Facing Mirrors

I went through the majority of the past six months avoiding mirrors. Seeing my eyes felt too intimate. If I ever looked, I'd have to search inside of them. And when I did, I saw sadness, fear, but most upsetting of all, I saw a stranger. I didn't know this girl and honestly, I didn't like her.

I very rarely wore makeup. But when I did, I silently cursed at my reflection the whole time I was applying it. I had always prided myself on having great skin, but the face in front of me had blemishes all over. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. But most likely, it was because I stopped caring about myself. I gave up on this new person I had become.

As a birthday present, my best friend bought me the book "The Bridges of Madison County". When I was in New York over Thanksgiving, I read it and highlighted some of the lines that spoke to me. One part that immediately caught my attention was when Francesca was looking at an old photograph that her lost love, Robert, had taken of her:

"She looked at the picture again, studied it. I did look good, she thought, smiling to herself at the mild self-admiration. 'I never looked that good before or after. It was him.'"

I've done the same, countless times. My smile never looked bigger, or brighter, or more genuine than in my pictures with Blake. I look at those old photographs and I see the Briana I was, the Briana I wish so desperately that I could be again. But I can't. I can never be her because she died with Blake. It's frustrating to realize that now that he's gone, I will never be the same again. I've mulled it over a million times and it never gets easier to wrap my mind around. I realized that maybe I didn't want to face myself in the mirror because I didn't know who I was without Blake.

But since coming back from New York, I caught myself looking in the mirror for the first time. As I brushed my teeth this morning, my eyes lingered on their reflection staring back at them. I wasn't ready to search them yet, so I scanned the rest of my face first. I immediately noticed that my skin had finally cleared up. I smiled. My nose was still slightly crooked, my teeth still "she definitely had braces" straight. My face was oval, just like my sister's, my cheekbones high, like my mom's. My face wasn't perfect, but it looked familiar. I liked what I saw. With a deep breath, I worked my way up to my eyes. When I fixed my stare, I poured myself into them, searching for a glimpse of the girl I used to be. But I was right, she wasn't there anymore.

What I did find, however, was something new. I had to strain my neck to get a closer look, barely an inch from the mirror to make sure. There it was. Almost completely hidden by the lower lashes of my left eye was a tiny, new freckle.

Freckles have always been important to me. I only have about ten, so I know exactly where all of them are. One of my favorite memories with Blake, which I shared in our video, was the night we discovered that he had a freckle in the exact same spot as me on his shoulder. He called them our "Twin Freckles" because they connected us and made us one. Maybe this new freckle, under my eye (I), symbolized a new journey focused on just me. To show me I'm different, but still beautiful.

This morning, the addition of the 11th freckle reminded that I am a new person. Although that feels scary and makes me want to run and hide from myself sometimes, it's the truth. I'm not sure if being a new person is good or bad, but it's reality. A reality that's mine and can't be avoided. I need to nurture this new person and learn to love her just as much as I loved the Briana from the photographs with Blake. Who knows, maybe I can grow to love her even more.

The New Normal

Feeling like I'm almost a normal person again is so strange.

I've spent the past five months floundering between disconnecting from the world and struggling desperately to reintegrate, bouts of apathy towards fitting back in and concern for my lack of interest, and anything and everything in between. In the beginning, how I felt about my relationship with the world changed from minute to minute. But as time passed, these waves of emotions started to even out. First to an hourly basis and finally to a more optimistic day/difficult day pattern.

Feeling like I'm almost a normal person again comes from the smoothing out of these extreme fluctuations. Getting to this point is strange because I'm not sure if I like it.

Part of me knows that although I may almost be a "normal" person now, I will never be the same person. This is the part of me that's fighting back. This part doesn't like that things are starting to go back to how they were, because it's scared this means that I'll forget what I've been through.

It would be too easy to embrace this budding sense of normalcy with open arms. For so long, functioning normally seemed like a far off goal only seen from a distance. Now that it's actually within my reach, I want to grab it and wrap myself in it. I want to drench myself in normalcy so that I won't have to remember what it felt like to deny it's possibility.

