"Awake My Soul" (A Song)

Have you ever felt like you were having a "religious experience"? I'm not sure if that's the right term for it because it had nothing specifically to do with God, but "religious experience" was the thought that popped into my head when I heard this song:



There are few things in this world that I enjoy more than connecting deeply to song lyrics. It's like three or four minutes of complete hypnosis. You can't think or move. Maybe you can't even breathe. You become a vessel through which the words of the singer are lived. Every heartbeat begins and ends with each passing note.

When I was driving to work today, "Awake My Soul" by Mumford and Sons came on. I could go through each lyric and explain how they all hit me so profoundly, but instead I want to focus on just one part. When he belted the line "Awake my soul," time stood still. In that moment everything made sense. I am awake because of him. Blake's death woke me up.

A month and a half ago, my thinking completely changed. Now, I search for meaning, symbolism, and signs in everything I do and every experience I have. I am aware of the world, how it works, and how we are all connected. How nothing is ever lost and that sight is more than just visual perception. I feel, for the first time in my life, like I'm awake. This song seemed to me like a battle cry for charging on in life with a dedication to spiritual awakening. Every day, awake my soul.

Thanksgiving / Six Months

The sunlight shocked open my eyelids and pushed me to face the morning. Seven AM wasn't my friend. Perhaps because Four AM and I had grown to know each other so intimately. Four AM was comforting to me in all of his dark and quiet anxiousness. In that time of night, the silent hum of unspoken fears wrapped around me, curious and complicated, moody, but mine. But Seven, she and I had become strangers. Her pesky perkiness was too draining to even acknowledge. "Leave me alone!" I begged, trying to reclaim the darkness of shut eyelids. "Find someone else to force your rise and shine upon. I'm not interested."

But this morning was different. The light had a mission and Seven was unrelenting. As my consciousness took over, snapped into alert, I remembered the significance of this particular dawn. Not only was it Thanksgiving, but also the six month mark of Blake's death. The weight of that realization tugged at my heart, causing me to collapse into the sunlight and embrace my old friend Seven. Today would be too lonely if I isolated myself. "Ok Seven, you win."

These two events coinciding didn't feel like a coincidence. The universe had transpired to lay out this juxtaposition so clearly that it would be impossible to ignore. The national day of thanks and the day that marks half a year without My Love. One with a theme of gratitude, the other: grief. I started asking myself, "How can I respect both feelings without falling too deeply into one or the other? How can mixing the two create a more meaningful day?"

The answer was actually simple: focus on love. The absence of it, the presence of it, the yearning for it, and the hope that it still exists. Love in all of its forms. Love that can be seen and love that can only be felt. Love was both my greatest gift and the deepest hole in my heart. Today, I would focus on love.

My annoying but inspiring friend Seven AM helped me realize that this Thanksgiving, I'm not actually balancing opposite emotions.  On the surface that's what grief and gratitude seem to be, but in actuality, that couldn't be farther from the truth. Because the foundations of both are the exact same thing: love. It's easy to trace gratitude back love, but I had to stretch my mind to come to the conclusion that grief couldn't exist without love either. Love makes gratitude and grief intrinsically linked. The separation of the two only came from my refusal to wake up.

Now, I'm wide awake with my friend Nine AM. He has all the analytical insight of Four, but with the blissful optimism of Seven. At this time of morning, the light is shining bright, but it no longer has to battle against the harsh contrast of nighttime. The sun is welcome to disrupt my sleep because now I want to be awake, enjoying every minute of this day. A day that reminds me of both the past and the present, but more importantly, the love that weaves the two together.

Today, I'm coming from a place of Nine.

Confessions of a Hypocrite

I have a confession: I am a hypocrite. But luckily for me, I believe that being a hypocrite is only a temporary condition that can be changed in an instant. This is my instant.

In all of the learning I've done though my grief, especially in the past month, the greatest lesson I've learned is about the interconnectedness of the universe. To me, this means that despite any apparent differences, we are all the same. When I see the world this way, it's impossible not to look at everyone with love and compassion. If you are a reflection of me, and I of you, any hurt or blame I cast only paints a dark picture of my own heart.

