Instead, I lost it.  So here I am kneeling on my grandparents' graves, fists of lush grass in each hand, hair falling in my face, and I'm sobbing!  Tears mixing with rain.  All that was missing was the old man in a trench coat in the distance, watching.  My poor friend came over to see if I needed anything, but I had no words to give.  I was so lost.  This trip was really a test of our friendship.  She had planned for almost every situation, except the one where I was a detached, sobbing, bumbling fool.

But she took my hand and walked with me through it all.  And so did everyone else.  I can't even express to you the gratitude I felt towards everyone around me.  My family and friends, old and new, the man at the store who asked about me to my friend and then made a special point to come and tell me "He's an idiot," the neighborhood animals that would come to greet me every morning (because we fed them) and crawl into my lap, the guy at the convenience store who always had a smile for me.  Truly amazing.

I had the opportunity to go and visit some family a few hours away for the 4th of July.  We lost my cousin to cancer a few years ago and a hole was created never to be filled again in all of us.  My favorite family memories are of being with him and his family for the 4th, so there is no other place in the world that I could be for the holiday.  Sitting there missing him with a heavy sadness,  but also looking around at his wife, kids and grand kids, sharing memories, laughter and beer.

This was why I came here.  Family and food, laughter and love.  And I was finding it.  I was finally healing!

I flew home towards the end of my stay to say goodbye to the only constant in my life (please don't be offended people) for the past 13 years.  My cat got sick and I got the call from my mom telling me that she wasn't well.  My roomie and her family made it happen on short notice and with no questions asked.  I can never repay them for their kindness.  Some would think that this is silly, but she really was the world to me and they saw the terror in my eyes.  Animal owners know what happens when you live with them.  They become part of you.  Your daily life, your considerations, your family.   She had been in on every adventure, every move, every lover and every state for the past 13 years.   I just couldn't stand any more loss at this point.  I was still as fragile as cotton candy and this would surely be the death of me.  The plan was to get her as soon as I could, but I wasn't fast enough.  When she was healthy, she would pee on the clothes of my boyfriends, drink gin out of my glass, and comfort me daily.  Now she had shrunk down to less than 4 pounds, her eyes were sunken into her tiny skull and even her fluffy fur lay dead against her.  She couldn't move, wouldn't eat or drink and just stared at me with glazed over eyes.   I had left her.  I left her with people that she knew and loved, but that was cold comfort to me because I wasn't with her when she got sick.  I left her when she needed me after she had been the ever-comforting stability in my life.

The rage started to rise again in me.  He took away the last five months that I could have had with her.  And when I contacted him in my despair, he wasn't around.  He never, to this day, said anything about it.  Until that day, I had felt as if I had lost my best friend (in him) but from then on, I realized how wrong I was.  He was never my best friend.  I created that job for him, but he wasn't the one who should have been given the title.  And that's okay.  I love him for who he is and for never taking the title even when it was thrown at him.

That was the biggest setback for me. I truly did not think I would bounce back from that.  All of the pain that I had so carefully been chipping away, came back.  The steel walls grew around my lead-filled heart again and I felt that if anyone touched me, I would shatter into millions of sharp and deadly pieces.

But as all things, this passed.  Slowly and painfully, but it passed.  I threw myself back into work, looked to my friends and family once again for help and moved forward.  Maybe this was her way of letting me do what I needed to do.  I tell myself that and I hope it's true.

I went to the lake with friends, visited a lavender farm, went to festivals, read a lot of books, experienced some great live musicians, gazed at the landscape and took a bunch of deep breaths.  I think it worked too.  By the time I packed up to leave, I was at least at 324... not quite 360, but close enough for me!  It was time to find myself on the open road....

