The ground was shifting beneath me again. I may be a "spiritual gangster" and shit, but my mind was still filled with uncertainty and my bones ached with the threat of loneliness which I knew would only intensify over the next two years while living on a private resort island in the Caribbean with a population of three hundred.
The fact that my EX (yes, my EX-husband) breezed in and out of the city recently and we enjoyed conversation over lunch seems almost inconsequential. It's only real relevance was the fact that it validated my possession of a fully healed and optimally functioning heart that is open to loving and being loved. Closure complete.
I never told my therapist about my botched attempt at lesbianism. I didn’t want her to think I was crazy. Instead, I devoted a complete session to divulging the details of my relationship with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Dwayne might not have known the exact depth of our relationship but I was fully devoted to my crush as it served as a giddy escape from my current reality.
I knew the best remedy for my Post Marital Stress Disorder would be performing. So I was super-excited for my first day of rehearsal at my new gig. It was a full decade later (add infatuation, love, marriage and divorce) that I was walking back into the same exact dressing room that housed so many memories.
Not only was I alive, but my EX was immediately at the scene of the accident with his arms desperately wrapped around me as if he never wanted to let me go. I didn’t know exactly how or what to feel about his admitted fear of losing me forever. After all, he had chosen to let me go when he asked for divorce. But there he was, clinging to me as if his own survival depended upon it. I guess a little reminder about mortality puts life’s priorities into perspective.
