theseus' human

Hey. This blog is so new I still have the most basic avatar. I was compelled to type before making everything nice and pretty (which I am sure it to be a continuing theme here). So let's go for it.

Hi, I'm Bee and I am trying something new. My life is a mess and I have decided to chronicle my attempts to walk to the path least traveled by. Not really out of choice, or some divine wisdom imparted by Robert Frost, and it is not even a path really. More so, I am hacking my way through the thick bush of Aokigahara Forest against my will.

This blog is just for me really, because I don't know who you are. Or if there even is a you. It is themeless and indecisive. Book recommendations one day (Hooked by Asako Yuzuki...read it) or Dead Mom things the next day (probably many days). But I would be happy if you read along and commiserated with me.

Till next time,

Something I feel like no one warns you about, something none of your friends will quite get after experiencing loss is the way it alters your sense of self.

After experiencing the loss of my mom, I am rediscovering myself. I'm a lot happier living inside of myself.

Where I used to lead conversation, I opt to listen only. Where I once felt excited to be part of a group. I prefer hanging against the wall.

In almost all circumstances I prefer to be left alone (though am still upset when my friends don't check up on me).

I think I still do crave human connection, just not as I once did. My energy exhausts and I tire quickly from almost everyone (my partner the exception).

Maybe you get the old you back. Maybe you are changed forever. I'm not far enough along to know.

Regardless, I'm learning to re-navigate the world.

Albeit much more melancholicly.

But I am tired.

Today I watched a video of an elderly blind woman holding a therapy cat and I sobbed remembering my mother.

I think trust relates closely to belief. I can't say I believe in much these days.

I think most people imagine "I don't trust you" as a suspicious, maybe even a triste claim, not for me.

Lately it feels like a "I DON'T TRUST YOU" screamed (scrumpt?... I can tell you it feels scrumptious) on top of a mountain. It's a release. I am unshackled from my faith, from my false idolatry.

I used to never want to be by myself, I used to be scared of me.

More and more I see me turning into myself. Chrysalis.

And while I don't overly enjoy the gooey innards of me. I'm working on some cool patterns in here.

Trust and believe.

(Or don't)

When I dream of her, it's always nightmares.

I wake up despondent and depressed.

Roiling in my grief is better than forgetting.

That's my trigger: breathing

That deep, rich inhale that you take when you step outside in the early morning. Or the rib-expander you manage during your YouTube morning yoga class... that first part is fine. Let's all take a deep breath in for 3...2...1... and hold it there. Keeping holding it and don't exhale. If you exhale I might cry.

On the exhale, that total exhale that is meant to feel utterly relaxing. The symbol of total release. I hear her final breath. I hear the moment where the remaining air from her lungs slipped past her cracked and tiny lips. The subsequent sobbing of a broken family.

And then I'm transported back, to her swollen hands growing colder, her yellowing and gooey looking eyes, the terrible noise that is a person's death rattle.

A death rattle is when a dying person cannot swallow their on saliva. The body becomes incapable for the most basic of functions. So, with each ever-shallowing breath they take, they emit this devastating gurgling noise. Beckoning the Grim Reaper.

Ironically, when you are in distress what is the advice? Breathe. Just breathe.

Okay, well I'll take the inhale. But I want you to surgically remove the exhale.

I used to be really active and the sports that I loved were always high energy and high impact. Through my care-taking and grieving journey, I lost myself and my passions.

I used to be Yoga-curious. I've done a couple of studio classes, a few YouTube classes from my cluttered living room. Well with my loss of flexibility, muscle, and utter confidence in my own abilities, in conjunction with my mounting stress and anxiety, I decided Yoga was the perfect practice. Two birds one stone or...two creaky knees and one Yoga mat. (My hippie ex would be so proud...).

The hardest part about Yoga is that it requires me to think about myself and my body. A body I regularly spew vitriole at. It also allows my brain think. Who wants that?

Once I tried meditating with the aforementioned Hippie Boyfriend and afterwards he asked me where my mind wandered and I said "I was thinking about how, with my eyes closed, you could just kill me if you wanted to". Oh boy, the shock and horror on his face.

But that's my brain, I am a worrier. I used to check to see if my siblings were breathing in the night as they slept. And so yoga implores me to take 20-40 minutes and explore a brain I spend my time running from.

It is probably healthy anyways. I'll try to keep it up. But hey, no one kill me with my eyes closed okay? I don't want to die in my shitty version of downward facing dog.

Inflexible as ever,

So it seems I am finally out of my reading slump, at least for now.

I've been reading a lot lately and there is nothing I love more than sharing my favourite books. And by that I mean sharing my unsolicited opinions online.

So without further ado. My commentary.

Doing and remembering tasks through the grieving process is a bitch. My every day ability to recall facts and events (that I do not want to go to) is garbage.

On a larger scale, I've lost my license and debit card and completely forgot to renew my license/health card on my birthday. So don't tell the ops that I was driving without a valid license...it doesn't count if you didn't know right? Also, in my defense, my Dead Mom Card is still very valid.

My brain isn't primed for remembering the important things. It's always thinking and processing, but never for the things I need it to be. I am cerebral in the worst ways.

Yours in forgetfulness,