But I've seen too much that I can't un-see. I've felt too much that I can't un-feel. I know too much that I can't unlearn. If being a normal person again means suppressing all of these things, then I want nothing to do with normal.

Words can't explain how grateful I am to finally feel like I can become a functioning part of the world again. But in my heart I know that reaching that point won't feel genuine if I achieve it by leaving what I've been through behind me. I need to somehow find a way to take all of what I've seen, felt, and learned with me back to the real world. Figure out how to be who I've always been, but a more understanding, compassionate, and spiritual version of myself. And maybe by doing this I can start to create a new normal, for myself and for those around me.

Be Fazed

Who started the lie that it's better for us all to pretend?

Who decided that if you walk through life unfazed it shows your superiority over others who don't? That prohibiting things from affecting you is proof that you are above them. That a cool, calm demeanor in the face of adversity is the ultimate sign of strength?

Who tricked us into believing that we should edit our lives to make them look as pretty as possible? That you should spend your energy on maintaining an image. That if you can project the facade of stability and success then that is what really matters.

Who lead us to believe that what we feel should be controlled? That simply deciding to be happy is the key to happiness. That emotions can be categorized as "good" and "bad." That those feelings deemed "bad" should be confined only to the quiet tears on your pillow at night. Or maybe not even your pillow should hear them. Maybe you shouldn't feel anything at all.

Who convinced us that this is a kind of life worth living?

We are the who.

We are the who that started the lie,
decided every day to believe it,
tricked ourselves into living by it,
and denied ourselves the right
to be ourselves.

I want to be fazed.
I want to go through life feeling anything and everything that comes my way.

I want to appreciate the support of my friends and family because I know how destabilizing it is to feel alone. I want to fully understand the power and the preciousness of love because I've felt the heartbreak of having it taken from me. I want to cherish my life with everything I have because I know how painfully fragile it is. I want to reach the highest highs and the lowest lows and acknowledge them both for their inherent value.

A life lived unfazed is not a life I want. When life inevitably knocks me down, I will cry. I will allow myself to feel defeated, unwanted, exhausted, disgusted, disgusting, angry, anxious, alone, afraid. I will feel all of those feelings with the same respect and dignity that is afforded to more socially acceptable emotions. Because we are the who that decides what's socially acceptable anyway. We are the who that can decide it's better for us not to pretend anymore.

It Comes in Waves

There was a moment on Friday night.

I had two of my best friends in the whole world next to me. We were holding hands, we had our arms around each other. A band that we used to go see when we were in college was playing a reunion show. I knew all of the words to the songs. I sang. I danced. I smiled. It was incredible.

In that moment, I felt like myself. I felt so grateful to be exactly where I was. I didn't think about anything besides the lyrics to the song, how happy I was to be with people I loved so much, dancing and smiling like I was a freshman in college without a care in the world.

I fell asleep around 4am after not only a great show, but a lengthy catch up session with two more friends back at my best friend's apartment. After we finally exhausted all people and topics we could possibly gossip about, I passed out on the couch in my clothes from the night. I didn't even notice I forgot to get Blake Bear out of my suitcase. When I woke up in the morning and realized this, I was afraid I was going to panic. I had wondered what the first night sleeping without him would feel like. Almost three months have passed and this was my first night falling asleep without the bear nestled in my chest and gripped tightly in my arms. Surprisingly, I felt ok. I survived.

But now the weekend is finished. My best friends are at their houses and I'm in mine. The concert is over, we're no longer dancing, and the songs are just a faint buzz in the back of my mind. Just as I've experienced before after an exciting day, the pendulum has swung the other way. Now I'm on the opposite side of joy.

