Distraction How I Love Thee

Ah the city life- filled with a myriad of exciting, useful, or extravagant ways in which one can lose herself. Distractions are so diverting, and apparently, I am the queen of using them in everyway possible to deal with any crisis in my life. I've always been an overachiever, always pushing myself forward never looking back. As my mom always says, "What's done is done, just pick yourself up and move on." However I never realized, until very recently, that my way of coping with a crisis doesn't ever allow me to deal with it. To the outside world, I am this strong, capable woman who always seems to be able to fight her way through everything- Divorce, job loss, underemployment, relationships, death. However what neither they nor I knew was that what appears as strength is actually my weakness. My achilles heel- the inability to allow myself to face pain, feel hurt, announce defeat, surrender to vulnerability. In short, I lack the skills to wallow. But I digress, perhaps I should back up a bit...

My first 2 weeks here was filled with plenty of busy work for me to do. My days consisted of taking care of my nephew and my nights were spent unpacking and settling into a new rountine. I didn't even realize I was distracting myself. Attempting to ressurect a semblance of my life in Chicago, I packed in as much activity as I could. During my first weeks here I went dancing, found a nice bar to hang out in, started exploring the town, anything that kept me on the go. I was keeping the same pace I've always kept never thinking that there was anything wrong with it. I'd come to the conclusion years ago that I was just a high energy individual who thrived on constant activity. Didn't realize how wrong I was until my nightlife was cut short by 11 o'clock closing times; and I'm home, and the house is quiet, and there's no one to call, and I'm alone with me...and there are no distractions.

This is when my witching hour begins. When my brain comes up with tasks that need to be completed; or songs that need to be hummed; or something, anything, that makes facing the feelings that begin to bubble up unnecessary. I fight the good fight for as long as I can, checking email, reading updates on Facebook, googling anything that crosses my mind. Yes of course, I need to know the lifecycle of a gnat, what if I get on Jeopardy?? In fact, if I really want to be honest with myself, the very creation of this blog came out of sheer desperation for a distraction...How sad is that? But after I've gone through every possible outlet for diversion, and have exhausted all resources, the fight is over. I've been backed into the corner and there's no escape. Before I know it, I'm curled up in a ball as tears begin saturating my pillow.

I am officially pathetic. Sobbing like a little girl. Wallowing like a pro. The topic isn't important and changes as quickly as Chicago weather. At this moment I am the quintessential time traveler. Past becomes present, present becomes future. The line between what was, what is, and what could be blurs like cars on the autobahn zig zagging their way around my roadblocks.

Just when I think the storm has passed, a new wave, usually larger than before, starts building on the horizon. I take a deep breath and paddle onward, thinking this time I can ride it. It breaks unexpectedly and I'm thrown into the choppy water, eventually clawing my way onto the safety of the sand sputtering and exhausted.

The episode is over as quickly as it began. I collect myself and state sarcastically. "You are such a drama queen," the humor is vital at this time as it allows me to not feel completely like an idiot.

I sit up, take a breath, and wonder aloud, "What the hell was that all about?" I'm not quite sure is the answer that comes out. Or more accurately...it's about everything.

My mind then reminds me that it's only February and I have 5 more months to go.