It’s hard to wake up. When I was married to R and he could tell I was having a bad dream, he’d nudge me and say “Krissy wake up. Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” but I just wanted to go back to sleep. Almost like I wanted to stay in the nightmare.
I feel like I’m finally waking up now that there’s no prince to kiss me awake or ask me if I want to talk about it and, though I hate it, it’s how it’s supposed to be right now. I have to open my own damn eyes.
I once read a book about the poet Lucy Grealy in which the author told of a conversation between them after Lucy had gotten into her heroin addiction. “I’ll get over this,” Lucy said. “We’ll look back and call these the heroin years. We’ll say, “Do you remember when Lucy was a heroin addict?”
But she died of an overdose before they could say that.
I think I’ll call these the waking-up years. Someday I’ll look back with Michele, or Kimmy, or Brenda… or Andrea… and say, “Remember when I divorced R even though we both still loved each other, and I had to find a job after 7 years not working, and Andrea left for college, and I lived all alone in a new apartment? I cried every day.”
“You were so brave,” they’ll say.
“I didn’t feel brave. I felt lonely and lost and like I wanted to give up and die.”
“You didn’t give up, did you? And look how wonderful your life turned out…”
But this isn’t about then it’s about now.
Thing is no matter how much I may want to, I’m not going to die from this. So let’s just see what happens.