The debilitating sadness comes in waves now. Instead of being in a perpetual state of shittiness like I was initially, I'm able to experience truly happy moments like I did on Friday night. In those moments I feel like I'm really me again. My heart is light and my mind is clear. I feel part of the world and connected to other people in real and meaningful ways. But then, the tide sucks me back in. I detach from the beautiful world I was starting to feel a part of. Suddenly my brain gets clouded with a million different memories, questions, thoughts, and fears. My heart starts weighing a ton, my chest throbs from the strain. And then I'm lost again. The idea that I thought "I'm really me again" seems strange and artificial. Who am I anyway?

As I'm writing this, clutching Blake Bear, I'm missing Blake so much it hurts. I'm thinking of the fun I had this weekend and how much he would've enjoyed singing, dancing, and gossiping with my friends right alongside me. It just seems so unfair that I get to have these happy moments and he doesn't. You could try to convince me that he was there with me the whole time and got to feel the happiness through me, but right now I'm not in the mood to listen to that stuff with a hopeful heart. When it comes down to it, he's not here and that's not fair. He was only 25 with so much living left to do. So many moments left to experience.

So as I'm riding this wave of sadness, the only thing that comforts me is knowing that just like my moment of happiness, this too shall pass. I will find myself back on the joy side of the pendulum again and the depressive feelings I'm experiencing now will seem far away. I've realized that you can't remain sad forever, just as it's equally as impossible to live in a consistent state of happiness. Moments like Friday night feel as good as they do because I know what it feels like to be devoid of all pleasure and consumed by pain. It takes plummeting to new lows to truly appreciate times when I feel good again.

Everybody Has a Story

During orientation for my grad program, it was drilled into our heads that the 13 strangers in my cohort were about to become my family. Over the next four years we could expect to study together, learn together, argue, cry, be pushed to our wits end, lift each other up, and be each other's greatest support and motivation. I looked around.

Knowing that we need to form a cohesive unit to get through this journey, we decided to get together for a pot luck on Wednesday night. As a bonding activity, each of us was asked to bring an item and share a story. This item was supposed to represent an experience that helped shape us into the people we are now. The story needed to be something personal, a way for us to really get to know each other, to understand what we've been through. So with that in mind, I knew my item and story had to have something to do with Blake.

I've really grappled with the questions of "if/when/how much" I should share with new people about what I'm going through with the death of my boyfriend. Does everyone need to know? If I tell people too soon, will they be blinded by their pity for me and not really get to know me for who I am aside from it? Will telling them too much make people afraid of me and back away from getting close to the mess of a person that I am right now? But in the spirit of allowing these strangers to become my family, I knew this was something I needed to share with them. I needed to share it now and I needed to share as much about it as they were willing to listen to. I put Blake's cologne in my bag, and walked out the door.

When it was my turn for show and tell, I immediately started crying. The first couple of minutes I looked down into my lap at Blake's cologne, insuring that I wouldn't make eye contact with anyone. I didn't want to see their eyes fill with sympathy. I didn't want to watch as I transformed in their minds from the bubbly, smiling girl they met at orientation to a broken, lost soul in pieces in front of them. I blacked out as I started talking. I'm actually not even sure what I said. All I know is that the more I talked, the more I was able to breathe.

I finally looked up at the strangers around me. As I saw their faces, I realized maybe it wasn't just me who was changing in their minds, but also them in mine. But this wasn't a negative thing like I originally thought. They changed in the sense that they didn't feel like strangers anymore. And suddenly I wasn't a stranger in their eyes either. By sharing this personal piece of my life, we became familiar.

One by one all of the strangers took out their items and talked about their lives. And each time, that stranger became a person, someone who was real to me. The stick figure on their page in my book was colored, shaped, and detailed into their own unique form. When I looked around now, I saw friends.

Sometimes I trap myself in my pain by thinking I'm the only one who's ever been hurt this way. In a way I'm right, because no one will ever truly know how it feels to be me in my exact situation as I'm experiencing it now. But it would be foolish for me to think that just because that's true, it means I'm alone in my pain. 

