mountaineering is for the birds

I used to be a mountaineer.

Now I just watch movies about mountains.

Sometimes.

I watched this one last night.

Now, I’ve never climbed anything even remotely close to a peak in the Himalaya, but I have been on top of a lot of mountains.

Until I spent my honeymoon at 20,000 feet, I dreamed of big mountains, in big ranges; after carrying a 90 pound pack to that altitude, I wasn’t so sure.

But everyone was doing it.

I had friends on Denali (one friend’s body is still up there), friends on Aconcagua, and friends on Everest.

Most of them weighed more than 115 pounds. I, on the other hand, did not.

A mountaineering expedition is exciting; you are consciously choosing to suffer just to feel like King of the Hill for a couple of minutes. I can only imagine what it would feel like to stand on top of Everest and have the whole world at your feet.

It’s the possibility of that feeling that keeps our feet moving uphill, carving out steps in the ice, bracing against ground blizzards, trying not to lose footing.

At 3:00 am, skirting around a house-sized crevasse in Bolivia, I said, “I’m not having fun.”

My friend laughed, “Oh no, it’s not fun until you get home.”

Back then, I could wrap my head around that, I lived by the old adage, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.” I could drag my sorry ass all over the hills.

I made a living dragging other people’s sorry asses all over the hills.

And I loved it.

So last night when I sat down with my popcorn and remote, I fully expected to feel a pang of nostalgia, even a pull of longing.

I figured that at the very least, when I saw everyone in their ultra fluffy down suits that I would crave one more chance to run around with an ice axe and crampons.

But to be really honest, while I was waiting for the wistfulness to kick in, there was an onscreen moment when the climbers got blasted in the face with blowing ice and I thought,

I don’t miss it one fucking bit.

Not even a tiny little eensy teensy iota.

I don’t miss the heavy packs and the piles of equipment and the cold and the snow and the burning sun and not being able to breathe and struggling to take one step and the immense amount of time that it takes to do absolutely anything and the headache and not being able to sleep and getting up at 12:30 am to stumble around in the pitch black knowing that one small misstep could kill you…

Did I mention the cold?

And the dark?

And the monstrous packs?

And I was actually having this reaction long before the shit hit the fan in the story.

When the deadly storm began, I sunk as far into my recliner as I could possibly get, pulled my electric blanket up to my chin and thanked the good lord above for giving me the sense to put those days behind me.

 

 

 

no words

In the last almost-year, I’ve seen him twice.

In a town this size, that’s saying something.

Of course, it’s helped that I’ve been avoiding the place(s) where we’re most likely to cross paths.

But I’m sick of avoiding, sick of anxiety, so I’ve been venturing out, knowing that at some point, we’d bump into each other.

And I’ve wondered what it would look like when we were in the same place at the same time. So much shit has happened, so may feelings felt, but it’s all been just for me; it hasn’t been because of any interaction between us.

Especially this latest piece of information. Knowing that he hit on our friend changed everything for me – like I’ve said, it freed me. But that major shift, although it has everything to do with him, hasn’t included him, and I am in such a different place that I haven’t known how I would react to seeing him.

And I’ve wondered how he would react.

Will he speak to me?

Will I speak to him?

Will he try to talk?

Do I want to hear anything he has to say?

Will we ignore each other?

Will we talk about the weather?

No.

So not interested in chit chat.

Does he know that I know?

Do I want to tell him that I know?

A myriad of scenarios went through my imagination but I couldn’t settle on a way that a chance meeting would play out because so much depended on the situation.

So this weekend, it happened, at the place that I am no longer avoiding.

I walked outside and he was talking to my son. When I approached he looked up and I realized…

I don’t have a fucking thing to say.

I nodded – acknowledged him. But nothing made its way from my brain to my mouth. It seemed like too much work.

I thought, “Meh, I’d rather just stand here and space out.”

It wasn’t reactive or manipulative or pointed – I just couldn’t be bothered to make any effort.

So, one more anxiety-provoking milestone out of the way.

