I saw a girl wearing a Wu-Tang shirt the other day and the image of her and the shirt has been stuck in my mind. I don’t really know why other than maybe because she wouldn’t have struck me as a Wu-Tang fan if I hadn’t seen the shirt. I don’t know. I didn’t ask her to name 3 songs.

Anyway, yesterday when I was looking for something to listen to I searched for Wu-Tang on Spotify and played the first playlist I came across. C.R.E.A.M. was the first song in the playlist. I’ve heard it before. Who hasn’t? I listened thinking, “How have these complex melodies escaped my attention before?”

Nah. Actually, I thought, “This is cool.”

I listened to the playlist for a while before starting it over again on C.R.E.A.M. Something about that piano in the background was haunting me. No doubt the intent. And after a conversation with a loved one who called me in pain yesterday evening, sorting through their trauma and the trauma we both share, I needed that haunting to fill my soul.

Trauma is a funny thing. It’s making and breaking. It’s forming and reforming. It changes us, shapes us, fucks us, sometimes it kills us.

That conversation with my loved one was hard. Aren’t all conversations centered on trauma like that? And the result of the conversation was clarity and fog surrounding my heart. I could see some things so clearly and others were shrouded in mystery, unknown and not understood.

What’s clear to me is this: I have an immensely soft heart, that bleeds in empathy for everyone but myself. I have not spent enough time worried about what I need or want or what is best for me. I have spent copious amounts of time worried about what will benefit others and how I can help them. And if I’m being honest, that empathy has very rarely been reciprocated. Have others shown me love and empathy? Absolutely. But so often the people I have run over myself to take care of have not wanted to take care of me in return.

What is maddening to me is that I WANT to love. I have the biggest, stupidest heart. I want to pour my love out on others and show them that they are made of the stars. But doing so my whole life has only resulted in heartache for me. So maybe it’s time I poured that love out on myself? Something I’ve been trying to do for a while now.

I don’t know. I think maybe I am stupid. LOL. That is where I usually land in moments like these. But whether or not I am stupid, I am going to work harder on loving myself and having empathy for Bonnie. She needs someone to look after her and no one else wants the job.

In the meantime, I think I will use Wu-Tang to fill in a few cracks in my soul. Wu-Tang cut with Dolly. That ought to do it.

It’s a worm. Or maybe it’s a snake. It burrows into your center through bone. With sharp teeth that bite and draw blood. Or maybe they are shaped like spades. The kind of spades that dig up the garden in the middle of the night to bury what remains, all fine and minced and wrapped so tightly.

It burrows and bites and carves and digs. Through and through. To the ancient place. The stone hollow that breathes and throbs and hums, singing its ancient song in a language forgotten by time and known only to the dust in the stars. The humming, singing, chanting stars.

It makes its nest inside. Deep inside. So deep you can only feel the tiniest flutter from its slithering, wriggling tail. The tiniest itch. You don’t even stop to wonder where that itch is coming from.

The nest is soft. The nest is putrid. It’s a tangle of lies, strangling a truth and a bundles of truths, concealing a lie.

It wriggles and circles and mats down its nest.

You didn’t let it in.

It came all on its own, birthed on the breath of your mothers and fathers and grandmothers and grandfathers. It came while you were smiling and laughing and playing. You were outside, giddy in the sunlight, soaking up the joys of the earth and the dirt and leaves and air. You weren’t even aware it existed. It came as an invisible enemy, disguised as a friend.

You’re older. And the lie that is truth or the truth that’s a lie is still inside of you. But you can feel it now. The nest that it carved in the hollow of your chest is aching. It hurts too much to believe and it hurts too much to give up hope.

The blind little worm – or maybe it’s a snake – is whispering to you. Words only you can understand. It tells you what you want to hear then tells you what will hurt the most. It’s malevolent. Or maybe beneficent. Is it killing you or saving you?

It doesn’t matter.

You cannot evict it. But you can try to ignore it. You can harden the ancient place, stop the humming. Breathe in. Breathe out. Know you will live through this pain. Pretend you don’t feel the itch, the flutter. Try to fill in the hollowed burrows. Trap it inside. Starve it. Suffocate it.

Maybe someday. Maybe someday your suffering will come to an end. You will know peace again. Like the child dancing naked in the sun with the straw hat on. Unaware. Blissful. Ignorant. Joyous.

Maybe someday you will stand naked in your kitchen letting the sweet nectar of ripened fruit trace a path down your breasts and drip onto the floor. Grinning from ear to ear. You are alone. No one can see you. Or have you.

Maybe someday you will feel the light caress of the mother’s wind, stroking your face, kissing your cheeks. She is telling you that all is well. She loves you. You are beautiful.

Maybe someday the worm with no eyes will shrivel and dry up, choking on the dust of its own corpse.

Maybe someday.

Maybe someday you will finally watch it die.

I haven’t had a home for nearly 2 years.

That isn’t to say I’ve been homeless. I haven’t been without housing at all. I’m very thankful for that.

When I say I haven’t had a home for nearly 2 years, what I mean is that I haven’t felt at home anywhere since the day my ex left. The moment he left it stopped feeling like my home. I was living there but somehow I’d walked through a doorway into a parallel dimension.

I am now on the precipice of my third move in under 2 years. The decision to move yet again took a long time to make and a lot of heavy conversations with my son. But we made the decision together. Now, we’re packing, cleaning, trying to sell the house I bought when I moved to Iowa, and looking for a rental in Iowa City.

Once again, I am purging my belongings. Once again I’m sifting through the ashes of my marriage and deciding which artifacts to bring along with me to our new home. It’s painful for someone like me, who associates a memory with everything I own. I pick up an object and immediately my mind flashes to where it was in our old house, or I remember when we bought it. I’ve cried so much the last few weeks. I’ve been so angry. I’ve asked myself how these things made it from move to move and why I haven’t gotten rid of them before now.

But the purging, packing, cleaning process will be coming to an end soon and hopefully before I know it, I’ll be signing a lease on a new place.

It’s hard to describe how excited I am at the thought of making a home for myself. That’s not something I’ve ever really done. The home I made before was for my spouse and my children. This one will be for me.

I don’t really pray anymore. But if I had a prayer it would be for this move to happen as quickly as possible. Because I can’t wait to have a home, a place of my own, filled with the things I value and love. Filled with me.

Before I split with my ex, I had an office in our house. I’m proud to say it was almost everyone’s favorite room. I know why. Because I made it completely me. It was decorated according to my aesthetic alone. People felt comfortable there and they often remarked on how beautiful it was. I’ve been trying to imagine my entire home that way.

When I moved to Iowa, I knew the house I was moving into was just a temporary dwelling space. I didn’t bother to decorate really. It never felt like home to me. Why make an effort if you’re just planning to leave?

But, I’ve begun falling in love with Iowa City. I adore her, actually. I don’t want to make another temporary home. I’m making no plans to leave. Once I find my new place and move in, I’m settling in for quite a while. I’m making myself a home.

And that thought thrills me.