Yes, I love the song, “Sara,” and shared it for that reason. There’s another one. It being about Stevie Nick’s muse got me thinking that I’d lost my own. She’d stayed behind when I moved, maybe. All I knew was that I couldn’t find the words. See, out of the blue last week, a friendly acquaintance–we worked together years ago–reached out to tell me she was getting divorced.

I immediately offered sympathy and services as listener if needed, and sent her my divorce lawyer and therapists’ phone numbers. Not long after our IM session, I meditated. In the midst of it, a swell of emotion, the pain and suffering I endured for four years, walloped me in the time it takes to blink from blinding sun. It hurt. Perhaps, I had channeled this friend’s pain, too.

A cold, heavy sadness blanketed me, sadness that she was at the starting gate of a long race where crossing the finish line killed her marriage. And shame, that for some time I grew angry with her for laying this on me. We’d seen each other once since my return to the east coast. I got no response from emails I sent afterwards; five or six years had passed since that mall lunch.

Now, I wagered, the “divorced friend” might prove useful. As I said, uncharitable thought. It passed. Still, I floundered at the news of her divorce. A trigger. For two days I isolated in my new city apartment, forcing self-care and productivity while imprisoned by batty thoughts. Fucking feelings. I feel too much of the wrong things, wretched chemicals.

I emerged Wednesday with a shaky but growing uptick in mood, and Thursday proved delightful, but that’s another post. Happy me proved short lived, though, as sibling drama ensued last night via text of all things, but that, too, is another post. Or not. I’m tired of thinking up new ways to describe the same shit. I’m tired of these people known as family. How wicked. So I let another one go. Weight lifted, feet grounded, sure this release would serve us both well.

I want to play Hamlet.


Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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