I lost it. My so very important ring that reminded me that there is always a me yet to come. But last night, when I went to fondle it like I have for 4 years, I looked down and it wasn't there. Since I've lost weight it has been loose, and when it's cold it will fly off very easily but last night it made me so damn sad. I've always liked the theory that when you lose something like that it's because you no longer need it. In this matter, however, there will always be a me yet to come, so I ordered a new one in a new size. And on top of that, I found an artist on Etsy that does smaller rings like mine and ordered one that says "avere fiducia" which translates to "Have Faith".
I keep thinking about Dr. G asking me "Where is your faith in yourself?" and I'm ready to find some. I berate myself for my weaknesses and my failures and then today, when telling a co-worker about having had surgery awake AGAIN, this time far more intense, my co-worker and her client just stared at me like an alien and they both said "You are one tough cookie". It's amazing what kind of torture I can withstand that others seem to not understand at all: incredibly invasive surgery on rather private parts or on my eyes while wide awake... hearing your skin get cut with scissors, or smelling and feeling your skin get cauterized for about an hour, or feeling the tension of stitches being placed in tendons and then attached to very sensitive skin... yes, I had local anesthesia, but you can still feel cauterization I found out (the mighty hard way) and you can always feel the pressure. I will never forget getting a vena cava filter implanted over 4 years ago and feeling something snake inside a major artery... feeling the doctor wiggling and jiggling it around trying to snake it up the artery. I thought I would lose my mind. Now, that seems strangely silly. I've heard my eyelids be cut with scissors, I've felt them slice and dice me, filet me and pull me as tight as a drum, and here's the funny thing:
I cried about losing my ring.
I never shed a tear over the pain last week, though I did cry a bit when I blew a stitch because it reminded me of the misery of January through, oh, about April of this past year. But losing that ring tugged somewhere that no doctor can poke, stick, cut, burn or remove. That ring was a shiny reminder that I'm becoming a better me every day, even when it may look like I'm becoming a worse me. Every day I learn something about myself. As incredibly superficial as it sounds I'm ready to begin a fashion journey. I've never explored it because it was never really an option for me. I think I'm ready to and even though this sounds really stupid, it's a big step for me. It's actually acknowledging that I have changed... that I am in some way, some how, somewhat ready to embrace that I'm not exactly what I once was: the girl who so desperately wanted to be noticed but did everything to become invisible, or repulsive, or unattractive. What we think we want isn't what our scared phsyches want. I dreamt of being attractive, thinner, etc... and yet am completely unwilling to comprehend and am scared shitless that someone might think that of me.
Words that I longed for... to hear... to have someone think of me... now, when mentioned leave me dumbfounded. Thin? Me? No. I'm thinner than I was, but I'm still fat. Beautiful? Me? God no. I mean I know I look better than I used to, but... Desireable? Me? WTF, are you crazy? I mean, I'm not exactly a leper anymore, but desirable? Are you on crack?
This is my dialogue, 24/7. And to think that I am probably at least 25% more mentally grounded and healthy than most women... well, that's just scary.
So, with my new rings come new journeys. I'll be dressing differently. I might look like a hobo one day, or an executive the next, but I have to figure out who I am. In all ways. I will always be Lena. Fundamentally, I haven't changed. (Or so I've been told by most who know me pretty darn well. But if I have, please alert me... I like the me I have become thanks to all the shit, good and bad, that I've experienced, but if I've become something unpleasant or bad, by all means, slap it out of me.) I also know it might be a long journey to figure out who I am... whether it be what my style is, or who I am to become spiritually, or what kind of lover or wife I am to be, what kind of mother, friend, sister, aunt, hairstylist, etc... This journey will never cease until I cease to breathe.
And if I am the kind of woman who doesn't cry when her thighs are sliced open and tendons are poked and yanked, but cries over the loss of a ring that she had printed with the word 'The Me Yet To Come", I think I'm ok with that.
This Lena has had 4 hours of sleep in two days, and considering the journey is a hard one, me thinks I need to sleep. I love you, my friends, who loved me when I was miserable on the inside, looked miserable on the outside even though a grin was always plastered on my face, but no matter what, always knew she was blessed for having people like you all in my life. I love you for the fact that you are amazing people and that we all somehow found each other and each of you have made my family of choice so amazing... so incredible... so rich. I wish I could buy each of you a ring and have it embossed with "I saved Lena's life".
Because you have. And I thank you for it. Now it's my turn to save my own. And so far, so good.