Sometimes I feel like I'm living the fractured splinter, the shard that cracked off a larger, better life when things went insane that hot afternoon.
It's as if there's another Lori walking around, parallel to me. I can see her, sometimes, a transparent ghost of woman.... she's happy. Smiling. She looks tired, she thinks she has it rough sometimes... she's ignorant.
But she has two children with her, and, about now, her belly might be starting to swell with a third. She might still live in the Purple House... maybe she's moved somewhere else by now, somewhere in the same friendly, manicured suburb but a house with more bedrooms, a bigger yard...
She still has a dog, just the one cat. She's probably got her daughter the bird her daddy promised her, and her son his fish. They're different too- her son happier, not so angry, more secure in himself, not so craving of male company; her daughter less serious and observant, both less attuned to the emotions of others.
This other Lori, she doesn't know herself as well as I do. She has anxiety attacks too, but it's because she's afraid of how she will cope when, inevitably, she loses someone she loves. Blissful ignorance- she trusts people, she believes that the world is good and everything will be OK. She's preparing her oldest child for school next year, going to playgroup, swimming lessons..... being normal. She follows me around unintentionally on days that should be happy, days I'm trying to focus and connect with my children; innocently, simply living her life, laughing and frenzied and so blissfully unaware of this side of life.
Her husband, he's with her. They argue and nothing's perfect... but he's there.
***
"An eternal optimist who trusts no one...? How does that work?"
My default setting is trust... I inherently believe that people are good.
I am proved wrong, over and over and over.
It's difficult to learn not to trust... It's never something I wanted to do. But it's so necessary.... every time I trust someone, show them how I ache and bleed, they hurt me.
***
The rose, Tony's rose... it died.
Where it was filled, covered with tiny green leaves and new shoots... a week or two later it was nothing but an ugly stick, default of life or greenery. I try to revive it, and I fail.
I'm not even surprised.