The Scenic Route Part II

Where was I?  Oh yes, crying on the side of the road in Indiana.  (Don't worry, it gets better.)  I gathered myself to just a whimper and pulled back onto the highway.  The scenery remained the same as I tearfully meandered through more farm lands, rest stops and gas stations that smell like stale fried chicken.  Over and over I kept replaying what the officer said: "All it said was license returned, undeliverable."  Because I moved to Florida before my renewed drivers license was delivered in Virginia.

And then the rage started to take over.  No, it doesn't make sense.  He's not responsible for the choices that I made.  I am.  But in the demise of any relationship, "logic" becomes a little... how shall we say... blurred.  And right here, in this car, in the presence of mind that I'm in, in this damn "I" state, it's his fault.  If he had just let me move when I wanted to, this would not have happened.  If he had not been the assclown that promised me forever, had me quit my job, move to a place that I resisted, left me lonely, broke and unhappy and THEN cheated on me and kicked me out, this would not be happening.  I would have healed from a break up, minus the salt in the wound.  At this point in the emotional roller coaster, I might even have felt hatred towards this poor guy.  But I still loved him so.  Yes, sometimes feelings have a way of baffling a girl.  And making them down-right crazy.

That day I made it through Illinois and Iowa and pulled into Omaha, Nebraska right as rush hour hit... going below the speed limit, of course.  I have to say, so far, I'm not the biggest fan of the "I" states, so I was pretty content to sit in a little bumper to bumper traffic if it meant some distance from that long and frustrating road.

So that night, after I checked in with my parents, sent a scathing, anger and pain filled text to the ex (something along the lines of 'I may be a crazy bitch but you are a pathetic D-bag,) and showered, I went to the hotel bar... as you do.  I had some food and met my first single serving friends for the trip.  I have to say, and this is not to sound discriminating in any way, but girls have it better when it comes to this.  Food and drinks are paid for, stories are shared and who knows what kind of fun you can get into.  For me, I met a few good people, and ended the evening with a great guy, with a slight Irish accent (swoon,) wanting to follow me to Washington.  Now don't go getting all crazy and thinking dirty thoughts.  I was hurt (and as noted from the 1st blog, horny) but thanks to a recent visit with an old friend, I refrained from adding 'strange love' to the list of activities on this voyage... at least for that night.  Just as well because I ended up having a pretty good conversation with the ex that ended on a happy note for both of us.  And with me still heading West.

The drive through Nebraska was crazy.  The winds were out of control (the "expert," Mr. King, tells me it's because there are no trees.) and I was scared that I was going to either blow off the road or that someone else would and blow into me.  I couldn't even go the speed limit here.  Thank goodness for the the weight of my clothes, shoes and products in the back weighing good ol' Gabby (my jeep) down.  And even though there wasn't much to see out there on I-80, it was beautiful.  The endless expanse of fields, farms and road ahead made me smile.  Each mile somehow brought something new and I could feel my heart changing composition from lead filled to a little more like gold filled.

Next comes Wyoming.  A large square state with prairies, mountains, cowboys, my maternal family history, and the sight of my 2nd ticket on this trip.  Yes folks, you heard it right, my family is from Wyoming.  This is where I turned vegetarian in Jr. High (my mom hit a rabbit (or a jackalope maybe?) on the road on a trip out there once.  She had to re-run over it to put it out of it's misery, ) where I "necked" in the park with a guy named Dale (pronounced Dell to the locals) who looked like Wally from Leave it to Beaver, and where my mother did the town census (because she helped deliver the milk from their dairy farm) as a child.  I visited the family home, armed with a key to get into the dilapidated house, but walked away with only a pictures of Gnoman.  Gnome on the Range....  My Mountain Gnome....  Well, you get it.

Oh, you want to hear about the ticket?  What's to say?  I was 12 minutes into the damn state and since I was out of Nebraska, the wind died down and I didn't realize that I was speeding up. (Note to self: next car has cruise control.)  So here I am puttering (to be fair, the 'puttering' limit is 70MPH) along approximately 300 feet into Wyoming and I see the lights.  So Good ol' boy pulls me over and is super sweet.

