In the last three months, I’ve lost. I’ve lost to people and breath that makes me feel so alive. I’ve lost to coping mechanisms that usually work. That I thought would for sure work.
I lost Percy. I lost my daddy. And I lost my relationship. I was diagnosed with epilepsy.
I’m reading this book right now, and one of the paragraphs says, ‘Bad days come in degrees. They are not all equally bad. And the really bad ones, though horrible to live through, are useful for later. You store them up. A bank of bad days. So if you’re having another bad day you can say, Well, this feels bad, but there have been worse. And even when you can’t think of a worse day – when the one you are living is the very worst there has ever been – you at least know the bank exists and that you have made a deposit.
I made a deposit.
But thank goodness, the past few weeks I’m back to remembering when a day feels hard, there have been worse. Exponentially worse. It’s a hard thing to feel thankful for, but I am.
While I may never own another horse, life has steered me right back to my barn family. I am leasing Miss Lola, one of the sassiest mares around. My body and brain are happily accepting the challenge. I’m excited to learn her personality more. I still see Percy often. He snickers when he sees me. He kisses my ear. And he holds no grudges. He’s happy that I’m finding my happiness again, my wings again. Just this morning he got very anxious, 2-3 people tried to calm him down. Anxiously (not wanted to have any strong connection yet), I stood in front of him and spoke the way I used to when he was anxious. He stopped dead in his tracks & nuzzled me. We will forever be there for each other, in some form.
The end of my relationship meant a lot of things. But mostly the sense of teaching myself to be content again without a person near my side. I find myself wanting to pick up the phone to share something only he would understand often. But in just a few short weeks it continues to teach me to love myself for me. Not who I may be in a relationship. But just me.
Losing my papa has been the absolute hardest thing I’ve ever experienced. The first 4-5 weeks I just felt utterly empty. It felt normal since most of my lost, big or little I avoid feeling at all, well because that’s hard. But the last few weeks, goodness have I felt. It is hard, but it’s worth it. I cry. I cry thinking about his pain during the end of life. I cry thinking about who will walk me down the isle to get married. I wrap one of his old sweatshirts around me, that probably smells more like me than him now and cry. It’s a difficult mixture of pure anger and sadness that he’s gone.
This morning when my alarm went off I grumbled fuck. I’m not doing today. There have been many of these days that have won. But, now I’m working to let them lose too. I have a few in the book.
Life’s such a bitch. And it’s so beautiful. Continually searching for that balance.