I had fully intended on fixing it myself. I was going to turn it into a bookshelf. As it turns out, I didn't think that through very well, and it would have been the world's most shallow and useless bookshelf. I told Charlie last week that I wanted to finally fix the whole over the weekend. I left it there for four months for two reasons: I had been pretty much gone every weekend since Charlie and I met, and I wasn't ready for it to be repaired. I spent many hours looking at that hole and pondering all aspects of my life. I thought about where I've been, where I'm headed and how I got to "here." I defined vague goals for the future and decided that the future would always be "someday" if I didn't decide to change the "now." I changed my attitude. I changed my direction. I stared at the hole and cried; I stared at the hole and laughed at the fact that sometimes it literally takes a wall crashing down around me for me to get the message. I'm no dumb cookie, but sometimes I can't see what is right in front of me. I needed the hole to stay in front of me for a little while to absorb it's meaning. I ran the gamut of emotions while my wall was broken. My spirit was broken, then I was ANGRY. So angry. Then I was sad and embarrassed. I had let this happen because I'm dumb and not worth anything better. After that came a slight show of humor. I could sometimes joke about my holey wall. I began to see the strength within that hole. I was strong enough to break the wall but not my back; I was strong enough to break the self-inflicted chains of my situation but not forget how I had put them on. I also began to see the re-construction of that hole, both the wall and my soul. The wall could go two ways- I could leave the scars visible on the wall and my attitude, or I could rebuild the wall like it never happened and change my attitude like I was never hurt. Neither change the fact that it happened, or that I remember it all, but I think maybe that is part of the point. Not everyone needs to see the events that shape you as a person, and wearing them on your sleeve isn't always necessary. All that matters is the positive effects of those events on you, and how you are with other people. I am more patient with myself now. I am more relaxed, also, and that has made me much easier to deal with. Very few of my life's stressors were of monumental consequence, and I fnally let them go. It doesn't matter if my laundry is wrinkled. I have a dryer and can un-wrinkle them when I want to wear them. It doesn't matter that I have 47 different colors on the outside of my house. Nothing needs repaired and I'll finish painting everything someday. I'll plant bushes and more flowers and all of that. It's not worth losing sleep over like I used to.
This past Saturday, Charlie and I went to Lowes and got a sheet of drywall and all the other junk to close up that part of my life. I needed direction on how to do it, but I was going to fix it. Without ever saying a word about it, Charlie did. He quietly and gently took over the job without me realizing he had done it until he was almost done. He asked me if there was anything I wanted to put in the wall; any reminders of Nick to seal away. I said no, but I did have one thing- the calendar page from that fateful day, the one that was in the frame hanging beside the hole. It read "Life begins after you dump the damn psycho." I thought about the irony of the whole thing. One man literally tore me (and my wall) down, and without saying a word, another very unexpected one built everything back up. He fussed and fretted at finishing the wall just like he fusses over me, quietly, gently, intently and very deliberately without me realizing what he's doing. He is part of that hole now. He has helped me turn something very ugly into something beautiful.
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