Over a year. About a week ago, someone new started following this page. After I’d left it dormant for over a year. After I wrote a post saying I might not ever write here again.
It’s good timing. Something has been stirring in me. Many things, honestly. My life has changed enormously, again. To the point if I wonder if this is actually just how my life is now… one big step, one big change after another.
In the past year, I’ve watched a lot of Doctor Who. And, with each new companion, I fall in love and need to reassess who my favorite is. Who am I like? For a long while, it was Rose. And I loved Martha, but she made me sad. And Donna was silly and not much like me, although I would have been her friend. And then there’s Amy. Amy is fiery and I wanted to be her, too. I feel her loyalty and stubbornness and passion and willingness to defend those she loves. I feel it down in my soul. The depth of her love. Yes, I was sure I was Amy. And then there was Clara. Clara is beauty and adventure and cleverness. I wanted to be the Impossible Girl. I wanted to step in to situations and save the day. I wanted to do things that were impossible. I wanted to be the Mystery…
And then yesterday, I realized, I don’t want to be the Companion at all.
I realized that I’m waking up again. Every year it seems to happen all over again. I wake up a little more from my grieving. Over the past two weeks, I’ve reread some of my blog posts and some of the things I have written in secret places, in notebooks and in documents hidden deep in folders on my hard drive. And every time I cry. Every time. Because for three years I’ve written to cope and handle things. I wrote the experiences. I wrote the lessons and the observations I didn’t want to lose. I wrote what my heart was learning. I learned so much. The intensity of the experiences was almost too much and my writing was a way for me to get it down on the page. To take it in, process it, and save it for a future time when I might need to revisit it. But I haven’t written anything happy in almost three years. I’m not sure I’ve been happy in almost three years… In little ways, yes. I’ve been immensely happy. I’ve had good things happen. I’ve celebrated. I’ve pursued more joy and happiness in my life. In the way of adventure, and travel, and fulfillment in my work. In my faith, in the gym, in my art. In gratitude. In making little donations to support things I believe in. In cooking and getting together with friends. But I’ve always felt… heavy. There’s been a heaviness in my spirit that I got so used to carrying around I didn’t even notice it there. Until this month, it left. Or, I think it did.
Fact is, I’m changing again. I don’t think I can be the Companion, because… I think I’m more the Doctor.
When I lost my grandparents, I remember the light going out of me. I remember looking at pictures from before and seeing that my face had changed. Lately, I’m seeing it again, in a way. My body is different. I hadn’t noticed it changing. And I went back to read some of my writings on the body, from three years ago. And things started making sense.
I remember that after they were gone it was hard to be happy. It was hard because it seemed impossible– absolutely impossible– that anything good could ever happen again, not truly good at least. At 25 years old, I didn’t really believe that the best days of my life were behind me… but they couldn’t possibly be ahead of me either. How can the best day of my life happen when two people I loved so much, two of my biggest supporters weren’t here to see it? And every new year felt wrong, like I was being forced further away from them.
My emotions have changed, almost yearly. For a long while, longer than I realized, and much longer than others realized, I was in a weird, depressed state. I lost my voice– figuratively. It was kind of, numb. I couldn’t communicate how I felt or what I wanted or didn’t want. And then, I woke up. A regeneration of sorts, perhaps. And it hit me that a year had passed and I only finally felt like I could breathe. And I was stressed at work and stressed in my relationships and I needed to cope with the events of a year, including large swaths of time and conversations that I couldn’t seem to remember. This new me didn’t know how to handle all that. And it took about a year before I figured it out. It took a year before I got enough of a voice back, and got upset enough and angry enough to begin to move forward. And then I stopped. And I stayed there. Some things were better. I was happy at work. Blissfully happy at work. Overworked, but happy at least. I was making discoveries about this new version of myself. And after a year of that, I’ve recently entered some more recent incarnation of myself. I’m still figuring her out. She’s wildly outspoken, for one; which is not something altogether new to me, but this seems more extreme. She’s getting back about her business. About her art and her ideas… things left unexplored and untouched for a long while. She’s weighing her intentions and her desires. She’s deeper and more light all at the same time. Suddenly, after three years of rain and fertilizer… things are starting to grow and bud and blossom.
I’ve never liked the regeneration aspect of Doctor Who. I mean, I get the new face bit. I can live with that. I suppose the show couldn’t have been all David Tennant all the time (sadly). But the new personality always confuses me. It seems so, foreign. The most alien bit of my favorite alien. Yesterday was the first time I think I understood. We’re always changing. We all have the events in our lives which will be the “before” and “after” moments. We are never the same. Our cells, our chemistry, our personalities… always in flux, always regenerating. We die. We die in relationships and we die to negative influences (we hope). We die in a thousand little ways. And we grieve, when we’re wise enough and brave enough to face it. And we go on living. We come to new understandings. Old wounds heal or fester (our choice). We make peace with the past, or ignore it, or fight it. We become new. Sometimes better. Sometimes colder and more distant. But new, nonetheless.
I feel like I may be finally entering that butterfly stage, afterall.