As I've said before, it's only human nature to make assumptions and judge. I believe our brains processes information this way in order to make sense of it. But it's what I do with those assumptions and judgements that defines me. I can act on them, creating negativity, or I can explore them honestly by turning inward. What about ME makes me think that about you? How have my PERSONAL experiences lead me to this thought? It's much easier to go through life focusing on what's wrong with other people instead of taking the time to see what can be changed within myself.

So as I've confessed, I am a hypocrite. Even after learning these lessons and believing that I've been living by these principles, I still have this ugly need to put certain people down. I've continually made villains out of you and a few people from Blake's life by judging your actions and making assumptions about your character. I find myself getting worked up, sharing this piece of "evidence" or that "fact," trying to somehow show that you are responsible for my pain. I confide in people that if Blake had never met you or if you acted differently, Blake would either still be alive or his death would be easier for me to cope with.  

I realize that to some extent, it's natural for me to do this. However, that doesn't make it right. After a particularly long conversation criticizing you last night, I feel guilt in my heart. It felt uncomfortably good to say some pretty horrible things about you. Although these things feel true to me, it really concerns me that sharing these thoughts made me feel better. How does putting you down make me feel good about myself? The answer: it doesn't.

The temporary satisfaction I felt last night from venting turned into a bad taste in my mouth this morning. Even though I shared this all privately, I wondered how I would feel if you heard everything I said. When I immediately shuttered at the thought of that, I knew what I did was wrong. What seemed like a harmless and cathartic way to release stress, actually hurt the image of who I want to be.

So this is my instant to refocus on the lesson of interconnectedness. If your pain is also my own, I can't inflict more onto you with a good conscience. There's already too much negativity in this world for me to add more on purpose. What does it say about me that I wasted hours spewing hate? Tearing you down? Laughing at your expense? If who I am is a reflection of how I treat you, I really wish that I would have shown you love and understanding instead.

This love and understanding can be expressed though actions, but starts with my thoughts. Although I've been nothing but nice in person, my thoughts show a much darker side of how I really feel about you. If I want to stop being a hypocrite, how I think needs to change. So I'm writing this post as both my apology for the judgements I've made and my commitment to ending the negative thoughts I've devoted to you.

The truth is the things you've said and done have really hurt me. I'm not pretending that I can forget what I believe to be acts of cruelty, but I will not let it color how I see you as a person. We are all struggling with grief, which causes us to act in ways that don't always make sense. I am going to make an effort from now on to start correcting my thoughts to reflect the pure heart I want to have. Although you may not always act in kindness, you are a good person. You are part of me and part of Blake, so I will love you just the same. 

Collecting Gifts

I'm flying home to Arizona this weekend because November 23 marks one year since Blake and I started dating. This morning when I woke up with an aching heart and eyes full of tears, I decided that today was a good day to start collecting anniversary presents for him. 

The last time I visited Blake's grave I brought shells, sand, and sea glass as a gift for his birthday. I did this because he loved the beach, especially the beaches of San Diego. We always planned that I would move here for graduate school and he would join me soon after. This gift  was my way to bring the beach to him, showing we can share San Diego in a symbolic way. And as an ongoing reminder that I have the honor and privilege of living our dream for both of us, I decided to bring bits of the beach to give him every time I come to visit.

So in order to find Blake's anniversary presents, I walked to the beach at the end of my street. But what started out as a quick way to listen to my heart, turned into hours of connecting with the ocean. I was mesmerized by the tide and its enchanting pull. I watched as it rushed over my sea gems, clouded and concealed them, and then revealed all that I saw before and more. 

The tide followed the same pattern over and over again, but somehow it kept teaching me different lessons. At first I learned how to rethink my disappointment when a pretty shell that I wanted got swept away. I was excited to find something beautiful, so when the water took it I got upset. But as this kept happening I started to realize that the shell wasn't mine to begin with; it belonged to the ocean. Because of this, I didn't actually lose anything. I was lucky to see the pretty shell for as long as I did, so I learned to let it go with peace and gratitude.

Eventually I transitioned from that lesson to a lesson about the power of patience. Instead of searching for shells, I started to let them come to me. I just stood there, basking in the sun, floating in the wind, and feeling like part of the ocean. When I looked down, the tide would retreat back just long enough for me to pick up what it had left for me. I knew what was there was mine to take because I didn't reach for it, it reached for me.

