Limbo

I spent the next day in the Producer's office furiously flipping through the Oxford Healthcare book and calling therapists. Some had no times available. Some only had times available in the middle of the day, which was useless to me. One had no times available but referred me to someone else who called me back and could make it work. As I was leaving for Philly in a day for the funeral, she also agreed to see me immediately for a "briefing" before I left.

I needed to figure things out. I needed to understand why I felt responsible for the break-up. Why he left me. Why I wasn't good enough. Or smart enough. Or attractive enough. Or open or honest enough. And maybe, ultimately, why I blamed myself for everything.

But I wasn't there yet.

I wasn't sleeping much, about four to five hours a night. I'd get up and make coffee. Then head in to the gym. I'd write long passages in my journal trying to track the journey our demise. Hindsight is, as always, 20/20 but I was still in the midst of it. I would run for an hour on the treadmill and get lost in the feeling of my feet hitting the moving rubber. I started smoking again. I drank more coffee. And I walked. I walked all over Brooklyn and the island. I crossed the bridge sometimes twice in one day. I would stop in the middle and stare down at the water, at the boats passing by. I would feel the air of the bike riders speed by me.

It seems I felt everything all of a sudden instead of the dull numbness I was accustomed to in situations such as these. And I found comfort in the ground, in the stability of the earth beneath my feet, in the rhythm of the walking, in seeing other people out and about, living their lives. I took comfort in these strangers and I dreaded a trip to Philly to deal with death. But I had to. Present Ex needed me. And his mother was very dear to me.

I took the train in and readied myself for a few days of running from one place to another, saying "I'm sorry" and hand-holding. I had forewarned Mom and Dad about the break-up and that I wasn't handling it well. My first appointment with the Therapist had gone well and I said that I needed to go back on Wellbutrin. She said we'd talk about it next session.

Present Ex was in better shape than I had expected. I didn't mention the break-up as I knew he had other, bigger things to deal with. I just said, Tell me where you need me. Most arrangements had been finished by the time I got there. He went back to his sister's house and I went back to my parents house.

I was sitting on the stairs, taking off my shoes, when I just stopped. I had been moving for so long, in so many different ways, that it all caught up with me and I got overwhelmed. I didn't cry. I just sat there -- one shoe on, the other off -- staring in front of me. My mom walked in to hang up her coat in the hallway closet, saw me and said, "Oh, get over it." Hung up her coat and walked away.

This was uncharacteristically harsh of my mother, usually a pillar of care, warmth and comfort who would take any excuse to put her arms around me. This was a side of her I had never seen. It was her mother reincarnate. It was like a slap in the face. She wasn't wrong. I did need to get over it. I just wasn't sure how to do it yet.

I wasn't anywhere yet. This was limbo.