Sad
Terrified
Vulnerable
March 3, 2012 found those emotions waging an epic battle for dominance in my shattered heart. The volunteer clean-up crew made up of family, close friends and church acquaintances were hard at work photographing, inventorying and hauling off pieces of my life. The menacing dumpster sitting downstairs on the front lawn seemed like an unquenchable beast eager to take more from me than I wanted to give. I tried to answer questions from multiple people and make 5-second decisions about what should stay and what should go without letting the emotions spill over and render me useless. But the reality was that the place I had called home for almost 5 years was being systematically emptied before my eyes and I was on the verge of a melt down.
The previous 3 months had already pushed me to my limit. I was still recovering from neurosurgery, then a layoff, depleted finances from both AND I was trying to adjust to the new job I had just started one week earlier. The fire was the final blow. I was raw and tired with burns on my hands and a sooty cough to constantly remind me of my desperate escape. And then there was the smell. It permeated everything - my hair, my clothes, my jewelry, my car - I couldn't escape it. It was a trigger that took me back to a traumatic and jarring experience, one that I continue to relive in nightmares or at odd moments when I hear a siren or smell the sickeningly sweet, sooty, plastic scent that I thought was gone for good.
Despite how hard the "Job Special" has been to endure (I hope I don't have to experience more similarities to his tragedy.) the absolute most excruciating part was the loss of privacy. Watching people sort through the things that defined me made me feel violated and on display as if all of my flaws, quirks and weirdness had been painted in neon colors across my naked body. As a staunch never-nude you can imagine how horrifying it was to feel like I was running around naked for the world to see! Thankfully I lead a VERY boring life so there was nothing all that embarrassing to be discovered. I did have way too many cases of green tea that my friends still laugh about, but other than my nephews being forced to photograph AND TOUCH some of my unmentionables there wasn't too much that was cringe-worthy. And my nephews' PTSD not withstanding, the looks on their faces as they touched my lingerie make me laugh to this day, one of only a few good memories I have from that week.
It takes me ages to process experiences and then open up about them, and even then I am very choosy about what I share and with whom. I needed help after surgery, I needed help as I waded through the scary world of unemployment and then I needed even more help to recover from the fire - a place to live, financial assistance, help cleaning up the destruction and help simply getting through the long days and lonely nights. Obviously I had to work, so I dutifully drove to the office, put in my 8+ hours and drove to my temporary home, but the aftermath of my overwhelming need and overexposure was brutal. As difficult as it was to lose control, being in a place of such vulnerability and at the mercy of so many others was gut-wrenching. I did not handle it well and responded by withdrawing. I intentionally disconnected in an effort to protect myself and regain some control. Had I not been living with dear friends I would have likely stopped talking to anyone other than co-workers.
I was terribly angry at God and what I considered to be his cruel sovereignty. In a span of 3 months my health, my wealth, my possessions and my sense of security had all but disappeared. I lived in constant fear that what actually mattered to me the most, my family, friends and dog would all be ripped away from me next. I tried desperately to maintain a positive attitude, to focus on the good things in my life, but the truth was I was suffocating and the only air available was toxic. If I wasn't careful it would kill my soul just as it had almost killed my body.
Summer found me content only when I was at home with Zeus, enjoying the stillness of my remodeled apartment. I had no tolerance for noise, commotion or the frivolity of life and my temper was out of control. I just wanted to rest and be alone. I stopped attending church, and the fact that no one really seemed to notice made it easier to stay home each week. I stopped meeting friends for lunch or dinner; I quit calling as often as I used to and I took days to respond to emails. A few friends were concerned that I was suffering from depression, and while there may be an element of truth to that, I still say it was a severe case of overexposure, in my "professional" opinion.
Now that the cool days of autumn have arrived I've dipped my toe back into the social waters. I'm slowly emerging from my self-imposed exile. I've attended a few parties recently, and even though I was the biggest dork in the room at least I went. It's still hard. I still feel removed from the world around me, but I'm trying and that's the best I can do for now.
I am grateful for so much and fully cognizant of the fact that my life could be a million times worse, and I have learned more than I could have ever imagined, but I'll post about all of that later. First I felt that it was important to honor the difficulties of these experiences; to be honest about the agony of the fight. I may have walked away with a limp from wrestling angels, but in the process I found peace and an intimacy with God that I hope will change me for the better.