There is so much more I could write about the ocean. After Blake and my trip to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium back in May, we talked for hours about how magical it is. Not only does the ocean have a pulse, as evidenced by the tide, it also has a soul. If you are quiet enough, you can hear it speak to you. And if you are open enough, it has gifts for you to collect. Not only in the form of shells and rocks, but in lessons about how to live your life connected to the beauty of the world. 

Confidence

I bought a membership to a hot yoga studio when I finally felt ready to start exercising and taking care of myself again. After signing up a couple weeks ago, I made a goal. I saw the beautiful women with perfect yoga bodies coming to class in just a bra and shorts and I decided that I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to have the perfect abs and the confidence to show them off.

Today in class as I was dripping sweat (its hot yoga so the studio is over 90 degrees) I started thinking about the goals that I made. How will I know when my stomach looks good enough? How will I determine when I am ready to let other people see it? Maybe it was the heat that got to me or the fact that my shirt was drenched, but I decided that my stomach looked fine and now was as good a time as any.

Although taking off my shirt and standing in the middle of the classroom in only a bra felt like this monumental moment for me, surprisingly the world didn't stop. In fact, not a single person in my class even looked at me. They were all in deep concentration, working on their own poses and centering their own thoughts. It seemed that the only person who cared about what I was wearing or how I looked was me.

Leaving class, I started thinking about the goals I made for my body. I've made hundreds of similar goals before, but every time I reach a point where I give up on myself. Because there is never a way to determine when you're thin enough or pretty enough or confident enough, creating these kinds of goals always leads you down a path of inevitable failure. Even after learning this lesson over and over again, why did I continue to subject myself to such unfair pressure? Why did I think that goals like the ones I made were even goals worth making?

I decided that the purpose of working out should be to find balance. Whether that means relieving stress, improving the way my body functions, or connecting in a spiritual way, exercising should be an avenue for growth, not punishment. Going into a yoga class with the mindset that I'm not good enough and that I'm doing it to "fix" myself completely contradicts that. I should be doing it to take care of myself, not to push myself to look a certain way.

Even though I met my goal this afternoon of being one of the women in class in just a bra, it felt very empty and anticlimactic. It actually made me feel silly to know that I put the confidence I'd need to do this up on such a high pedestal. It seems that I actually had the confidence to do it anytime I wanted to. Somewhere along the way I must have forgotten that and started looking externally for a sign of this strength. When in reality, I didn't have to go any further than looking within myself.

More Than Enough

When Blake first met my mom and dad I was SO nervous. I honestly didn't know what they would think about him. I wasn't sure if they'd like him and was afraid they wouldn't believe he was good enough for me. After introducing my parents to too many of the wrong guys, I felt extra pressure to make sure they knew he wasn't just another one of them. 

Before we went to meet them, I was extremely anxious. I started telling Blake what to say and what not to say. Talk to my dad about computers, you'll have so much in common. Tell my mom about starting your own business, she did too. Don't talk about religion. Or politics. Or anything about rehab. Blake handled my obnoxious nagging well for the first several minutes, but eventually called me out for it. He said he was excited to meet my parents because if they were like me, they would get along great. To him, it was that simple. Then he told me it was sad that I wasn't more confident in him.

Reflecting back upon our relationship, I know I had my doubts about Blake. He had all of these incredible business ideas, but lacked the discipline to really build on them. Money seemed to always slip through his fingers. And he was constantly taking risks, making mistakes, and assuming that somehow his messes would get cleaned up by someone else. But although I had my uncertainties about Blake, I also knew that I was completely in love with him. 

And this love for him has only gotten stronger. Through stories from his friends, bonding with his family, and really taking in the lessons he taught me, I have a more complete view of Blake. I see what a light he was to so many people, the widespread impact he had, and how he truly balanced me out as a partner. The more I discover about Blake through connecting with people and looking inside myself, the more my confidence in him grows. 

Lately, and especially tonight, I feel guilty because I wish Blake experienced me feeling this unshakably secure about him while he was still alive. I've been beating myself up questioning if he ever believed he was good enough for me or truly believed that I thought he was. In spite of all of my nagging, critiques, and judging, did he actually know? I wonder how many times he looked into my eyes and saw what an incredible man I viewed his as. That although I had my doubts, I never forgot how lucky I was to have found him and how much better my life was because of his love. 

