here's the thing...

first off, mich, azzy, and dizzy -

ladies, you rock. i know that there are some people i can count on to make me smile, even when i'm feeling rather murderous. even when i want to strangle the first living thing that comes within arm's reach. even just being able to express it here makes me feel better. or, at least, i feel like i've released something so i'm not holding it in, and there's just something about a circle of women who can understand that. and yes, boho mom, even though i know you haven't had a chance to respond, you're included in that, too. *nod*

so anyway, the thing that had me so...whatever, and as a result, this "whatever" had me angry. well, it still has me angry, come to think of it. but i've finally actually told my parents, which now makes it fair blog game. something strikes me as wrong if i blog about something huge like this without first breaking the news to my parents. of course, holding it in probably contributed to the whole walking rage thing i have going on.

i still have to hold it in, but at least now i can blog about it, which means i can put it into words. not even being able to put it into words this past week has really been grating on me until i'd just been walking around feeling raw and...well, murderous.

so, um, i'm kind of moving to idaho. like, in two months. possibly sooner.

yes, idaho boy asked me, and we talked about it. and no, it's not like i'm "just moving for a man," which i've been accused of repeatedly, and in varying tones of disgust. it's actually a really good career move. could you say that you'll make roughly two to four grand a month shaving dog butts if you moved to some state that's located beyond the ass end of Bum Fuck Nowhere? would you say that it's a good career move if suddenly you found yourself with the chance to do so?

i thought so.

anyway, what had me in a walking rage was the simple fact that i'll be leaving portland. i'll be leaving my home, the first place where i built --with my own hands, my own effort, my own sweat and heart-- the first place where i was ever truly happy. like, where i finally found for the first time what Happiness is. the first place where i could look down at my feet, solidly connected with terra firma, and say this is mine.

the first place where i heard, "it is perfectly fine to be you," and those people meant it.

and no one wants me to leave. half the time, even i don't want me to leave. but like i said once to *m*: "sacrifice is merely giving up something in order that something even greater might be obtained." and i meant it then, and i still believe it now.

but i also know that this is going to be a very and increasingly painful process. i'm only now coming to realize that perhaps my root structure isn't so much like salvia divinorum as i first believed. somehow, even without me realizing it, perhaps i have grown roots like the big-rooted springbeauty. i know that whenever i attempt --in preparation for the move-- to pull at a small section of my root system, it feels like i'm trying to rip off my own limb.

and there's really no one i can talk to about it. everyone i talk to here would say that it's a big red flag screaming that i'm not ready to move. in all fairness, following that line of thought is the simple fact that i'll never be ready to move away from here. ever.

but that's not what i want. yes, when asked, in a perfect world, i will sprout amazing roots here, bear children, own a house, do all the regular american, suburban things here, start a family, become known as mrs. whoever and have all the neighborhood children love me and throw block parties, move into bigger and more comfortable homes and get promoted...all that happy crap, and then finally die here and have my ashes buried somewhere nearby.

i think we all know that delena has learned by now that the world isn't perfect, and life isn't fair. but godsdammit, living a fair life should amount to something.

i've never been with someone who actually wanted to uproot their lives and relocate for me. for some outlandish reason, this right pisses me off.

of course, i've tried to talk to *m* about this, and i get instant responses of how it hurts him to hear it, and he already feels bad enough, he doesn't need to feel worse. "don't say that," he says. of course, i hear, "your words hurt me." so i've held my tongue.

and nearly exploded from the pressure.

the other night *m* couldn't sleep, and he kept me awake. not that this is hard to do, what with all the practice i've had sleeping...being insomniac and all. but we made love that night, partially, i think, because there was nothing better to do and we were both awake, but whatever. it was short, but that didn't matter. this was *m*, and so of course all of my love for him, and all my emotions, come burbling up to the surface and i realize that i cannot go any further. do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars...until i've gotten all of this other crap out of me.

but i knew i couldn't do that in front of *m*, either, because apparently my own heartache makes him feel badly enough. and when, i ask you, have i ever put myself before anyone else, except in cases of extreme self-preservation? emotionally, the answer is "never."

