The Safe Place

Sunset from my bedroom window, January, 2010.

It’s about 65 degrees outside. The sun is shining, the palms are making swishy noises in the breeze and the squirrels are up in the trees chattering like apes. I am off a sleepless night after IMing my goose farmer friend. She is one of two friends on this planet I trust enough to tell anything.

I will start at the beginning. That's usually the best place.

I was with my singles group before New Year’s. I am lonely. I never meet anyone. And if I do, there is no click, no spark. Not since … well, he knows who he is and he will read this.

Someone was talking to a blonde member of my group that night. I was lonely in the crowd, trying to hide my despair by forcing myself to flit from person to person, working at being social and involved. It was a stretch.

I heard a voice high above me say “don’t you ever LAND? You are a social butterfly.” And I thought “well, I have one person fooled.” And I looked up from a geeky plaid elbow and I got that open-mouthed, OMIGOD HE’S SO CUTE ball of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 15 or 59, that feeling never changes.

To make a long story short - every remark was a direct hit, like it was scripted. Brilliant, writer, been here three years, dabbling in Buddhism … well, the writer thing concerned me because we are all weird as hell. And then came the name. “Randy.” The discomfort in my stomach became sick queasiness. The name always does that. I shrugged it off.

We exchanged cards and agreed we would both love to go out. I had company coming for five days, we would meet after my company left.

I emailed The Goose Lady later that night and said “and worst of all his name is Randy.” Because Randy is the one man on this planet who tore me up and made me question everything about myself. He nearly destroyed me. And I have trouble getting past it. The surgery is complete but the wounds have not healed fully.

I heard from New Randy the next day. No big deal, an excuse to get in touch right away. Which I love, which is so thoughtful, so NOT game playing. And the next day I get an email from the member of my group, the blonde he was talking to before we connected.

She has “Randy” in the subject line of the email. My heart stops.

She writes that she knows I was talking to him, but he had invited her to listen to guitar music somewhere and did I mind. I was instantly jealous and immediately ashamed of myself. I wrote back that he was a sweetheart and that she should go. That I had no hold on him but if/when he asked, I WOULD go out with him! What refreshing honesty, I was so proud of myself. Acting like a grown-up, dontcha know.

The morning my company left, I got a call from New Randy. We would be going out the next evening to a nice dinner. I was beyond excited. The date was awkward but fun, he spoke in multiple syllables (so refreshing) and the attraction in the parking lot afterwards was … wow.

I am ashamed to say, when I got home the first thing I did was go upstairs to my bedroom, slip into something comfortable and - yeah, google him. To my dismay, he has more google references than me! Then, on a whim, I decided to google myself. Which feels dirty and nasty somehow.

And what turns up? Me on the Yahoo “End Verbal Abuse board” from April 10, 2007. The night after Old Randy threw me out of his house lock stock and Shih Tzu. The night I was afraid he was going to hurt me. I had never seen him like that. It was one of the darkest 24 hour periods in my life and reading my posts - especially this one - brings it back.

http://health.dir.groups.yahoo.com/group/End_Verbal_Abuse/message/43934

So I think to myself “if New Randy reads this, he won’t be interested in me because I’m damaged.” Then I tell myself "who am I kidding - we're all damanged." And I am more than a little upset that part of being a writer is being an emotional exhibitionist. And I wonder if it serves any purpose beyond just making you look like a fool.

I wonder if there’s any way I can go back in there and delete those posts, but … well, everything happens for a reason I guess. Even stuff we feel stupid about.

And it turns out I needn’t have worried about New Randy because we are strictly buddy material. His demons are bigger than mine. In a shared space, we'd probably make a whole 'nother dimension explode.

That was weeks ago. I emailed New Randy yesterday because I needed to learn more about a specific type of writing. He recommended a book. I wrote the name on a sticky, put it in my jeans - and, naturally, changed jeans before I went to Barnes & Noble. Well, whatever, I found an alternate book, met a friend, drank the good Starbucks and came home.

I turned the light off around midnight. The dogs were curled up on the bed snug as a bug in a rug. It’s weird to need three quilts here, but it feels wonderful. And damned if I don’t pick up my Blackberry to see if I missed any emails.

And there in the subject line is “Randy.” My heart stopped. Only it wasn’t about NEW Randy.

“Hi there,

It matters not how I found you. What matters is what you shared almost 3 years ago about your experience with verbal abuse.

Well put my sister. I will consider your words every time I'm tempted to call. And the man you speak of is the man I've been in a relationship with for, well, I guess, more or less since you.

Thank you. It would seem that the Universe has intervened on my behalf. But, then again, it always does....

Kathy “

Shocked speechless, I forwarded her email to TGL, the one person who would understand my extreme emotions.  TGL IM’d within moments of my sending the response. She asked "did you notice he chose another woman who's as smart and sensitive as you?"

We IMd until 3:30 in the morning. By the end of it I was crying. For both of us.

She helped me sort out my pain. She is now caring for the mother who beat her as a child. We both agreed that somewhere somehow we want to be to blame for the shitty things the people we loved and trusted did to us. Because we’d rather believe it was something we did than believe they were ever that bad.

She thinks that’s weakness on our part. I don’t know. I think it may be extreme compassion.

We talked about when we were children. I don’t remember people because I was always painfully shy. She remembers watching them like a hawk because she was in constant danger of physical attack.

TGL is snowed in in her valley. Her life is sheer hell, from a dying mother and management of a farm with dogs and geese and ducks to her own poor health and what the cold weather is doing to her 20th century luxuries like mobility, heat, water and toilet. (All four have failed her and her mother in the past week. Her despair is palpable.)

We talked about feeling safe. I said “at least you know where you’ll be a year from now. I’ve started telling people I’m on vacation with my furniture because I never know when I'll run out of ways to pay for life here."

Where is the safe place? Chances are good we are either in that place where the big scary decisions sent us or that purgatory of not having the balls to leave something we KNOW is awful and face the unknown.

Sometimes when we let the world see our naked pain, we help other people.

TGL and I went to the darkest places in our souls until about 3:30 a.m. Then I turned on Celebrity Rehab so I could have one shot at feeling fortunate before I went to sleep. Yes God - Jumala - The Universe - I do thank you for my roof and my heat and my functioning toilets and healthy family and furry friends. Yeah, blessed. In a safe place right now and now is all there is.

The REAL safe place is that place in the soul that trusts a higher power or karma to prevent life from becoming unbearable. What is it they say in AA? Sometimes you have to Let Go and Let God.