My Truth. My Journey.

It's been one month.

When the cool air and warm sun hit my face this morning on our way to breakfast, the gravity of the past 6 weeks hit me; it has been one of the loneliest periods of my life for many reasons, but my journey through the darkness has been an interesting one and has challenged me in ways I wasn't expecting--life is really good at doing that, eh?

Anyway. Breakfast at our usual place never felt so necessary--a visceral parting of the clouds.

And I'm happy to feel the simple pang of hunger in my belly again. Relieved I can eat without force or nausea. I'm content to walk to and from both old and new places, forever an explorer of my own city. I've lost and continue to lose what feels like a lot of hair. I cry every time I wash it because I know what's soon to follow, but my soft bald spots are not the true cause of my tears. I cry because I feel a total loss of control--over my body, and the balancing of my emotions; my dark thoughts feel heavier than they ever have and all the trusty tools in my toolbelt don't seem to be workin' their usual magic.
I've had some of the most difficult conversations yet with the people I love, I've unveiled my darker layers and it's all been really hard work, but I've also been truly seen and more importantly, met by those (my) people, and we've reconnected where we had been previously short-circuiting.

A dear coworker caught up with me this week and asked how I've been feeling, how treatment went etc. When I shared my hurts and disappointments with her, I felt heard--because she met me there, in the shithole that is often chronic illness, and she shared her compassion and understanding through offering up her experiences with her own illness which I hadn't been privy to. It is a very powerful thing to feel heard, to be met at the loneliest parts of your being, especially if your brain has been trying to convinvce you that no one cares or understands.

Vulnerability and connectivity have taken over most of my brainpower lately in case that isn't obvious. As such, both my library of Brene Brown books and my journal have been getting a lot of action (insert Lee-Anne-style dirty joke like "one of us should be!" here)
I've also been delightfully lost in music/lyrics spanning all genres. Music has always done a world of good for me no matter what kind of wave I'm riding, but the recent Coldplay album release has breathed new life into me. Specifically the song "Champion Of The World".
Love him or hate him, Chris Martin has always had a special way of speaking directly to me through his lyrics and this song is no exception--I want to share it with those of you who may not have heard it or even given it a second thought. Because in one way or another, you are all champions of the (my) world, and my hope is that you remember that/it when you feel lonely, low, or afraid; I hope it gives you strength and births even more courage within you to keep going. Because it has done that for me.

To the people who know me best (and have seen me at my worst), I want to say a massive heartfelt thank you. Again.
For entertaining my silliness, for your ear when I need to talk. the. shit. out of things, for your shoulder when the tears roll, for the slumber parties, and tea times...but mostly, I want to thank you for never giving up on me even when it seems I'm giving up on myself; for challenging me in new, unexpected, and sometimes uncomfortable ways all. the. time. I truly feel as though our connections grow deeper because of it, and I definitely don't feel as lonely as I did a few weeks ago.
Thank you for seeing me, hearing me, and meeting me in the places it's scariest to go to. Because I know it's difficult for you too.
I love you all more and more for and because of it, and I hope you never underestimate the impact(s) you have on my life. And as usual, my overly sentimental heart will do its best to always remind you, the champions of my world, for helping me be a champion too.

Love,

L

It's a very strange feeling to be back in Greece. Some of you may remember my first trip here. A seemingly lengthy two and a half months full of emotional struggles back in 2008 when I initially met this part of my (new) family. George (bio dad) and I spent the first two weeks of that holiday alone on the main floor flat awaiting the arrival of my Grandparents. Everything around and inside of me was new, and on top of that, I was falling in love with James who was thousands of miles away.

When I came back in 2010, the house was quieter - we had lost my Yiayia. My mornings were somber, my ears constantly searching out her gentle sounds. When I would come home from an exciting and adventurous day, she wasn't here to ask me about all I had seen and done. 3 years I knew her. 3. We were cheated.

And here I am again. This time though, we have lost my Pappou. It was rather sudden - a span of a few months. Cancer. We said our goodbyes back in Toronto, in a room with the most spectacular view of the Toronto skyline. I held his hand, said a lot of things I should've said years ago, and kissed his full head of salt and pepper hair.

7 years isn't enough time.
I want to stomp my feet and toss myself around like a toddler in a fit of anger screaming, "It isn't fair! It isn't fair!", but that sort of thing is frowned upon when one is soon to be 33.