"Where you headed?"

"Washington State"

"You're a long way from home, what's out there?"

Do they get this in the handbook?

"A new life."

Hey... it worked SO well the last time!

He has me come sit in the front (that will make sense later) of the cruiser and pulls my information.  I was going 7 (seven/ sept/ siete) miles over the speed limit.  Se-ven!  Really dude?  Well, as we wait for my information to come in for him, I start to get nervous.  I could be thrown under this small town jail if he wants, so I spill it.

"So... um... I need to tell you something"

"What's that, ma'am?"

Ma'am?

This little 22yo tried not to laugh in my face when I told him about the ticket the day before and issued me a driving on suspended.   That night I transferred my car insurance to WA before the 2nd driving on suspended could show up.

And on through to Northern Utah where I saw my first Mormon graffiti (you haven't lived until you have!) and some beautiful, but desolate, landscapes.  Next, it's time to start heading North into Idaho (Oi Vey! Another "I" state) and northeastern Oregon.  Not the prettiest part of of the country, but again, there is something to be said about the miles of NOTHING and that was the first time I had seen that part of (not as lush and green) Oregon.  Every incline, decline and curve held a new image of this great country for me and my breath was caught in my throat every few miles.  Every time you think it can't get any prettier, it does.  I can't lie.

And then it's Washington.  Now this is God's country.  Or at least one part of it.  I can't even explain the natural beauty that Washington contains.  The Evergreen State is just that.  The mountains, snow (in April,) foliage, people, birds and animals, ... I could go on.  My only fear was when I saw signs for "Chain up" areas.  What?  "Wha that mean?"

During this entire journey, my ipod never rested (unless there was no reception for the converter thingy... then it was country, western, church or nascar.) soothing my soul, re-opening wounds, coaxing out every buried emotion, invoking tears, drying them, making me smile and helping me to scream and find my voice.  The voice that had been so long in hiding.  And playing my wedding song.

 

I made it.  I made it as far (physically) away from what I felt as my biggest failures as I could.  It's time to heal and turn this around.  I can do this.  "Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends."

The Scenic Route Part I

When you need to run like your life depends on it from South Florida, where do you go?  Where is the furthest point that you can make it to without leaving the country?  Washington State.  And that's what I did.  After most of my wares were in storage, I dropped off my aging cat in Virginia with my parents and headed west.  This would be the first time that I hadn't taken her with me on a move.  I didn't think she would make the drive.  I had one heartbreaking conversation with the ex where he asked me to come home.  The next day, he reneged via text and I was ready to roll, quite literally.

I have a dear, dear friend out there who was willing to take me under her wing and put ointment on my wounded soul.  She and her husband separately and together contacted me and told me to get my keister in the car and come on out.  Why the Hell not, right?  So armed with my poor orchid plant and my clothes, I hit the ol' highway.  Here is where my adventure really begins.

I took a week to drive from Northern, VA., to the Pac. N.W.  At every state line I would send a text to my parents and loved ones so they could share in my journey and rejoice in every mile I drove the pain out of my empty soul.

Music was again my best friend and worst enemy.  Through the farm lands of Maryland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Indiana, I let my heart cry.  When there is nothing around you except rolling farms, beautiful music, open road and all of the hallways of your mind, you go into almost a trance.  I love to drive.  I love the constant and ever changing choreography of the vehicles, animals and environment that dance with you when you're cruising along the map.

In Indiana, I received my first setback in my healing.  I got pulled over for speeding.  This really shouldn't surprise me and it shouldn't be a big deal.  Oh, but wait, this is me we're talking about.  The girl with the worst car luck ever.

So here I am, somewhere around Indianapolis and I was going slightly over the speed limit.  Thinking that this was going to be a quick ticket and back on the road, (with an ever more watchful eye on the speedometer, of coarse) I pull over and get the necessary documentation ready.

"Where ya heading?"

"Washington State"

"That's a long way off.   What's out there?"

