The other day I read or heard something that struck a chord in me.
We desperately cling to that which defines us.
I got to thinking, what defines me?
What do I see when I look into the mirror, into my own eyes? Who is it that looks back at me?
I just don't know.
I see nothing but fog and haze where a person once stood. I am in flux. I am shattered pieces of a soul waiting for reassembly. I am a ghost.
What form I'll eventually take, I can't say. What will define me in the coming months?
Will I find something new to cling to, as I clung to my longing and my sadness in the Fall?
Will anything ever come close to affecting me as strongly again?
Because I've finally seen the truth about myself, I can look back at those weeks without fear. I'm more than a little ashamed of what happened to me, and more than a little sorry for feelings I've hurt and concern I've caused, but more than that, I'm amazed at how quickly the person I was evaporated. I'd have never believed that anything could affect me so strongly. Could essentially erase everything I was and turn me into this amorphous thing I see when I look into the mirror.
Those weeks gave definition to my life. Definition that, until then, was obvious and superficial. Husband. Stepfather. Divorced Man. Computer Geek. Pool player. Whoop de fucking doo.
It's no wonder I clung so fiercely to those feelings. They defined me more accurately than any external definition ever had:
And you know, all of that was really just the catalyst for the changes that took place inside me. If it hadn't happened then, it would almost certainly have happened some other time. I had gone stale. I was dying for change. All of my preconceived notions about who I was and what I wanted out of life - they were already obsolete way before it happened. All she did was provide the push I needed to step out of my old, comfortable shell and look for something better.
Or at least something different.
What kind of person will I be when my soul has been repaired? Probably pretty much the same person I've always been, at least on the outside. A little warmer, perhaps. Maybe a tad more open. More willing to take a chance. It's the changes on the inside that I'm excited about. I expect to be a better person. To not only get along with myself, but to actually like, dare I say love myself.
These are just guesses - what I hope I will become once I solidify.
I cannot rush these changes, these repairs. I've certainly tried. At times, I've even managed to fool myself into thinking I'd healed myself.
As John Belushi would often say, "But nooooooooooooooo!"
I'd stopped the bleeding, quelled the pain, but the healing only began then - it didn't end.
I look into the mirror and I search for a sign of what I'll become.