Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Here’s how disability pride works. I’ve been home now for over four months. That’s a significant accomplishment, one many people doubted I could manage. I think a lot of people expected me to just roll over and give up, to build something new instead of returning to claim my life of 20 years.

But this is my home.

Written in these walls are the stories that I can’t explain
I leave my heart open
But it stays right here empty for days
She told me in the morning
She don’t feel the same about us in her bones
It seems to me that when I die
These words will be written on my stone

The line about not feeling “the same about us in her bones” just hits my heart. It is the way so many of us experience abandonement that’s not intentionally cruel or ugly, just two sets of expectations that don’t line up.

The challenge is that the repeated abandonment of neglectful and traumatic childhoods messes up our capacity to cope with abandonment. My therapist and I talk about this quite a bit, my overwhelming pile of moments and hours and months where I was abandoned by people I thought loved me, people who liked me, people who were just decent human beings. I thought.

Maybe trauma wrecks our capacity to abandon? Like we can’t even fuck up our relationships properly?

And I’ll be gone, gone tonight (Oh-oh-oh)
The ground beneath my feet is open wide (Oh-oh-oh)
The way that I’ve been holding on too tight (Oh-oh-oh)
With nothing in between

There’s a push and pull here, the desperation of not wanting to be abandoned again contrasted with the desire to flee, to abandon someone else and ultimately myself.

There is something in between holding on too tight and the free fall of no ground beneath your feet. But it is hard to grasp when you feel those opposites collide constantly.

The story of my life I take her home
I drive all night to keep her warm
And time is frozen 
The story of my life, I give her hope
I spend her love until she’s broke inside
The story of my life 

Time certainly froze for me. Losing six months of your ordinary life to six months of chaotic trauma is not a good swap, nor a simple one. It is complicated because there were moments of joy and gratitude with my friends where I was staying. I don’t wish those away, but they shouldn’t have happened. Right?

I thought I had built a life with someone who would never treat me like my family. I guess I used up my allotment of decency and just broke?  Was I always broke?

Written on these walls are the colors that I can’t change
Leave my heart open
But it stays right here in its cage
I know that in the morning
I’ll see us in the light up on the hill
Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still

My now-bedroom is a gorgeous blue. It was painted in 2012  after the ceiling collapsed. I think it’s the prettiest room in the house. The floor is lovely wood, laid in 2008.

So for a 1872 house, fairly new accommodations. I walk through the house, remembering why we chose each paint color and details of who painted when. I feel fortunate to be in a pretty room with few memories.

It is small, half the size of the master bedroom. But that’s okay. It doesn’t feel at all like a cage, it feels like a nest I never knew existed in this home of 19 years.

Serious note – consider sleeping in separate rooms to reduce friction. Snoring, lighting, clutter, blanket allocation, sounds … snap, they are resolved, you both sleep well, and it has zero negative impact on your intimacy. I will always have my own room forever, by my own choice.

The light on the hill is my cattic space. I need to be more diligent in working there. I was up there over the weekend and looked up to see a heck of a lot of cats just lounging and interacting.

Also, note to self, assemble the floor lamps. Light on hill.

And I’ve been waiting for this time to come around
But, baby, running after you
Is like chasing the clouds

I waited 196 days for this time to return home. I waited faithfully. I took every avenue possible to get myself home. I worked really hard. When the time came around to return home, it was tough. My father died the week prior. I got food poisoning. Barrier after barrier, then finally falling asleep in my own bed in my own home. With my own cats.

It’s been another 120+ days until this moment. Unpacking, relearning, assembling new things.

All I wanted/want was to come home. Read nothing more into this. Well, ok, I wanted desperately to see my cats.

After nearly 20 years in one home, these walls and rafters tell important stories about my life. I worked hard for them, good and bad. It wasn’t just me, but I was here and contributing and building.

In the video for this song, One Direction members share childhood family photos and recreate them as adults. The sad part is the fading away of their family members who have died. It makes no sense with the lyrics but then again I’m not a 12 year old fangirl. The images haunt me and do meld into the aching and longing of the song.

When I was kept out of my home for 196 days, I had two family photos. One from my parents wedding and one of me with my younger brother.

Mum died two years ago. My Dad died around day 175. My brother kicked me to the curb before the coffin lid changed.

The story of my life is that my entire family is gone. Any photo would now just be me, on my own. they are all gone. So I have to rely on myself and find strength where I feel disabled.

And time is frozen