"A new life."

He takes my license and retreats to his cruiser.

He comes back a few minuets later.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but your license is suspended."

Wait, what?

"For what?"

I'm not even pretending to be nice at this point.  My sanity his hanging by a thread so bare that I'm not sure I'm going to make it out of this one.

"I don't know.  It didn't say."

Here is where I break my rule of 'never cry in front of cops.'

"I have to keep your license. "

I nod, sobbing.

"I have to give you a ticket for driving on a suspended"

I nod, sobbing.

"I can't let you drive anymore with no license."

I nod, sobbing.

"So since you are are so far from home and you have a long way to go, I'm going to get in my cruiser and drive away.  I don't know how you're getting your car out of here."

He hands me the ticket and backs away from my window.

I sit there sobbing.

This is how it will all go down

You ask the question, knowing which answer you want to hear and knowing that, no matter what, this is going to suck. As he answers, your soul leaves your body to watch it all happen from a safe place in the corner of the room. She does this to give you a moment of numbness. The calm before the storm, so to speak. She watches like it is a bad daytime tv show as he puts his head in his hands and you remove the ring. You know that you have to pack now, so you start pulling the magnets off of the fridge and putting them in a sandwich bag. Because this is all that you can do. Your soul re-enters your body to start you down the path of regaining your life.

First, you are in utter shock. Your mind starts racing back to the hours that brought you here, then the days, the weeks, the months and years. This can't really be happening. What did you do wrong? Was it because you didn't compliment his latest food creation? Because you left the dishes in the sink? You go back over every conversation, every argument, every whispered word and every caress. There are so many things that it could be. He gives his pathetic explanation and you know that it's not the whole story. You need the whole story.

While he continues to drink, you take a shower and get ready for work. How are you going to face today? How, knowing that you moved here in love and had formatted yourself to think as a 'we,' were you now going to switch that all back fast enough to get out with your mind?  Get out with your hope?  Get out with any sense of dignity? Okay, go to work and tell them that you have to give your two weeks, right?  He said that you can't stay there, but fuck him.  He fucked you, right?  Fuck him! But by the time you have driven the 7 minutes to work, you have lost composure. You walk in and tell these women that you have only started to get to know, that you are leaving. This is the moment that you realize that you are no longer yourself and that most of what you once were is gone. You're not a quitter. Yet here you are, quitting. And being quit.

All you want now is your mom. You're 32 years old and you want your mom so bad. You have been reduced to a quivering child. When you can't get a hold of her, you want HIS mom. His mom, whom you have grown to love as much as your own. His mom who is the only one that could possibly shed some light on this situation. His mom who actually has the best of both of you in her.

You go back to the home that you share with him. He's there, sleeping. How can he sleep? How, when your heart has turned to blown glass, is he snoring? Can he not feel your pain? It's coming off of you in sheets of desperation. Can he not see that he's just changed the future with just a handful of careless words? No, he can't, he's asleep. And drunk. 

You still don't believe it. You tell his mother. You need someone else to know, because you can feel yourself slipping away and you need a lifeboat. And she is that.

You have to leave. You need to be out of that space. That space that held the promises that you both shared and fed. That space that has now become oppressive and bogged down with pain and frustration that both of you felt and contributed to. You know now that you need help. you can't do this alone, which is what he seems to expect from you. Your girls will become your lifeline. You have no control over your emotions or the liquids that have suddenly started draining from your eyes and nose. You call your girls and tell them what has happened and by doing so, it all becomes very real. More real than you can handle. You have no control over how consumed you suddenly are, but yet, you can't let them help you because you are acutely aware of their situations in life and don't want to be a bother. A bother, that is what you feel you must have become. Your determination to make things comfortable for him and scrambling to make your own niche in his life, in your life, and this town has made you a bother. Someone of no consequence. A fruit fly.