I just want him to know he is enough. More than enough.

I should have told him that every day. 

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.

Karmic Connection vs. Soul Mate

Last night when the medium explained to me that Blake and I had a "Karmic Connection" in this lifetime, I was really fascinated by this new term. I had never heard of it before, so I started to research it today. After spending hours on different websites, I found a ton of information on karmic connections, soul mates, and the differences and similarities between the two.

This made me think back to one of the very first entires I wrote in June called "Soul Mates?" When I wrote it, I was having an incredibly difficult time putting Blake and my relationship into perspective. Blake and I had talked about being each other's soul mate, but were we really? If he isn't here anymore and he was my soul mate, does that mean I'm never going to find love again? Can you have more than one soul mate? These were some of the questions I asked myself, but I never came up with any definitive answers. I settled on the fact that maybe I didn't need to figure it out.

Interestingly enough, every single website that I read was in agreement that people have more than one soul mate (but not necessarily in the same lifetime). They explained that because of free-will, missed connections, and the fact that not all souls will be on earth at the same time, the blue print created for your life includes a few soul mates with the hope that one or two will work out to be actual long term partnerships.

One website explained that although soul mates have Karmic Connections, not all Karmic Connections are with soul mates. This was something that confused me. After a lot more reading I think I have the concept figured out, so I will try to explain. When someone is your soul mate, they have an immediate pull and magnetic connection with you that makes you feel like you might have already met them before. What's confusing is that this is the exact same experience you feel when you meet someone whom you have a Karmic Connection with. The difference is that a soul mate is potentially with you for a lifetime, while a person with a Karmic Connection is only temporarily put into your life to teach you a lesson or solve unfinished business (from a past life experience together).

Going back to what the medium told me last night, he explained that he thought that Blake and I were married in a past life, but he betrayed me in some way. Because of this, Blake had bad karma with me that he needed to balance out in this lifetime. This is why the medium referred to what Blake and I had as a Karmic Connection. Blake was supposed to make up for this past betrayal by showing me true love. However, Blake repeated his same mistake in this lifetime and betrayed me again. For this reason, the medium said he wasn't sure if we would continue to meet up again in subsequent lifetimes.

So what does this all mean? The fact that he thinks Blake and I were married in a past lifetime could mean that he is one of my soul mates. However, due to the betrayal and missed opportunity to fulfill his Karmic Connection, it's possible that my soul won't choose to include him in my blue print in any more lifetimes. The medium told me it will be up to me to decide to give him another chance. But, he said I may not even want to once I meet the soul mate that comes into my life next. So will Blake continue to be a soul mate or was he just a failed Karmic Connection? I'm still not sure. But what I do know is there's so much love left for me in this lifetime that I have yet to experience. That should be my focus now because the rest can only be sorted out in another lifetime.

**Side note:
For anyone reading this who thinks I've gone off the deep end now that I'm talking about karma and past lives, I promise you I'm fine. I believe more and more every day that coping with the death of a loved one has a way of awakening your more spiritual side. Knowing that Blake is dead, it would send me spiraling down a black hole if I thought that was just it for him. Spirituality gives me hope that there's more to life than just the physical world and that even in tragedy, there is a bigger message from the universe at work.

Here is one of the websites I liked the most if you want to read more about Karmic Connections and soulmates : http://spirit-rising.wisdomwoods.com/tips/is-it-a-soulmate-or-a-karmic-connection/

Every Negative Has a Positive

When someone dies of an overdose there is no right way to take that news. Do you feel pity? Disgust? Shame? Guilt? Or do you just decide it's too uncomfortable and try not to think about it at all? It would be a lie to say that someone passing away from drug related causes has no barring on how you look back on their life. Although it's not his whole story, how Blake struggled in life and what took him in death are integral parts of it. To ignore these aspects of him would mean missing out on the invaluable messages we can take from them.

Although Blake's addiction and death are both ugly parts of him to think about, I choose to remember everything about him. I wouldn't call it "the good and the bad," but there were obviously facets that shined brighter than others. Regardless, I've grown to love all of them even though some pieces are sparkly and others dark. To me, that's what true love is. When you decline to acknowledge an aspect of Blake or focus solely on another, you don't do him justice. He was the sum of all parts of him. Every piece is both a blessing and a lesson.

