Four Sundays ago, my right elbow was whole. My heart perhaps not so integrated but more or less a plucky survivor, resilient, tough. I had just returned from Los Angeles from the wedding of one of my dearest friends. The ceremony and reception were simple and romantic, all blood red roses and murmuring mariachis. That Sunday afternoon I spent recovering from the food and the flight and getting the gossip about the previous day’s football game. After all, I had missed a chance to flirt with Beautiful, who at that moment, which now seems eons ago, was the only person on my mind besides San Jose. These days I’m lucky if I see San Jose at all and Beautiful has become a point of contention. My elbow will probably be scarred. I don’t know about my heart.
It has been a while since I have been depressed. I get the blues of course. Cloudy weather. Stressful job. A few new/old pounds. Not enough time. Not enough company. For the most part, though, I have been happy. In the last week, however, I have felt sad. In a matter of weeks, I have become simultaneously the object of someone’s affection and derision. I have gone from being a friend to being treated like an enemy. Without realizing it, I have broken a heart. I looked around and realized just how alone I am.
This isn’t entirely awful. On Tuesday morning, the fog was draped over the trees like gauze. In the darkness, the dogs and I strolled quietly, our breath coming out in white puffs. Then, from the left, a mere block from home, another dog and owner. Lucky regressed into his violent, unpredictable self. Talula panicked and cowered. Leashes tangling, the ground coming up to meet me. “Look what you’ve done” I shouted, more to myself, than to Lucky and the poor other dog owner, as pain shot through my left wrist, my suddenly hot right elbow, both knees. In that pathetic moment, a lone woman sprawled on the ground, I told myself that there was no one at home to worry about my wounds, that there was no one elsewhere worried about my sadness, that no one would help me stand, no one would clean the blood. It wasn’t a moment of tears or anger. It simply was. So I rose and headed home(“take up your mat and walk”.)
If only my old friend had told me how he felt about me all those months ago. But there’s no point in wasting time pondering the possibilities. I have to put my energy into healing myself.