Today I had my annual eye exam, and with it came the dilation of my eyes rendering my near vision pretty useless for a few hours. In that time, I was unable to read, write, study for my GRE, use my computer, find phone numbers on my phone, clean my apartment, or watch TV. All I could do was get myself home, and then I could sit, and wait for my vision to return. This is the stillness Brian was talking about yesterday. And so, I waited and while I was waiting, I allowed some feelings to surface.
While I was getting ready for my Junior Achievement class on Wednesday night, I couldn't find any office supplies in my apartment. I used to have a large box of them and they were lost in the fire. I sighed deeply for all the little things that I had to leave behind.
Shortly after the fire, I stopped dating someone I really liked. I wanted to take the relationship up a notch, and he wanted to let it go. He didn't show up for me when I needed him most. I tried to be friends with him for a bit and quickly realized that our friendship made me unhappy. And so, I released him and have had very little contact with him in the past few months. It's sad to let someone go, especially someone whom you enjoyed being with. I miss him, or at least I miss the person I thought he was going to be in my life. And I'm sad that he doesn't miss me.
After Thanksgiving, I would have brought my dog, Sebastian, back from Florida and he would have been running around my apartment now. We would have been playing in the park together, going for walks, taking naps, and having a grand old time together. I'm sad that we lost him too soon, that he never had a chance to be in New York with me.
I'm really angry that a woman set my old apartment building on fire, and that as a result I almost lost my life and lost most of my belongings. I'm angry that a number of people in my life didn't understand how traumatic that loss was. One friend commented "why are you so upset about it? You got all new stuff." We're not friends any more.
The guy I was dating spent the week after the fire giving me daily percentages of how far along the road to recovery I was, while also telling me that I really couldn't be angry at the woman who set my building on fire. (Brian's response to this was "Um, whose side is he on?") And a week later he decided it would be a good idea to tell me that he "wasn't sure of his feelings for me." I listened patiently to his concerns, even though all I wanted to do was kick him in the shins and walk away. Since I had found a new apartment, he felt I was now able to listen to his tales of emotional unavailability. Seriously? I saw him a few more times after that, and eventually I did walk away though I refrained from kicking him in the shins.
I'm angry at myself that I didn't bring Sebastian to New York sooner. He likely would have developed the same condition that caused us to put him down, though maybe a better vet here could have helped him. I wish he was here, and I'm so angry that I didn't get a chance to hug him one more time and tell him how much I loved him.
Very soon after letting these feelings surface, and going through a few tissues in the process, my vision returned. Logically, I know that the dilation drops wore off though it signified something more than that, too. This time of being physically unable to see let me sit and see things that I have been busy burying. I do feel lighter now, and am able to see a bit more hope peeking through the clouds.