It crushes me to think of someone judging Blake's character because of his addiction or the fact that he overdosed. Yes, these are valid parts of him and yes, I would like to pretend they didn't exist. It would be easier to deny them or tuck them away in a mental vault and throw away the key. But every day I make a conscious decision not to. It's challenging to think about these things positively, but I strive to see them not as degradations of who he was, but as a legacy of hope for others. If sharing any part of his life or my coping with his death speaks to someone and helps them, then I know that even the darkest pieces of him can become a gift.

Although Blake was far from a saint, he was an incredible man who taught me lessons that I'll never forget. The best one was that in every negative there is always a positive. The key is not to forget the bad things, but instead process them in a way that exposes the pearl of wisdom that lies within. To say abusing drugs and dying from them is an awful fate would be a gross understatement. But we can learn a lot from both how he excelled and his downfalls, how he lived and the way that he died. If we give the negatives a chance to show their positives, we can come to appreciate Blake's entire story and all of the messages it delivers.

Resentment and Communication

I lashed out today. I didn't realize I still harbored anger towards a particular person in Blake's life until it bubbled inside of me and reached a boiling point. I could have talked it out with someone else or processed it on my own, but instead this rage drove me to send a message to him. In my message I didn't place any blame, but I did express my resentment for his connection to Blake's death and how he's chosen to handle things in the aftermath.

I know that everyone is dealing with Blake's death in their own way. Maybe retreating and cutting ties is what he needs to do to heal. I may be mistaken in interpreting his silence and disengagement as him not caring. It's possible that he cares so deeply that he can't find the words to express it. He may be hurting even more than I am. Maybe talking to me about everything that transpired could send him to an even darker place, a place he's not strong enough to go right now. I can't possibly know what's going on in his head and in his heart.

I'm starting to realize that the extent to which I am willing and able to express my feelings is rare. It's unusual for people to not only have the ability to pinpoint their exact feelings, but also communicate them clearly. I can't expect the same level of self-awareness from others, nor do I have the right to demand it. I'm realizing more and more that I need to put my own desire to talk things out into perspective. Maybe that's what I need, but not everyone else operates that way.

Although the message was written in anger, I don't regret sending it. I stand behind everything I said to him and authentically feel everything I wrote. My realization, however, was that I needed to be less demanding of his communication and more respectful of his need to process things in his own time.

After I finished writing this blog entry, I sent him one final message:
"I don't expect you to respond to any of that, I just want you to think about it. Maybe one day when you're ready we can have a conversation about it. I'm still really hurt and it would help me a lot to be able to talk to you. Not now, but whenever you're ready."

So as I process what went down an hour ago, I am reminding myself that things will work out in the end. Maybe years from now when the pain isn't as fresh, he will be able to talk to me about everything that happened. Or maybe, years from now I will be at peace with Blake's death to a point that hearing from this friend or not won't change anything for me. I hope one day we can both be in a place where we can have this conversation. And if not, I hope one day I can be in a place where I don't need to.

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.

We Are Only as Sick as Our Secrets

After my realization from yesterday about needing to take control, I decided that today was the day to get help. Two weeks ago I tried to go to a Narcotics Anon meeting, but found out after I got there that the meeting was cancelled. Ever since then I have been making excuses to myself about why I shouldn't go again. Narcotics Anon meetings are only available in two places even semi close to me and they are both 30 or more minutes away. Each of these Narcotics Anon meetings is only once a week at a bad time (Tuesday nights, when I'll usually have class and Friday nights, when I'll be trying to have a social life). Clearly this wasn't working.

I heard from a few people that Al Anon (similar to Alcoholics Anonymous, but for the loved ones of Alcoholics) is really helpful, even if the loved one has a different addiction. When I looked up available Al Anon meetings there were some every day of the week, at several locations fairly close to me, and at multiple times throughout the day. This was encouraging, but at the same time made me upset. It seemed unfair that this support was so readily available to loved ones of alcoholics, but not of other addictions. Perhaps this was evidence of the stigma even the families of illegal-drug addicts feel when trying to cope. Hmm...

