Seattle has been extraordinarily healing for me. In a lot of ways, I am happier than I have been in a long, long time.
And? Last night, in bed, I still could not fucking sleep. I tossed & turned & gnashed my teeth & generally flailed about and saw the sun rise through my window and finally fell asleep after dawn and woke up around 10. I had a lot of Sad Sad Missing My Sweet Sweet Boyfriend thoughts, and a lot of angry “Why did it have to go down like it did & why did he have to be mean & adolescent & try to make me hate him towards the end?” thoughts, and a lot of “WAAAH, why does it have to be like this in general?!” thoughts.
And. It can all be true.
I can be getting better, being happier & more productive, finally writing again, seeing sweet old friends & cuddling their cats, walking all over Capitol Hill, telling stories & cracking wise & laughing hysterically. I can pop into the leather shop & have a sweet conversation about John Preston with the cute faggots behind the counter & buy my first orange hanky. I can write 1,000 new good words. I can talk shit with Qwo-Li & Colin over iced mochas & cigarettes at the Gay Old Man Cafe that is basically the Seattle version of Twin Peaks but with coffee instead of booze. I can walk for miles and feel really good in my body and NOT have an awful fibromyalgia pain day and be joyous about being alive, moving & zipping around on sturdy legs that know how to get me anywhere. I can get cruised the way I always get cruised in Seattle, and smile back, even if I don’t take anyone up on their offer. I can get myself a red velvet cupcake at Cupcake Royale & sit next to a hot punk fag in eyeliner & give him a flirty smile. I can eat lemongrass pork w/ Elisabeth & Meagan, and we can see Ivy out the window of the restaurant and I can shout to her like the loud bitch I am, and Seattle can feel small & tender to me in the way that San Francisco does — so many of my old friends & history, all in one gorgeous place. Elisabeth & I can sit in Cal Anderson Park watching the moon get bigger & brighter, catching up on our last year like it has only been five minutes since we’ve seen each other. She can stop me on a street corner when I tell her how sad I’ve been, and say “Oh, Gina, can I just give you a hug? When you say that, I wanna give you a hug.” And it can be the sweetest moment, being held by an old friend like I didn’t even know I needed to be held, out on the middle of Broadway Street while drag queens bitch outside the bar & teenagers roll up to Dick’s Burgers. Later, Elisabeth & Meagan & I can drink apricot cider at their apartment late into the night, tell stories that make us laugh so hard we get stomach aches.
It can be a Perfect Day. And, then it can still be a hard night. There can still be the parts of me that are messy. That feel cracked and hurt and mad and fucked-up and wounded and hesitant to trust and scared. All of it can be true & real, the messiness & the happiness. The joy over what we had, and the sadness & anger that it’s over. If I am learning anything new from this break-up, it is just how incremental & slow healing is, and just how much there is still sweetness around me, even when some things feel awful & rough & lonely.
It is so simple, and it is so new, not giving myself a set of “Shoulds” about how I need to be. I don’t have to be Over It, and I don’t have to be Miserable. I get to be everything that I am in the moment. Angry & sweet, sad & joyous. Tender. Open to whatever comes next.