Simply sitting with my emotions, feeling them and processing them was unavoidable as a solo dweller; even with five magazine subscriptions, Netflix and a constant supply of red wine. But, according to my therapist, sitting with my emotions was exactly what I needed to do in order to heal. This was a complicated task to wrap my brain around because I was certainly feeling stuff but I didn't feel as if I was any closer to healing.
I felt like the living embodiment of every negative feeling you could think of. Humiliated. Disrespected. Resentful. Worthless. Abandoned. Insecure. Frightened. Suspicious. Untrusting. Guarded. Insignificant. Unloved. Misled. Hurt. Add to that an endless cycle of sadness which turned to anger which turned to hatred and dissatisfaction with everyone, everything, every situation and every experience. How disemboweling to finally arrive at a place of forgiveness only to find out that the depth of deceit ran far deeper than a drunken 1-night stand.
I was already used to living and performing under the duress of PMSD (post-marital stress disorder) which my psyche learned to strategically navigate using a brand-spankin’ new disorder: MPD (multiple personality disorder). I never knew which Keex would emerge on any given day or for any given performance. So, what would it be today; the day I had to face my EX for the 1st time since all his dirty laundry got aired out to dry?
In New York, I was to re-claim my happiness, re-discover my true self, take control of my life and live my passions. After all, NY is the city of dreams. But instead, I was like a soulless corpse walking aimlessly through the streets; with no direction and no plan. I so badly wanted to get from Point A to Point B, but Point A felt like quicksand with no mercy. It was consuming me slowly while I gasped for air.