You become more stubborn than you ever thought was possible, even for you. People are extending their hands, but you can't accept. Because you don't want to disrupt their lives, because that would mean that you are weak, because that would mean that it was over. You are crying so much that you can't speak and your friends are scared. So scared. Because this time, you can't even talk. You just sob, body shaking sobs. And that cigarette habit that you were kicking has flared up to the point that even you find alarming in this state. They ask what you need and all you can say is 'I don't know.' The same answer that he would give you that made you so mad, is now the only thing that you can say.  "I don't know."

You pack a bag and load up the cat because you have to leave. You get in the car and start driving, but you can't make it very far because you cant see through your own tears. On the radio, your life is being sung back to you by crappy Emo bands and the latest teenage superstars. Your life is piece of bad music. You turn off the radio. The billboards taunt you. The one with the corona bottle sitting too far away from the lime, with the words 'Separation anxiety' reminds you of how he said that if the world were ending, he would get some corona, grab you and go to the beach to watch it all end. But now you're watching it all end without the comfort of him or even a corona.

The next few days you spend in solitude. Your friends call to check on you. He does not. You cry. You sleep fitfully. You can't eat. You take multiple showers a day because you can't get warm. You can't read to escape and you sure as hell can't get through a movie without falling apart. You're stuck in your head. The loop just keeps replaying and the pendulum is swinging out of control. Anger that will surely cause internal burns. Pain that keeps you from breathing. Gratitude for the people who love you. And the questions that will never be answered.

Then you have to tell your family. Your family who housed him and accepted him with no questions asked. Your family who trusted him to take care of you and never hurt you. Your family who he is metaphorically spitting in the face of. And you hate him with a passion so fierce right now. The humiliation of what you are going through is only a shadow of the pain that you see in their eyes when you tell them. They have questions, but you you have no answers to give. You have nothing. He has left you with nothing but shards of your dreams.  And you realize how manipulative he was.  Maybe this is a good thing.  But it sure doesn't feel like it.

When you do see him, finally after days of no contact, he is nothing of the person that you knew. He says purposely hurtful things and only looks you in the eyes when he is pulling back the dagger to strike again. Those eyes that you fell in love with on the first day that you met, now meet yours with a malice that rivals nothing that you have ever seen. Malice on the edge of indifference.

But you are grateful. Grateful that he is there. Grateful that he is telling you a little bit more of the story. Grateful that he is confirming your greatest fears. Grateful that there are people out there that love you and will help you reverse the pool of defeat and despair that you have become.

The next few days are a blur. All of the emotions swim around in your soul, weighing you down. You still can't eat. You drink almost nothing but water because that is all that you can keep down. You cry.  You cry for the miscarriages; physical, emotional and spiritual. For everything that was born in you that your body could no longer nurture and then violently expelled.  He never even heard you.

You go out and spend time with new friends. Friends that you kept at arms length because he used to care too much about what you were doing and with whom, and you didn't want to make him angry. But you realize then that, recently, he never even asked you how your day was, so how would he even know if you were out with other people? How would he know if you were having an affair? How would he know if you even went to work everyday. He wouldn't, he was never there for you in any sense of the word. He was always at work. Or drunk. Or, in the end, with her. But those few days in the demise, you had more fun in that town of dying dreams than you ever had with him. And you are grateful for the people that you met and the surprising love and persistence that they showed you.

You don't know which is worse: having him stay out all night or when he comes home to get clothes for the next day. On some nights when he comes home, he is drunk and sad and sorry for what he is doing to you. On some nights he is angry and mean. When he is sorry, you hold him as he cries. Even though you are broken, you can't bare to see him hurt. You reassure him that this is the right thing to do because that's what he wants to hear. You dry his tears. You cover him with a blanket. And you hate her for hurting him? But the next day will dawn, his alcohol wares off and he is distant once more.