I decided on a 1 PM meeting and arrived almost an hour early. I walked through the church courtyard, straight to the office, and confidently asked the woman to point me in the direction of the Al Anon meeting. No shame this time. I was there to get help and I didn't care who knew it. She pointed at a room that wasn't open yet, but told me there was a bench outside of it where I could sit and wait. I let my skin take in the sun even as I got hot and a bit sweaty. I wanted to be completely engulfed in the light that I had deprived myself of for the past couple of days. I breathed in and out, letting my lungs swell with the air of the outside world that I felt happy to be a part of today.

Although I can't share much about what went on due to confidentiality, I will say that I did not speak at all during this meeting aside from choking on my name. I don't think this was because I was afraid, but because I just needed to sit and soak it all in. Instead of talking, I did a lot of crying, listening, and reflecting. After it concluded, the woman next to me, perhaps sensing the inner conflict I felt after not speaking up, reassured me that it wasn't necessary to share at the meetings. She explained that sometimes you get even more out of what someone else said. 

During the meeting I scribbled down a quote from the book, Courage to Change, that the leader had someone read a passage from:

"We are only as sick as our secrets. 

Until we let them out into the light, they keep us trapped."

After the wave of insecurity I put myself through over the past few days, this really resonated with me. As much as Blake's death was about him, it is now a part of me and all of those who love him. This tragedy can either become a pain buried in the depths of my heart, or a scar that blends into the landscape of my skin. It's my choice. 

I realize I need to get to a place where I allow this experience to become a part of me without it defining me. This is tricky and is going to take time to navigate. But while I'm working on that, I can find comfort in my choice to free myself of the burden of carrying the hurt as a secret. I've made an effort to not get trapped and I am very proud of myself for sticking to that decision.

Taking the Power Back

For the past two days I've felt completely paralyzed. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't smile. I can't move. My bed has become my island and everything that surrounds it is hot lava. I honestly want to venture out of self-induced isolation, but I am afraid to get burned. The world doesn't seem safe right now so I'd rather be alone.

Looking back, I think this started with the confrontation online the other night. After talking it out with Blake's family and a couple of his friends, they reassured me that they were supportive of whatever I felt was right. They never saw my actions as tarnishing Blake's memory and urged me to brush off comments made by people who don't know me and my real intentions. I was comforted by this, but still there was a small seed of insecurity planted in my head.

This seed was watered the other night after another jarring conversation, this time with someone who knew Blake very well. I'm not going to go into details out of respect for that person, but this interaction set me back to the time right after Blake's death when I was questioning everything. Did I know him at all? Was everything a lie? Did he ever love me? It felt like this person enjoyed saying things to have these questions resurface, even after I explicitly explained how the way they were saying things made me feel. I should've let it go. I should've backed away. But I continued to push back, thinking that maybe somehow I could change their mind.

People have told me a thousand times at this point that I need to find inner confidence in knowing who Blake really was, what he wanted, and how truly in love we were. If I am at a place where I let that guide me, no one can rattle me. I have nothing to prove to anyone. Negative comments or critiques won't touch me because I know the real truth.

I am giving people way too much power over me. I refer to myself as a people pleaser, but pleasing other people should never be at my own expense. I can still strive to make people feel comfortable, happy, and loved without taking away from my own comfort, happiness, and love for myself. Every time I give someone the power to instill doubt or insecurity in me, I am chipping away at my self worth. If I cross that line and don't respect my own right to these things, no one will.

That's not to say I need to be selfish and only worry about my own wants and needs, because that would make me no better than the people who have gone out of their way to put me down. Instead, I need to protect myself above all else. There is absolutely no reason for me to waste two days of my life paralyzed on an island of my own making. I say "my own making" because I can't blame the conversations or the two people I had them with for getting me to this point. No one put me here but myself. It was my own decision to let these things affect me in a way that caused me to shut down. I need to take the power back.

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

Misery Loves Company

About a month ago I was frustrated that many of Blake's friends seemed to be moving on. I wrote in the post, "What Happens When Others Move On," that initially this made me angry. At the time, it seemed like it was so easy for everyone else to go back to their lives like nothing had happened. Why was this so much harder for me? I watched the profile pictures change back and the flood of stories start to trickle out until they stopped entirely. All the while I was frozen in time. Having nightly hour-long conversations with Blake's mom, reliving every moment, and crying our hearts out. 

