My clothes fit tighter than I'd like and two days ago I found myself sobbing to my wife over stir-fry about how "disgusting" I felt standing in front of a mirror. I am tired of weighing 275 lbs. But more than that, I'm tired of being so damn angry so often. I'm tired of being short-tempered and overbearingly opinionated. I'm tired of metaphorically throwing my weight around to get what I want and being afraid of not being in control. I'm tired of being impatient and silently judgmental. I want so much to be free.
I'm not sure when it began. I don't remember all these things being so evident the last time I weighed 275 lbs. As far as I can remember, I remember being angry. A decades worth of self-help books, talk therapy, hypnotherapy, strength-training, yoga, meditation, etc - and anger was what I always came back to. Angry at this person or that person, myself, God, WHOMEVER. A fire of anger always felt like it burned no matter what I did. Like a gas pilot-light, small but present, potentially dangerous if blew out. Who would I be without the anger? Without that fire? Is there another fire? Can the gases be exchanged? It used to be rage, I have come a long way and dimmed it down to anger; it's an offspring I can examine with a little more curiosity and less fear. Had I healed the anger prior to 2012 and fueled another after that time? Maybe. I've never been one to believe in mistakes. Instead, I always seem to find good among the suffering, but after some deep reflection I came to the conclusion a few days ago that I think my moving to Saint Johns in 2012 was a mistake. Maybe the only mistake I feel I've ever made. One that cost me years worth of progress, self-love, and relationships. She was a mistake. My staying was a mistake. The only one good thing I came up with was meeting Sabrina. Some could argue that if I hadn't moved here, I wouldn't have met my the love of my life. I have thought that myself. However, in my gut, I feel I would have met her without moving to Saint Johns, our paths would have crossed somewhere. Our journey always felt destined, as if we were always suppose to be.
It seems no sooner that we feel we've mastered a skill, the Universe always presents a final challenge - a test of our new found acquired skill and resources. I think Angie was a test, and I failed. I know I ran to her as a means of escaping the pain of losing someone else, and the memories that surrounded me there. She always knew that, as did I. One of us should have stopped it. But it took me 3 1/2 years, something like 16 break-ups, countless fights, secret emails and phone calls to ex's, and an all-out affair for me to utter the words "I choose her." It took way to long for us to end that relationship. and apparently, I'm still bitter about the things I lost - pieces of myself, relationships, my community, my connection to God. It's all coming back now, and I'm ready to be done being angry. It's just kind of there and unproductive. I am ready to for joy and gratitude to fill those angry spaces.
I'm getting ready to leave this town (presumably). Today, my wife and I listed the house Angie and I bought together but the home her and I built. Today, we listed the house we came home to as newlyweds; put up-for-sale the walls that saw me fall in love with the most perfect little girl in her cadillac pink bedroom, and made public the yard that will forever hold two of the animals I have loved most in my lifetime (among a couple others.) Our sign will go up Sunday. Parades of people will walk through through these rooms with new aspirations and new dreams. They will step across bare hardwood floors that will never tell the story of how much I loved and fought for them to show their bones. I am ready.
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