That night with my cohort reminded me that everybody has a story. Although there are a million different ways a person can experience pain, it all hurts. We are all united in our struggles because we know there is no cure for them; pain will always exist, and it may even increase. But every time I turn a stranger into a friend by sharing a piece of my pain, I can breathe easier. And when they share a piece of their pain with me, they can breathe easier as well. The beautiful thing about pain is that it bonds people. And that bond turns strangers into friends and friends into family.

Part of Me

Today I felt good. Good might not seem like a convincingly positive adjective, but it is. Being able to confidently say I feel good without lying is huge. I feel calm, optimistic, and grateful for my life. 

After such a good day of orientation at SDSU and feeling like my life has renewed purpose and direction, I felt an overwhelming need to share my happiness with Blake. As I looked through old pictures and text messages to feel connected to him, I came across these:



As I was reading that, two parts really stuck out to me. In the first, he said, "I wish there was somehow I could help you feel my body and hear my voice reassure you whenever you are down..." Obviously he meant that in terms of him being in Arizona and me in California, but in our current context it applies more than ever. I can't see him or hear him, but I know our love is there. I know what he would say to me, how he would comfort me, the way he would build me back up so I would feel like I could get through anything.

I think Blake can still do that. His love and the confidence it instilled in me doesn't have to leave me just because he's not here anymore. The way he made me feel and the way he believed in me changed me. That influence will never go away. 

The second part that made me reflect was this: "And when you are sad briana.... it hurts me." From the beginning, everyone has told me Blake would want to see me smiling and enjoying life, not mourning him. Although I've always known that's true, before now it seemed pretty much impossible. And honestly, I think it would have been doing myself a disservice in the long run. But now, for the first time, that advice is beginning to feel applicable. I'm at a point where I am ready to smile, ready to focus on the bright side of his life. Will I still cry? Absolutely. But at least now enjoying life doesn't seem like an unreasonable endeavor. 

I'm starting to wrap my mind around the idea that Blake really is part of me now. If I truly believe that I carry him with me wherever I go, I feel strong. Of course it's devastating to know he will never physically be with me again, but this blow is lessened when I realize that I never have to say goodbye completely. He can be the reassurance in my head telling me to go for it. He can be the pulse in my heart that beats with pride for me. And his words can be a reminder that I'm at my most beautiful when I'm honest, genuine, and smiling. 

Blake is alive because he's part of me, and part of everyone he impacted. 

Vows to Blake (A Letter)

This morning I woke up from a dream that I can't remember. As my dream was becoming lucid, I can recall telling myself that I needed to write my vows to Blake. Wedding vows? Was this my mind playing a cruel joke on me? Clearly I am never going to marry Blake, so why would I need to write him vows?

I told this to one of my friends, and she had a different interpretation. She suggested:

I thought this was a positive way to see the dream and a great idea. My mom has always pushed me to look for lessons in every life experience. I have been meaning to write down all of the things being in love with Blake has taught me, so I thought this could be my perfect opportunity to do so:

To My Love Blake,
I vow to honor you and your memory for the rest of my life. This doesn't mean saving myself for you, or making my life about you, but rather to embody all of the principles you stood for and strive to grow in the way you were helping me grow.

The most important thing I can do is to work every day to suspend judgement. You always taught me to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. In your life, you were a true friend to everyone, regardless of whether it was outwardly aparent what you could "gain" from their friendship. I watched in awe as you developed rapport with the children at the hotel pool, the old couple next to us at dinner, our taxi driver, my students, the merchants for your company, and so on. You were fascinated by people and knew that everyone had a unique and important story. Your curiosity made you a magnet. Just as I was so attracted to you, the world was pulled in by your openness and genuine interest.

But this suspension of judgement goes further than just the first impression of a person. Sometimes after you get to know someone, they disappoint you.There are times when people do and say things that cut you deeply and make you question whether they have anything good to contribute to your life or society in general. This is when you taught me to be even more forgiving. You taught me that it is ok to argue, fine to disagree. But at the end of the day what really mattered is that you didn't let these conflicts color what you thought of that person. You had an amazing ability to relase the people from your life who weren't adding any goodness, but never think of them as bad people. And for the people you loved, you were always willing to accept an apology and move forward, knowing that some people are too important to lose.