But who was I to judge his friends? Maybe they were going about things the right way and I was the one not allowing myself to heal. I stopped being mad at them and instead chose to focus on myself and my own grieving process. They were doing whatever they needed to do to feel better and I needed to do the same.

The only thing that made me feel better, however, was to surround myself with thoughts of Blake. Whether it was researching addiction, seeking guidance about grief, or reminiscing about memories of us happy and in love, it was all about him. Was this bordering on obsession? I decided that what I was doing was ok and clearly what I needed, but I still felt weird about how it might look to other people.

So I monitored myself. I tried to pull back on sharing the entirety of what I was thinking and only truly confided in my blog. I figured by putting it all here, I could confine my thoughts to one space. My thoughts here could either be explored or ignored by others, depending on whether or not they wanted to see it.

It felt incredible to have an outlet to get all of my feelings out, but it started to feel like I was talking at people instead of creating a dialogue with them. At a certain point, I thought that through this blog I was writing the things that people were secretly feeling too, but didn't know how or were afraid to express. That in a way, this was for all of us, not just me. But as weeks passed by and people seemed completely reintegrated back into their lives, I figured I might be alone in all of these thoughts. I had to remind myself that this was ok, because this blog was supposed to be just for me. 

But seemingly out of no where, about a week ago some of Blake's closest friends started writing on his wall again. It started out with one, then a couple days later another, and then another, and another. Although every message was heartfelt and sweet, one of his very best friends wrote something that made me take a step back and think. He wrote:                          

I immediately felt a strange rush of comfort reading that he was clearly still upset. I had to stop myself. Was I that awful of a person to actually be excited that someone else seemed just as miserable as me? How could knowing that someone else is suffering possibly make me feel better?

I realize I'm not a horrible person for having these thoughts. The saying "misery loves company" is a saying for a reason. When you're feeling so alone in your pain and desperation, it is nice to know that someone else is down there at rock bottom with you. But do I actually want someone to sit and mull over the same hurt that I carry with me all the time? Of course not. Do I even want that for myself? No.

I'm taking away three main things from this:

1. People show grief in all different ways. Just because someone isn't posting memories on Facebook or putting up pictures, doesn't mean they aren't still hurting. 
2. It feels good to know you aren't alone in your feelings of grief, but it's important not to use this as an opportunity to compound the hurt and feed off of each other in a negative way. Instead, you can use these shared thoughts as a way to support each other and move forward. Maybe misery loves company because only company can truly empathize and help pull her up. 
3. Although I have to chosen to surround myself with Blake and others have chosen to try to suppress the pain, both options have positives and consequences. While my way leaves me frozen in time, the other way bottles up feelings that eventually will burst out. Maybe all of us could benefit from trying to come a little more towards the middle- I know I could. 

How Losing Blake Feels

"I can't even imagine how hard this has been for you."

I want you to imagine being naked. Not physically, but emotionally. Any of the walls you've built up to protect yourself from judgement, to make you look cool, or fun, or pretty- gone. You've gotten to a point with someone where you don't need to make excuses about why you are the way you are. As annoying as you may be, you're not only accepted, but cherished. You really have no idea how a person could possibly see all of your flaws and still like you, let alone love you, but somehow he does.

Now imagine how hard it must have been to get to that point. These walls you've built up are referred to as walls for a reason. They aren't gates that can be swung open or even doors that can be unlocked if you have the right key. They are walls. Tall, sturdy, unyielding. It doesn't matter how they were built, but they are there now. As much as they frustrate you, you need them. You've grown attached to them in a way that is unhealthy, but comforting.

Imagine the freedom that comes with having these walls knocked down. Not only knocked down, but they vanished completely. You feel like you can't even remember a time when these walls even existed because they are such a distant memory. There you are, standing there, completely and unapologetically naked in front of someone. How does it feel? What would you do? You feel like you can say anything, do anything, be anything. Anything and everything is possible because of that person and how he makes you feel.

Now imagine that being taken away from you without warning and without any chance of getting it back.

That's how it feels losing Blake. 

And I say "feels" not "felt" because I have to wake up every day and realize all over again that he's gone.

_________________________________

Why do I share my deepest thoughts, fears, questions, and emotions so publicly now?
Maybe I don't want to give up the feeling Blake showed me of being completely naked.
I don't want my walls back.
I don't want to part with the idea that anything and everything is possible.

