Just as an aside, if you don’t know Scott H. Biram, you should. He’s got an incredible story.
Last week was a rough week. It was my birthday week and that has traditionally been a huge celebration for me. Brian always made sure that it was a big deal (because I love my birthday,) and this year it didn’t even seem right to have a birthday at all. I got my hair done, had a wonderful birthday brunch, wrote a few things, met with some old friends, and I met some new friends, too. While it was all wonderful and I’m so grateful for the love, something was painfully evident to me: I have lost my mojo. It’s long gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back, although I hope to hell that I do because this life without rots.
For the majority of my life, I have known exactly who I am, where I stood, what to say, what not to say, how to be me, how to handle situations, how to stand tall. That’s not the case anymore. So many things are going on inside of me that I don’t really feel comfortable talking about, primarily because I’m feeling the need to have very strong boundaries right now, but also because I just don’t have the fucking words. I feel like I’m an awkward freshman in high school all over again when, honestly, I never felt that terribly awkward as a freshman in high school. Yes, of course I was awkward, but I didn’t feel like it (she says to the readers who knew her then.)
Now I’m all assholes and elbows over here, tripping on myself and being a fool.
Brian didn’t make me who I was, he was just the mirror who showed me who I was. I don’t have that anymore. I feel strange in certain social situations, especially when I’m with new people. I make so many damned mistakes! I know that I’m going to make mistakes, I expect to make mistakes because it’s how we learn and grow, but knowing and expecting it doesn’t provide any more grace when it happens.
Stumble, trip, fall.
A friend of mine tells me that the year after a loss as great as mine is the “Lost Year.” It’s almost a year that doesn’t seem to count because I’m still trying to figure out how to find my footing on this wildly spinning rock hurtling through space, although in reality, it’s probably this year that counts the most. I think she’s right and it’s giving me vertigo.
What do I say? How do I act? Who am I now? Who do I want to become? I just want to be me and I don’t know who that is anymore.
I want my mojo back.
Maybe I’ll find it in Chicago.