I took from you these lessons of suspending judgement of others, but the most vital lesson you were teaching me was to stop the harsh judgment of myself. This is a lesson I am still working on. I vow to remember every day that I am not perfect, but I'm perfectly flawed. My flaws are there as obstacles to remind me to never stop learning, to never be complacent about how I look at the world and myself. I will make mistakes. I will say and do the wrong things. But that's ok. I need to be patient and kind with myself. I will strive to always look critically at my choices and judgments, apologize often and sincerely, and know that I am still a good person, despite the mistakes I make. The important thing isn't to be perfect, but to be perfectly myself.

I vow to honor you and cherish you for the rest of my life. I vow to keep an open mind and an open heart, both of which hold no maximum capacity. I vow to apologize and forgive frequently and genuinely, knowing that is the recipe for enduring and healthy relationships with the people I love. I vow to release people from my life who no longer benefit me, but never let that give me permission to think ill of their character. I vow to continue to be the girl you fell in love with and grow to love myself just as much.

Forever and always,
Briana

Who Am I Now?

A girl who also recently lost her boyfriend and I have been messaging back and forth since Blake died. Although she is very much still going through a lot of the same emotions as me, she is a couple months further down the road. Talking with her has given me insight into typical challenges during the grieving process that I will encounter, before I encounter them.

A few days ago I wrote her this:
"The hardest thing for me right now is realizing that I'm never going to be myself again. I think I'll become more like myself as time goes on, but I'll never be exactly the same as I was before. Everyone says that's a good thing and I'll come out of this a different, but stronger person, but it just sucks. When I do things I used to do with people I used to do them with I want so badly to just be myself and I can't."

After affirming that that was normal and she was experiencing it too, she shared this:
"I started an internship a month ago and am meeting a bunch of new people and they think of me as a single girl with short hair, when I see myself as a girlfriend with long hair and a nose piercing haha. I am scared to add any one on Facebook because I just know they won't be able to comprehend how much I have been through in the last three months and how much I have changed, to them I am just another college student. Have you started experiencing that at all yet?"

At that point I hadn't, but today I move to San Diego and I know that time has come for me. 

Who am I Now?

Am I Blake's girlfriend? 
Am I single?'

Should I let new people friend me on Facebook?

Will it scare them to find out what I am going through?

Can I get close with anyone who doesn't know this important part of me?

Is it necessary for everyone to know?

I honestly don't have answers to these questions and even three months out, neither does she. Although this kind of seems contradictory, I want to be able to answer "yes" to all six of those questions.

Blake will always be my boyfriend, but that doesn't mean I can't eventually be completely happy and in love with someone else. I know that sounds ridiculous and maybe to some people it is. However, widows get remarried all the time, does that mean they love their first husband any less? Absolutely not. Does that mean they'll never be able to fully give themselves to their new husband? I don't think so either. At age 24 it would be silly to think I will never love again, and Blake wouldn't want that for me either. 

I can't be afraid to let new people into my life because of my reality right now. Yes, it will probably scare them. It might even scare a few people away from wanting to be my friend altogether (why would I want to be friends with those people anyway?). But after they get over the initial shock, I think they'll come to realize that everyone has a story. Everyone has a battle they are fighting that makes them who they are, but doesn't define them. 

Which brings me to the last two questions. Yes, I can get close with someone who doesn't know about my boyfriend's death, but eventually I'll need to tell them if I want more than just a surface level friendship. Going through a loss like this is going to change me. It's going to make me into someone a little different and hopefully a little stronger, wiser, and more beautiful too. Because of that, how could I hide this life altering experience from a person I love? That being said, it won't define me. 

So who am I now?

I'm still figuring that out. But I know once I do, I'll be everything I used to be and so much more.