Ammunition and Mountainsides
Two weeks into a six-week solo voyage, I finally felt my nervous system start to settle. Settle after nine months of constant alert, nine months of wonder, nine months of life on hold. Since April, my Dad's throat cancer has been clear, but the lung is being watched, and the trach had to come out weeks after the last radiation. My Mom has been holding her own. They're stable, and for the most part, my autoimmune chaos has been manageable. Mom and Dad needed me here, in the states, so I took a few weeks this summer to scratch off a handful of National Parks and a dream--long overdue--road trip I've long talked about. So, two weeks into a six-week hiking trip, I finally felt myself settle. The solitude has been a welcome relief from nights and days of endless dark wonder.
In Montana, after visiting Kansas City, Wind Cave and the Badlands in South Dakota, Yellowstone and Grand Teton, and Custer State Park (SD), I felt myself settle at Glacier National Park. I've been in fight or flight for so long, sometimes barely breathing, I'd forgotten what a moment away felt like. While floating along the Middle Fork River, after I'd grueled through several miles at Glacier the day before, I chatted with a guide. I realized that two nights disconnected in a glamping cabin had nearly reset something in me.
Bison in South Dakota, a bear across the literal lane at Yellowstone, and chipmunks and pikas galore elsewhere. . . Birds have been chirping, and the sunscreen has been running low. Yet, while in Glacier, I had not one but two fucking sightings of what I clearly thought was that bastard from two years ago. Yeah, the universe is a cursed lover with a twisted humor. The salesman who sold me my Chacos... I had to tell him I was okay, as I had apparently turned pale. Damn, the voice was nearly identical. Then, I met a woman I had hiked with at Hidden Lake. Her husband, who skipped the hike part, looked like the man I once knew. All too well. The hike was lovely. The company just as much. The mountain goats, even better. Especially as one looked like a unicorn. Should have been a fucking sign.
Then again, when I left Montana, a rainbow greeted me at 6:15 am. Don't believe the damn rainbows.
On a beautiful Sunday, in my original hometown, a friend and I had espresso martinis downtown--after finding gluten-free cinnamon rolls at Pike Place. She took a photo of me with that cocktail, as the teal wall made my eyes pop (as she said). Little did I know, I'd look at my phone moments later to have a long email from a woman the ex was with while he was with me. Seven months ago, I got that stupid, anonymous email about women he was with while telling me he loved me. Seven months later, the week of my 49th birthday, I received a message with details I never needed to know. I thought December was a gobsmacking, bullshit punch in the face. Still, this one . . . yes, please message me the week I turn as old as my sister, having long outlived my brother and her, after months of taking care of two aging parents while trying to keep my own career going, to ask me if he still said he loved me while you were two were together.
I thought I was the only one. I believed every lie. Every. Last. One. The details are mine, but I never needed to know what he did with you, that he travelled for you, that he was seen in public with you. I never needed to know that I wasn't his main piece, and apparently, I wasn't even a side piece. I was the emotional tampon. It's all pretty deranged, especially to tell me he loved me and brought that marriage shit up. That's what it was: all a bunch of shit.
Did his mother drop him on his head as a child? If she didn't, then I don't want to know, as that's the most civilized answer I can fathom right now. Do these people want me dead? Why? What the fuck did I ever do to them, except fall for the wrong penis holding asshole ... again? About the only thing I do know is that I was never loved, wanted, or given a damn about. I was nothing more than an emotional tampon; I was a fool and a full-on idiot to believe anything thrown my way, and I don't deserve this hell of new messages every few months.
And that's what I have right now. Well, sans the weird email on my birthday that was someone else playing a fucked up game of hopscotch meets chicken. Always the fool, as we say.
I've got four more weeks, and this one I'm back home in the PNW. Today, a dose of inhaler puffs, altitude, inclines from hell, and wildflowers did my heart a punch. In time, the rest will tell.
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