When he is mean, it spurs you on. You pack a lot more after those visits. Or you devise unethical plots. To put bubblegum in his PS3. To scratch some or all of his games and movies. To cut the thread in the seat of his work pants so that when he bends over to pull something out of the oven, he will show the ass that he really is. You won't damage his guitars, because you actually respect them, but he doesn't know that. And you won't act on any of your plans because you still love him.

What happens next is the last thing that you ever imagine of yourself. When he pulls up in front of the apartment with her in the car, all rational thoughts leave you. What is he thinking? How is he so clueless or heartless? Who is this person? You let him in the house against your better judgment. You should just tell him to come back another time. You want to keep your mouth shut and just let this pass. But you don't, because you have endured so much at this point and this is the straw that breaks you. All of the humiliation, anger, and loss start to bubble up inside of you. Your soul, knowing what is coming, wants to save you from this, so she leaves your body and runs to hide once more. The Troll that lies dormant in your stomach starts to stir. He's been so good through this. He made you put down the rusty knife that you wanted to stab into couch cushions in rage, he reminded you that personal injury to this man would only get you into trouble that wouldn't be worth it. But now, he can't sit quietly anymore. He is the Troll of crimes of passion. He has been summonds.

You tell the man that you love that what he is doing now is dangerous for him, professionally. He dismisses you in a way that only the naive in lust can. He's so smarmy about it that before the troll can reach up through your mouth and strangle this pathetic, weak child, you are running. He doesn't even know what is happening until you grab him and spin him around. You want to shake him. You want to hit him. And you may have done both. All sense and sensibility has left you, leaving only the volcanic rage that spurs you on. Not even the troll can tell you what happened, as he was pushed out of the way. When you look back on this moment, you have no idea what happened. You imagine that you must have looked like Medusa with your hair all over the place and evil glowing red eyes. You know that you had your hands on his arms, you know that you wanted to cause pain, you know that as you screamed about that fucking whore in the car, spittle was flying. But that's all that you know. There were no witnesses within you. This is how bad it has gotten and there is no return once you have hit this point.

He sees that you have crossed over to that place where people go with no chance of redemption. That's is why he will come back and pick up his guitar. The only thing that means something to him, he tells you. He won't pick you up out of the mire. He only cares about his guitar. The light is starting to show in your mind. The man that promised you forever, cares more about a piece of wood and cat gut strings, than he does for you. How did you end up here?

You drink that night. You may even drink a lot. Your friends, old and new will talk you off of the ledge, laugh with you, commiserate with you and cry with you. And another day will dawn where you have no sleep and your entire being goes from numb to shattered, bleeding and in pain. This is when people write awful poetry. This is where that comes from. He is where that comes from.

And this sequence will all repeat. Again and again. Not the demonic Goddess of Hate that you were that one night, but the rest of it. The vacillation between competent and not. His wavering between sorry and hateful. And you will think back to all of your passed sins and how they are being paid for now.  And for how unfortunate you feel for when this comes back on him and he has no idea that this could have been avoided with just a conversation and some decency.

And just for God's little joke, you are horny too.  you feel like a fixed pug wanting to hump every leg, pillow and couch.  The need for intimacy is overwhelming.  But that need is the least of your concerns at this point.

He will finally make good on one of his promises. The promise to help you leave.  He will pay the $30 for a truck and will help you load and unload it.  He will not ask any of his friends to help.  He says it would 'be too awkward.' Awkward.  That is one word for it. But you get it done together and with little drama. Things are looking up. You ask him to stay with you on Monday. Just to be there with you. To lose yourselves in movies and just relax before you move. And to help you close this chapter in your life with a little grace and dignity.  Maybe he was right to refuse you this last wish.  Dignity no longer lives here.  Neither does grace.  Instead, he will leave for work 2 hrs early, leave you in this place of memories spoiled for your last night. Alone. You should be used to it. But you're not.

The next day, you will get up and get ready to leave. You throw away the last of the garbage, which is in fact your wedding planner. With this unceremonious task, goes your hope.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFltYrmxRIg

And then you drive.  You drive like it's your job.