That'sThe first time I read about the stages of loss, I thought that acceptance was kind of a shiny staircase, the light at the end of the tunnel. You go through the other four stages, and then you accept whatever the trauma is and you're probably better for it. I likened it to a drug habit that you lose. You detox, you feel immense pain, and then you get your shit together. The metaphor was simple enough. Grieve in stages, then you're free. That's not really how addiction works, but it's what I was hoping, anyway.
I don't really know if I understand what stage of loss I'm in right now. They aren't as clear of staircase steps as I originally thought, it's been more like walking uphill through the woods. You don't always know where your feet are supposed to go, sometimes you're stuck and sometimes you're pushed forward for no other reason than you have nowhere else to go.
I have heard that it takes about one month for every year you're together to feel okay again. If that's true, you must be fine by now. Maybe if I hadn't filled up my time so completely and become so distracted, I would be too.
Jordan, you were funny, attractive, sweet, kind and you are largely responsible for me not becoming a nightmare of a human being. The idea that you're not going to be with me any more still sucks. I don't know that everyone gets a lot of "love of your life" like we had. I'm grateful for that. I think you're a fantastic human being. I also think I shouldn't set eyes on you for years if I ever do see you again.
Acceptance in some ways is shittier than depression, anger, or any of the others. You can get comfortable in any of the others. Denial would have brought us back together, so would bargaining. Remember when we tried all that? It was comfortable but it was hollow and somewhere in me I knew that you'd moved on. I even felt it when you hugged me goodbye. It's a strange feeling to be held in a way that lets you know you're also being let go.
Depression and anger are easy traps for me. I experienced them a lot over the past few weeks. I can't say with any real certainty that I'm done, either, but I certainly went through them. I beat myself up on rocks and howled and when it was over I felt like I had tired the demon in me. Depression and Anger made the past seem glamorous and the future terrifying. They preserved you as the angel I tended to make you and offered solace in my memories. They made walls with your face on them and put them in front of my future. They didn't do shit to get me to move forward.
One thing that you know better than anyone is that I hate complacency. I am a critter of change and turbulence and the older I get the more I've come to acknowledge and embrace that insanity. Depression and Anger were fine places to be, despite how terrible they feel. They don't suggest you change anything, they are emotions that demand only to be experienced. I can't remain in any one state of mind for very long, you know that.
Acceptance doesn't just mean accepting that you're gone. Acceptance means owning up to the fact that I stayed in that broken relationship with you. It means I have to admit that I was cruel to you, and you were cruel to me and we both took it from each other because we didn't know what else to do. Acceptance means you'll sleep with other people, and so will I. It means I have to be the person who makes sure I don't mistreat or abuse other people. You won't be there to call me out on it, or put up with my bizarre social experiments. I am glad that you pulled away. I'm glad you made it out, if I'm honest.
Cities are strange places, especially after holing up in the mountains. Everything is interesting here, or at least trying to be. Everything wants you to look, to distract you. If you've got big things in your head, it's very difficult to focus. I think my thoughts behave a lot like cities do.
Whenever I have big thoughts in my head, I run from things that distract me. In this case, I went to the mountains, and deleted all my social media. In nature, things are only interesting because you find them interesting. You don't have to discern because there is no competition; everything just happens to be there and you come across the important parts as you see fit.
I left without really telling anyone and I'm sorry if I worried anyone. In my damaged mind I genuinely didn't think it would be noticed. At first I had no plan on returning to Denver, but I got to that point where I have to start doing something, or else what little I've built will start disintegrating. I still feel really tired, and I don't feel ready to be doing much of anything. It's still hard to talk to people and I still don't really want to be touched. The concept is still kind of sideways.
Social media is a lot of chatter, and for someone who believes (naively or not) that she's got something to say, it is a very useful tool. For now it's one that I have to put away. I'm not really sure how to push forward as a comedian without that tool, but hopefully I'll figure something out. The quiet has been welcome. I see people for who they are, and not based on whatever chaos exists in social media. It makes me feel more human.
Acceptance blows, Jordan, but I'm working on it. Being back in Denver has been a good step, I think. I am fortunate to have a lot of good people in my life. Last night I stepped in and did a set on my own show, which was a goofy thing to do, but also possibly the most healing thing I could imagine. I am very lucky to be cared about the way that I am. I hope when I feel a little more stable I can return all of these favors.
I have been reading this book by Kierkegaard, he talks a lot about faith. I don't believe in God, but I have been thinking a lot about faith. Kierkegaard suggests that true faith is one of the most difficult things to accomplish, and that most of us are only capable of hope. Faith lies beyond hope, and beyond resignation. Faith is the acceptance and understanding of reality with the genuine belief in the absurd possibility of the divine.
It is a very difficult fucking book.
Faith is the difference between want and belief. A week ago, my faith was that we would be together again once we both did our growing up. A silly little week. Less time than it takes for an infant to take her first steps. It's uncanny how distanced it all became. Part of me doubts my acceptance is real, given I thought I was there months ago.
I don't have faith in us getting back together. It seems unlikely, but changes happen so quickly and I'm accepting that as part of my nature. I have restored faith in what I have always had faith in: that I am going to be okay.
I have lived my life with the fortunate belief that whatever happens, I'm going to be fine. Things will suck for now, but these mistakes rarely kill me. I survived assault, a drug problem, traveling alone, and losing the person I love more than anyone. None of those things killed me. They scarred me, I'm wary and I don't like to be touched. If I am honest, I am not okay, but I am not going to die, and that alone means I have to progress, work towards something.
I'm accepting the kind of person I am and the way it doesn't work to be the kind of person I am and in love with you. I wonder if I'll write you letters much longer.
For now, goodbye you big, wonderful asshole. We got together as babies and learned to walk in different directions. I love you and miss you and hate you and everyone I know will have to deal with that, even me.
About A Blog
I'm a Denver Comedian, occasional cartoonist and person of interest to someone, probably. These articles are really too long.