I stay on my own in the main level flat now. George above, Fivi, Nikos, and Dion below.
It's eerily quiet, but I rarely feel alone. In the middle of the night, I am awoken by the loud barks of the street dogs and I'm reminded of the now empty room next to me. Pappou's snores merely echos in my mind, the faint image of him tending to the garden, of him sitting across from me on the patio while we gorge on figs and he talks more than at any other time.
Yiayia's soft loving words wash over my skin, they race up and down the hallways, and in the dining room, they force my fork reminding me to eat, eat, eat.
In many ways I know they are all but gone. That what they have given and left with and inside of each of us is their legacy and we will carry that with us always.

But today.
Ohh, today.

I miss them so much.

Mom sent me this via text message while she was in the recovery room last night:

I am thinking about you and want you to know I am so proud of you! Not because you got the job as your work and dedication are obvious and they are lucky to have you, but because you always decide what you want and persist until it becomes reality. I am truly blessed to have a soul such as yourself to call my child! I love you so much! I may have been dealt a less than perfect health card, but I was dealt Aces in the kidlet hand! xoxo

I'm so friggin' lucky.

my days are full of unspoken emotional contracts
heavy with promises prone to failure and subsequent definitely maybe dissolution

a state of constant disillusion

i remember his heart - like a baby behind bars
and beating like a steady drum
i could hear every thought passing through him where his love was meant to be

unfamiliar to the routine of his own lock down, he fills his head with delusions and a military approach to any human connection. the enemy is never far, but his tactics have yet to fail him.
he's all business.

once i was his passenger
too late to learn that i was just a hitchhiker on the dead-end road to love,
unrelenting

the only hope left
is for tender words to remain on my headstone

but it doesn't matter to anyone but my whole universe.

ironic though,
now that i think of it

he was always his happiest behind me.

words of cashmere
float from my mouth, falling on deaf ears
while
my heart laced with betrayal, bathes in the memories

we're barely breathing

the struggle to deny your existence is futile
(foreboding) images branded on my flesh
in my mind
my
every
unfolding moment

i open doors to crippling silences
i wake from dreams with my insides upside down and raging

never close enough to sense any reason

i want those pieces back, to be whole again
but there is no refund on my love
no exchange on time well wasted
and extraordinarily poor choices

only the day-to-day
and the same old tactics


why are you so hard to forget,
when i'm impossible for you to remember.

i want to come out the other side.
to satisfy this appetite that craves only
love

and mild amnesia.

I used to believe in the strength behind those eyes, in his words that were spoken as softly and with as much love as my entire being could survive. In a myriad of ways, he was it for me, but nothing, nothing could exceed those love letters.
Those words were the only way he could be freed.
At the time, they were his only way to my heart.

Our love, boldly caught up in the tides of the Aegean, carried home on weathered wings, held sacred and stretching...

He bound me, unfamiliar, to a place I never thought I'd go.
And then shattered my heart with every inch of evil he could muster.
It appeared to be easy.
He was so efficient with his time and with his words, always - they sliced right through my core with such precision
but I often wonder if he gave much thought to what was leaving his mouth.

Does (did) he ever read those letters and believe in them?
Because I remember the night in the underground. I remember it all...

I'm there, mister.
I can finally smile

Because it happened.
And it was beautiful.

So this song's for you...

I packed it all.
The pictures, the ticket stubs, every smell, memory, or phrase,
every inside joke, all the ideas, thoughts and secrets shared.
I changed my bedding, made new friends, cut my hair, planned a trip.

I've kept myself busy, so busy in fact that I often believe it's behind me - packed up and buried like a coffin - death, it's (just) 6 feet under.
And there are times it's all so far away. I can't reach far enough to grasp even one memory.
I can't remember what the love felt like that once poured out from me because in those moments I become overwhelmed with sadness and grief, and questions, and I sink - lower. deeper. further away from all logic. from me and my relentless, unforgiving, persistent need to get. over. it.
To move on.

But there are days.
There are days when it all comes flooding back to me. And I drown in the tears, from the wonder, from the heartache, the lies. the soul crushing, debilitating and seemingly endless pain of it all.
I can't get far enough away from his voice - every word echos inside of me.

There are days that 6 feet simply isn't deep enough.

And I wonder. How do you pack up the stain it leaves on your heart - on your best days and worst nights?
Because it just couldn't fade away fast enough.