so i got up, got dressed, got my car keys, and went for a drive. i wanted to go across the river into vancouver. i wanted to go to the place where i'd tied myself to the land with the strongest spells i know. but my subconscious took me a different route, and i found myself in the neighborhood of my old house in northeast portland.

my heart caught in my throat. my heart was slamming so hard against my ribcage i could actually feel my arms trembling in time to its furious staccato beat. the car lurched as i downshifted, as i found i'd suddenly forgotten how to drive a manual again. thank all the gods it was the wee hours of the morning, otherwise i might've just caused me a traffic accident.

i pulled over and stared. just stared.

there, beneath that tree, i'd laughed and talked on the phone to an old friend of big *c*'s. i was barefoot and loving the feel of my Home beneath my feet. i told him i was happy, and at that moment i realized i truly was. and there, in that front yard, many of our friends had gathered to spruce up the landscaping for a fund raiser. that window there, with the air conditioner, was my former roomate's room. and the windows below? that was *a*'s and my room, with the door to the side of the yard that never got used. and there, across the street, was the sidewalk where the bus let me off after work every afternoon, right past the safeway that was the familiar landmark for giving people directions. the familiar sounds of the neighborhood at night, the sight of it, and the memories, undid me.

up and out, the tears i didn't even know where there crashed like a tsunami against the pittance of a barricade i'd had up all this time. there was no buildup, no slow warming to it. no, the wail tore out of my throat so hard i thought for sure my throat had ripped open. i sobbed and sobbed, my hands still on the steering wheel, unable to move. my tears soaked my hair, my shirt, trailed down my chin, down my chest, to pool beneath my right breast like greasy sweat in a houston summer.

i don't know how long i sat there in my car and cried. i only know that the pain in my chest, of my heart, grew so unbearable i was clutching at it with both hands, trying to reach through flesh and bone to squeeze the source of the pain itself. as if that could alleviate the ache. it was so fierce i couldn't breathe, but i couldn't stop crying, either. i grew dizzy, and my eyes felt like they were bulging and there was a ringing in my ears, but i don't think i was capable of panic at that moment. the tears wouldn't stop for me to catch my breath.

i've only cried like that once before in my life, and it was towards the end of the Summer of Funky Kali Love, when the last piece finally fell apart. life as i knew it was over, then.

life as i know it is over now. and all i've built, all i've done, all i've risen above and all i've become...my family, oh, my family...

it's no secret my family is the only reason i didn't kill myself last year. they are my rock and my salvation. if i am the arrow, they are the bow from which i've flown true.

when i reach out a hand to stabilize myself, when i feel unsure or afraid, they are what my fingers touch and i am sure and stable again. sometimes i don't even need to reach out. i just need to remember they're there, and it is a comfort to me. knowing my parents are only forty minutes away is sometimes all i need to feel confident in times when i would crumple in insecurity.

and i've been able to share none of this with anyone. once upon a time, the old delena would have had no difficulty keeping all this inside, but this past year i've had much in the way of practice sharing my feelings, expressing them, and accepting all of it. and now, i don't know how i could ever have survived being so repressed before. it's made me physically sick, and i know i've been absolute hell to live with, but i can't find it in me to care. all i care about is how being ripped away from my family feels inside.

i know it's my choice. *m* asked, and i said yes. and i want it. i do. but it's a painful process, and it's only going to get worse for a long time. and i need to freely be able to say "ow," without being guilt-tripped or scolded with, "well fine, don't leave, then."

it hurts. it hurts like hell. i need to be able to rage. i need to be able to cry. i need someone to hold me while i cry. i need someone to offer to get ice, maybe a band-aid. i need to hear, "yes, it hurts now, but it'll be okay soon and in the meantime, i'm here. i'll help you through this."

i need that right now, because it hurts, and i'm afraid, and so far, right now, i don't have anyone to talk to. that, i think, is the source of the anger. i don't like being angry. i don't want to be angry. i want to be loved and reassured.