Yeah, that's right. I read the book "Eat, Pray, Love." by Elizabeth Gilbert. A friend of mine, "Shar'n", also my hair stylist, while I lived in San Diego kept telling me "Oh Sally, you've got to read it. It'll totally resonate with you!" Finally I did. And, yes, it did resonate with me - and I with it. Why, you ask? How, you ask? Well, I'll tell you why and how. Understand that I read this book a couple of years ago while at the tale end of a year and a half self-appointed working sabbatical in San Diego. Which I took for several reasons, including the desperate need for 1,500 miles of space between me and my perverted sociopath of an ex-husband (whom I shall call Mark Coldendark), my dysfunctional family of origin who judged and misjudged my every move, my sometimes selfish and demanding adult children who were projecting unfair amounts of blame and anger toward me, and my former lover (whom shall heretofore be referred to as "James Dime"). The difficult break-up of what was to me a very intense relationship Mr. Dime was the core impetus for the move. I had literally allowed myself to be drawn into the come-ons, lies and arms of James on the heels of ending a 20 plus year marriage to Mark. I totally respect and believe Gilbert's accounting of her own personal turmoil and subsequent healing process. However, what I experienced was magnified about a thousand, million, trillion times - if it's even possible to quantify it. Why a magnification of such magnitude? Primarily due to the fact that my marriage ended with children involved, and some of those children had been victimized by the sexual prediter that I had married. I too cried in a pool of snot on the bathroom floor. I too wailed and railed and begged the universe for guidance. I too disappeared into a new relationship shortly after my separation ensued. I don't totally regret said disappearance. It turned out to be a necessary evil. Why? Because it was a much needed sexual healing on the one hand, as well as a creative outlet on the other. It was the foil for learning lessons. This new guy, James Dime, was in the music business. He owned a recording studio which I will refer to as PackSand. He was also a writer and had an incredible sense of humor. We even developed a comic strip together. He referred to it as our 2 dimensional child. Between the laughter and the sex, it was difficult for me to accept the insane pain and tears that I discovered were 'part and parcel' to being in a relationship with James. Somehow, dealing with the betrayals and head games with that guy helped me to later ease into a deeper grieving over what happened with Mr. Coldendark. James Dime actually has this fantasy that comes into the picture after you have been sucked into his drama. Before you know it he's introduced you to a little game of his that I like to call "Queen of the Harem". It's a totally f'd up twisted version of the ol' King of the Hill game (no, not the cartoon). He gets under your skin in a seductive, almost cloying manner, and the next thing you know, after you've fallen in love with this character, he is proposing a new deal based on his inability to be in a monogomous relationship for longer than the span of half time in an NFL game. James, as I soon discovered, likes to keep several women stringing along at a time. It's a combination of reasons ranging from a deep undercurrent of masogynistic is apparently embedded in his dna, to a basic immaturity that encompasses being a kid in a candy store when it comes to womanizing, and the thrill of the hunt, an addiction to drama, childhood issues with his mother, and so on.... But, that aside. It's my story, not his. Like a couple of magnets from the Island of Misfit Toys, James and Sally (me) were destined to meet, gravitate toward each others brokenness and hopefully come away with some lessons learned. BUT, not until I had to chew my own arm off to break up with him. Over three years of drama with James preceded by 2 decades of an increasingly emotionally malignant marriage, which was further preceded by a 4 year abusive marriage to a cop (I'll call him Punchy McCopper) sent me over the edge for a while (details in future blogs).
So, anyway... back to Drink, Cry Sleep: Elizabeth Gilbert got a fully funded one year trip to Italy (Eat), India (Pray), Indonesia/Bali (Love). Me? I found comfort in San Diego. At first by consuming copious amounts of beer (mostly Corona), tequila (mostly Sauza Hornitos) and many fish tacos. (Drink). I cried alot (Cry). I found myself prone to lonely heart crying jags, and a prevailing sense of loss. If I were a weather report I would have been partly cloudy for darn near 3 years. I often cried myself to sleep. I had what I refer to as a walking nervous breakdown. On the surface, I was functioning (barely), while broken deep down inside - shattered, really. Elizabeth went to ashram's in India for weeks at a time, I went to an Indian Sweat Lodge somewhere between San Diego and Mexico - and thankfully did not die - but I did cry (more Cry). I read tarot cards and worked with psychics in Oceanside at Kindred Journeys. I went to drum circles on Moonlight Beach. I worked at a cool store called Vintage Religion. I got a sugar skull tattoo. I flew in a sailplane. Then I rested. (Sleep) I nursed many a hangover (more Sleep). I rested. (more Sleep). I got a personal trainer to try to shave off the evidence of the "Drink" part of my story. I began to walk - I just couldn't get back into running again for a while. I returned to yoga in the mornings. I got a big fluffy, comfy cloud of a bed (more Sleep). I got a lot of massages. I had a brief fling with a much younger man. Though my journey has not been as glamorous as Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love expedition, it was definitely interesting, funny, quirky and meaningful. I did not come away with a new love as quickly as Ms. Gilbert did with her Philipe (sp?). I wasn't ready yet. I am much older than she, and a little more worn around the edges, my experiences a bit more bizarre and colorful. And let's face it, pickin's are slim at my age (words of encouragement from my estranged brother whom I will call Jethro) My goal was/is not to 'get a man'. It's really about an inward journey of healing mind/body/spirit and living on my purpose. Though, truth be told, I sure wouldn't mind meeting a great guy and having a nice, sensual, meaningful long term realationship with him. Little Known Fact: Women are at their sexual peak between 45 and 55. I'm 50 and time's a-wastin'... YES, it's true. People think that because we are at our physical peak during teens/twenties that this can't be true! Wrong-o. At my age know what the hell we're doing, what we like and don't like, and how to please ourselves and our partners. Gone are the inhibitions, insecurities, uncertainties (and the bedroom gymnastics) of youth that are easily masked by outward beauty or youthful daring and bravado. Happily replaced by a deeper sense of self, confidence, comfort, and not worrying about getting prego! And, after going through hell and back, these traits can be fine tuned by allowing ourselves to feel the pain and then heal from the wounds. Well, enough for today. As usual I'm trying to fit 10 pounds of sh#t in a 5 pound bag!
Eat, Pray, Love or Drink, Cry, Sleep... whatever the case, it's all about processing , learning, healing, growing. We each process differently. The key is to make sure that you DO process and not just mask or bury. Process in your own way, and try to make it as healthy as possible. IF I were to do it over, I would opt for a little less of the Drink part of my processing. I certainly don't go out of my way to recommend it. But, in the end, there are no mistakes. It's the past and it's over. The only thing we have is n.o.w.
How are you processing your divorce or break-up?
Peace,
Sally Fry
(c)2009 All Rights Reserved.
Never drink alone... unless you're by yourself. - Unknown
