They always say to write about what hurts.
…to write what it’s like to be human.
…to tell everyone what makes you afraid, and how to overcome pain with a beautiful story that is true and worn and chipped like an old dish.
Let me start by saying this whole thing really messed me up. This divorce thing. I want to believe my story will take off again after my “proposed” year of mourning and moving through what it is like to lose someone you love more than anything.
I think about my friends who have gone through the same, moving on and getting married again. I get tired of the phrase moving on because it’s such a vague thing, right?
I’d love more than anything to become infatuated again and to fall deeply in love and dig my heels in deep to a piece of earth, where I may or may not plant my favorite kind of tomatoes again.
I’m afraid, like most people, that I’ve met and lost that one person, and that it won’t be this way ever again. I hate to admit to that. And I know the lots of ya will tell me to get out there and to be vulnerable.
But to be honest, I am.
It is so tiring for me. Especially when the person across from you never asks you questions and all they do is consume yours. It’s hard asking questions all the time. It’s hard to respond sometimes too. I get exhausted with small groups and just want what so many other people want. I want to lay my head in someone’s lap and fall asleep there, as I feel their breathing.
I don’t like the way “being single on the move” makes me feel. Like some sort of hidden intention all the time. I realize that’s how it goes, but I’m not good at that. I catch my own bullshit all the time. I know the kind of person I am. The Animals said it best for me,
I’m just a soul whose intentions are good, oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.
I will write as long as I need to,
About what is scary, and true to me.
About how I get sad sometimes when my friends get pregnant or married and move on with their own little families. I am ultimately filled with love for them, but I also understand that there’s some mourning, and this is something new I’ve had to learn.
holding loosely.
It is hard for me to do so, especially now that I hold tight to anything good. And when I feel it start to slip away, I panic and think that I have to move again. That I have to reinvent myself and change into something other people will find attractive. That I have to be someone that I’m not. Maybe that’s some defense mechanism I’ve gained this past year. If I don’t feel like I’m wanted, I start thinking I have to move elsewhere. That I have to figure it out. And that I am going to figure it out all on my own.
I am movin’ like molasses on a chilly day…
A part of me wishes I had a story of finding love again quickly, and that my sadness was spared, but it is not, and that’s okay.
It allows me to paint with colors I’ve never seen before.
It allows me describe an entirely different landscape, and how I often fade into the horizon,
with all the other reds, oranges and blues,
making it impossible to determine where one color ends, and the other begins.
southernbelly.wordpress.com 
9 responses to “fade to blue”
Beautiful! And if you’re ever looking to move to Nashville, contact me. I know all the best spots. 🙂
Thanks! I will most definitely hit you up if I’m ever around! I still owe y’all a dinner. 🙂
Sounds good to me! 🙂 Watch out, though, we’re looking for a live-in cook!
I love to read your blog when it is about food! And when you are depressed I ache for you, to the point where sometimes I can barely read your sad words…..but if you will allow me to say something…. because I can no longer not say it.
No one ever has any guarantees about anything in life – those of us who are in solid relationships, good jobs, fine homes, raising lovely children, painting as I do or cooking or writing – doing whatever they love to do – none of us have any guarantees. Every single person has a story of how life has disappointed them or how some person has hurt them deeply or how some job has been lost even when they knew they were so good at it.
If you read other people’s blogs (have you ever read mine for instance?) you must know that life is all in how you view it – and it is most assuredly a gift. Your melancholy is a choice, because in some way it serves you well. You are getting something out of it. If it gives you what you want and it is working for you, then you will continue to live in it. If you realize someday that it is not a productive approach to life, then perhaps you will make the choice to rescue yourself.
I absolutely get it when someone is depressed and needs professional help – I am deeply grieving the death of Robin Williams. Perhaps you need some help. I truly care about you, I do. To be so destroyed by a divorce that you cannot find your soul, you don’t know how to live or where, and you have no joy left in you is quite disturbing to me. I am worried. And I say all this to you with love.
Hi Jo-Ann, first of all, thank you for your words. I also hope you can understand that this is a blog of all sorts of things. A place where I bring painful things, silly things and food things. As you know.
The truth is, I have a lot of joy in my soul. I’m afraid it might be misinterpreted because we don’t know each other so well. I also have a lot of painful memories that wash over me from time to time. I write them here to get it out. I’m afraid if I was silent, there would be bigger fish to fry.
I realize with all the publicity in the death of Mr. Williams, which is so terribly sad, there is a lot of knee jerking and we’re pretty sensitive to the issues. No doubt about it, depression can be debilitating and awful and can ache in your bones.
I want you to know, that I am in good hands and have so much love and support. I am not responsible as to how you interpret my words, but I so appreciate your heart and your willingness to give me a few pokes if you were somehow alarmed.
This is who I am, a ragamuffin cook and so-so writer in the deep South with no southern accent, living deeply in the world that can be heartbreaking and beautiful and just so full of goodness. I cannot be quiet, it is impossible. 😉
Thanks again, and thanks for being part of my bigger community.
Josh
So good to get a lovely reply from you Josh – you are now even more dear to my heart. I believe I am old enough to be your mother – but the feelings I expressed were not meant to be motherly – just caring and friendly in the best and most noble sense of that word. I consider you a gifted and talented person and it hurts to hear your hurt. I wish happiness for you.
“Someday you’re gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You’ll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing…”
― Elizabeth Gilbert
I think you will be fine, and I say that with sincerity. You are grieving, which is normal in the coping process of losing someone you love. That’s what divorce is; losing someone you love/or thought you loved, and also, losing a part of yourself. Though I’ve never been divorced, I’ve been faced with the possibility of divorce, and that in itself is scary. You are left constantly questioning life and trying to figure out the next step in life. I don’t think anyone ever has it all figured out. Sometimes you just have to go with it. Life can be horrible sometimes, but just keep reminding yourself that it can also be wonderful and beautiful. Take it one day at a time, if you must, and don’t let anyone ever tell you to “just move on.” It takes time to move on from tragedy, and only you will know when you’re ready. Try not to dwell on the past, and that is something I struggle with, but it does help to imagine a glorious future. The best things in life aren’t easy to attain, and the best things happen when you aren’t even seeking them. Chin up & cook on! (I will note that I am new to WP and this is my first comment ever on a blog, so if I am out of line, I apologize, but I really am trying to be sincere.)
Your words and your heart are lovely, Josh.