 

what that tidbit did

That little tidbit of information that I received…it has unlocked something for me .

Thank the lord.

There’s the anger. I have been angry a few times this past year but it’s been a FUCK YOU! anger; anger mixed with anxiety, stemming from heartbreak and the desire to beat someone’s head with a rock.

Not really.

Now it’s kind of a calm anger, more of a fuck you feeling; anger mixed with relief.

I have been waiting a long time to actually feel it. I’ve known on an intellectual level that I should be relieved, (and angry) but emotionally, I haven’t really had it for a sustained chunk of time.

I feel like I’ve unloaded the burden that I have been carrying this entire time – that somehow it was my fault – not the breakup, but the aftermath. He told me that the problem was that I kept losing my shit with him, which unfortunately, I did, but my response to that is, Dude, why did I keep losing my shit?

But now, I have this forgiveness for myself; I was not wrong in thinking that I deserved better; this really is him, this is who he is – it isn’t because I lost my shit; and no wonder I came unhinged.

I am not going to avoid anywhere, anymore, and I’m no longer willing to be ignored.

The friendships…I didn’t lose them, they lost me.

It was a fucked up situation and at least I can say that I kept my integrity. And that frees up a lot of space on my hard drive.

I really hope that this is it, the wrapping up of this year, this era, this saga.

This epic adventure.

what I found out

he fucking propositioned one of our friends, who is married, while we were together, in a drunken stupor, because he thought they should have babies together

he said that I would be okay, her husband would be okay, and our community wouldn’t mind

thank god we’re not together any more

no wonder this breakup was such a shit show

 

so here’s the thing

When I feel like I can’t talk about what’s really going on for me, I can’t write; I either go radio silent or I write trivial things.

So there are a few things going on that, as I hinted at yesterday, I can’t write about yet – good things.

But I also still have really hard times, and I haven’t been writing about them because I am afraid of what certain people will think – I am afraid to be vulnerable. I am afraid of being judged.

And I hate that because I know that my ability to be open, honest, and vulnerable is what makes me writing appealing to a lot of my readers.

No one wants to read Suzy Sunshine.

Why do I care?

Fuck if I know.

Well, I do know, but I keep telling myself, as do plenty of others, that I shouldn’t care what “those people” think.

My heart was so deeply hurt, so torn apart; I was so devastated. I lost my shit and was ostracized for it. A lot of people talked about me, judged me.

I wasn’t shown compassion when I needed it most. Come on people, if someone is coming unhinged left and right, maybe she needs a little love, not total avoidance. Not anger.

I felt shunned.

I still feel that way.

And of course, at some level I do understand that I need, and most certainly have, better people in my life than those that hurt me.

But it doesn’t undo the hurt and the shame. And it doesn’t keep me from crying before I have to go into work. And it doesn’t keep me from avoiding certain places because I am afraid of who or what I might see.

And I hate being this person; hate living in fear and anxiety.

And yes, it’s better than it was – I’ve been going to the coffee shop (a few times) which I have been avoiding since I stood in the kitchen and found out about The Party.

Honestly, that moment gave me PTSD.

I felt my heart explode into a million pieces.

Having a party for him two weeks into our split and intentionally keeping it from me was cruel. Especially coming from the gal who had set her sights on him while we were still together.

When an entire family was grieving, the whole community rallying around one of those people to the exclusion of the other 4 sent a message whether it was intended to or not.

Sides were chosen.

And I was the bad guy for coming unhinged.

Again, I question why I still care so much about it. But the wound is so raw.

So here I am, talking about what is really going on for me and feeling like a fool because it is still going on for me.

I feel pathetic and I feel like putting myself out there just gives them more ammunition…

…more fodder for ridiculing me.

And the reality is that they are all probably over it and not even thinking about me any more.

And, it’s been close to a year so maybe I am ridiculous to still be thinking about them.

But I am. I still hurt. I still have anxiety. I still fall apart.

And that’s just the way it is.

For now.