Perhaps if I love the whole world like I love Blake, with no fear, no reservations, no walls, and complete nakedness, maybe it'll see all of my flaws and not only like me, but love me too.

What's Haunting Me

May 1, 2013- 3:16 AM
"hey briana are you there i need to speak with you immediately"
"?????"
"Call me as soon as you get this"

I woke up at 6 AM to get ready for work and saw these messages on my phone. Why was Blake's roommate contacting me in the middle of the night? My heart started racing. I knew it had to do with Blake, or else why would he be contacting me? We had met several times at that point, but were definitely not close enough to message each other about anything besides Blake. What was wrong?

I messaged back. No response. I called. No answer. I texted.

I waited.

This went on for hours throughout the day. I tried to leave voicemails. I took every opportunity to send a quick text during breaks at work. I even sought the guidance of one of my coworkers. What should I do? Should I just ask Blake what it was or wait a while to give his roommate the opportunity to tell me before alerting Blake that he went behind his back?

I had been texting Blake throughout the afternoon, but nothing abnormal about the night before had come up in our conversation. After I had fallen asleep the previous night, he sent me a few paragraphs worth of ranting about an argument he had just gotten into, how frustrated he was, and how he didn't know what to do. After waking up that morning, I calmly explained how I could see both sides, he was going to be ok, and that things actually were working out for the better.

Around lunch time he finally responded. He didn't mention anything about the fight he was in, or my reflection on it, but instead just said: "I love you so much baby doll. I want to be able to just come home to you. I would do anything." I thought this was sweet, but not out of the ordinary. He was always good at sending me messages like that. He went on: "Baby I want to hold you and just hold you. I never want to leave you."

What I didn't know at the time was that he almost did. In the middle of the night he had overdosed for the first time. His roommate's frantic messages to me at 3:16 AM were because Blake wasn't breathing and had to be taken to the emergency room.

It wasn't until 6:30 at night that I finally caved and just asked Blake what happened. It was clear his roommate had no intentions of responding to my calls, texts, and Facebook messages, so I might as well just ask Blake why I was contacted in the middle of the night.

When I asked why his roommate messaged me at 3 AM he cooly responded "Oh, it's because I had an allergic reaction." He went on to explain that they were watching movies downstairs and his roommate accidentally gave him something that had nuts in it (he is very allergic to nuts). He said the reason his roommate probably wasn't responding to me now was because he was so embarrassed that he made a big deal out of nothing.

A big deal out of nothing?

I try my hardest never to think about this, because I know it's one of those "what ifs" that only torture you and never lead to anything positive. But every once in a while, the events of that night and the day after take over my brain and haunt me.

What if I was awake to receive those messages at 3 AM?
What if his roommate responded to me and told me what happened?
What if Blake was honest about the overdose?

Would everything be different now?
Would Blake have realized the gravity of his drug use?
Would he have gotten help and gone back to rehab?
Would it have worked this time around?
Would he be alive and healthy?
Would I still be able to see him and touch him and hold him right now?

I can't wrap this post up with a positive message about how I believe I can eventually stop thinking about all of this. But maybe that's not the point? I think this will always haunt me. How could it not? I know there is nothing anyone (or I) can do or say to make this better. It will always be horrific and there's no way around it.

But can I be at peace with it? I think so. This peace started with me not blaming myself, his roommate, or Blake. I realized pretty quickly that there would be no point in that. Pointing fingers and casting blame only leads to anger, resentment, and more pain. My heart is already heavy enough with sadness, I can't add all of those feelings to my load as well.

What happened, happened, as awful and unfair as it all seems. I will never be able to change the events of that night or the way it unfolded the day after. What I can do now is learn a lesson from it. For the rest of my life, I will ALWAYS inform the family of a person who is putting his or her life in danger, by their drug use, lack of eating, risky behavior, or otherwise. If I ever feel like I'm not close enough to the person to make that call, I will tell someone who is. If I ever feel like I'm not knowledgeable or strong enough to handle what they are going through, I will tell someone who is. It is through our silence and our inactivity that these problems quietly grow worse.

And maybe after you've told someone else, things still keep progressing in the wrong direction. That happens. But at the end of the day, what matters is that you can look inside yourself and be at peace with the fact that you did everything you could.