Coping in LA – Part 2

Part 2: Surviving a Sh*t$torm

After my personal series of unfortunate events, my friend Rachel said, “You almost have to laugh at this point. It’s kind of hilarious.” Suddenly, everything did seem funny to me.  One night when I was feeling particularly shitty, I ordered zucchini fries with ranch dip from Astro Burger. I took my delicious zucchini friends home and crawled straight into bed. Sometimes, when you’re depressed you take the easiest route, (aka zoning out,) so I turned on Netflix. This almost explains why I fell asleep fully clothed and woke up with an empty ranch container stuck to my face. Ok, it doesn’t really explain it. But if you’ve been there, you’ll understand.

As the dust began to settle from my string of disasters, the breakup hit me harder. I have rarely committed to a relationship emotionally. For me, it always felt safer to keep one foot on the ground and not be head over heels for someone because there’s much less risk involved.

Looking back, this tells me I must be a complete and utter pansy when it comes to being vulnerable and taking chances. But this time, I had pushed myself to let go and travel with my feelings, so I fell hard and fast and was completely swept off my feet. It was terrifying, exciting, and intoxicating all at once. For the first time, I was actually scared and nervous to be with someone, whereas I normally feel in control. Then, I fell back to earth when he suddenly called a halt. The whole “it’s not you, it’s me” bit. For me, it was such a 180 from where we started, I guess you could say I had emotional whiplash. He moved on, and well, I was devastated.

If I may digress, I distinctly remember making the decision at age 13 to never cry in public or in front of anyone because I didn’t want to be perceived as the sensitive and emotional person I had always been. So, I bottled that noise up. I decided that crying was weak. Nowadays, I struggle to muster a tear even at a funeral. But after being dumped, I found myself having feelings that are usually foreign to me. I would get emotional in the most inappropriate places and times. Looking back, some of it’s funny. Embarrassing, but funny. But, more than that, I was surprised at how nice people were to me, especially when I looked crazy, and I knew I looked crazy.

I lost about five or six pounds on the world famous breakup diet. You know, the one where you lose weight because you’ve lost the will to live. At any rate, despite my loss of appetite I decided to take a trip to In-N-Out burger and chow down on my depression. The soft-spoken teenager at the window could tell that I had been crying and as I was about to pull away, he said, “I hope your night goes better… You’re really pretty…” OK, not the smoothest lines, but he was sweet… and I appreciated it. Nothing like a sympathy compliment from an awkward teen who feels sorry for you.

Then, at 7-Eleven deciding what kind of gum to buy, I was suddenly wracked with an emotional outburst. It wasn’t a full-on breakdown, but it was embarrassing. As I took my gum up to the counter, the cashier—a nice, older Indian gent—could see that I was very upset. As he handed me my change he said, “Hope you have a better night. God Bless You.” Once again, unexpected support from a stranger in a city known for being pretty cold.

While we are on the topic of support, a friend of mine who knew about the disasters…bizarre texts from strange men thinking I was an escort, the bugs, the flood, the rats, car accidents, getting dumped, etc… kindly offered me his quaint condo in the mountains while he was out of town. He figured I could use a get-away and said I could write music there and hike. It made my commute to work longer but it was an awesome offer, so I accepted. Being alone in this little mountain home with two dogs gave me a lot of time to reflect, and, of course, to cry. Which I was a pro at now. One night I stopped at an arts and crafts store and loaded up on googly eyes, colorful feathers, pipe cleaners, and so on. It was an impulsive purchase fueled by my desire to cheer the fuck up. And so, as a “Full House” marathon was playing on the TV, I helped myself to a bottle of rosé. A few glasses in, I found myself crying over the corniest, made-for-TV “feel better” speech Bob Saget was offering DJ Tanner. Honestly, I don’t know who I am anymore. I then opened up my friend’s fridge and promptly began decorating everything in sight. Every container, condiment, beer bottle, you name it. I gave every item in his fridge a face and hair. Googly eyes and feathers on EVERYTHING. I even gave his microwave a face. I found myself laughing and crying, laughing and crying. It’s like I was crazy, bi-polar, and menopausal.

After I finished redecorating his fridge, I moved on to his drawers and filled each one with party streamers. I moved to the bedroom where I put glow-in-the-dark stars on his bedroom wall that spelled out “Hi.” I also put a dozen glow-in-the-dark rubber eyeballs in his bed under the covers. I polished off that bottle of rosé and amused myself to no end. I laughed and cried so much that evening, and surprisingly, felt much lighter the next day. My goofy antics and Full House marathon were weirdly cathartic. My friend Jon says it was my version of a “me day.” There was one consequence… Jon, who let me stay in his home and who already thought I was strange and isn’t afraid to tell me so, now thinks I’m quite possibly the strangest person he’s ever met. His texts over the next couple of days read: “I’m still finding streamers in my drawers, you asshole”. He loved it.

(Also, I’m not allowed back in his house anymore.)

I can’t say that I’m all the way through this thing, but I am pleased to report that I’m having fewer breakdowns at 7-Eleven and while pumping my gas. Furthermore, I’m writing new music, doing a blog, taking a comedy class, enjoying my amazing friends, dating again (oooh), and trying to laugh as much as humanly possible. The pain still hasn’t disappeared but the blessings are plentiful. Shit could always be worse. Onward and upward. 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

xo

Lia