Geographic Paralysis

There are roadblocks in my way and I don’t now how, if or when I will ever be free of them. The places I have been with Chris fill me with fear of myself and of whatever breakdowns await me in my future. It seems as though my future is going to be a series of breakdowns from here on in.

I’m sick today with my first common cold since the day I emptied Chris’ dresser and packed up all of his clothes to place in storage. Obviously I’m living two separate times side by side once again, this cold alongside that cold. My dermatitis has returned as it has ever since diagnosis # 1.

There is a movie on which I have been pseudo-watching while slipping in and out of sleep. The backdrop is Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Every time I see either one of those places on the television, I am filled with anxiety. I hadn’t been to either place before I visited them with Chris. As a result, I feel as though I can never return to either place without thrusting myself, once again, into debilitating grief. How can I be in either place without him? How can I walk the streets of San Francisco alone, after having spent an entire romantic weekend drifting in and out of art galleries, absorbing the creativity within and sitting with the dogs that populated many of them? How can I ever sit in a San Francisco coffee shop again without Chris by my side? How will I ever be able to ride a trolley up and down San Francisco’s hills or take in the sights of a trolley tour without him? The whole idea feels like a nervous breakdown stored in my mind and body, just waiting to happen.

How can I ever visit Los Angeles again without walking down the street and standing in front of the apartment Chris and I shared there? How will I be able to keep myself from walking through Plummer Park and down Santa Monica Boulevard, the old walk we used to take together on a regular basis? How can I avoid Pacific Palisades, where I worked for two years and made friends or stay away from Pacific Coast Highway, Manhattan Beach or Venice Beach where the famous Sidewalk Cafe and Muscle Beach are?

I can’t do it. I probably can’t ever go back to those places and that’s really sad. Chris and always talked about visiting again and how happy we would be to know that this time we would be going home after our visit. We were supposed to be able to talk about how happy we were to be living back in Boston, again.

Los Angeles was ours. I didn’t live there with anybody but Chris and now I can’t recall any part of those two years with anyone. There is nobody in my life who knows what we went through there, how we grew, what we endured and what it was like to up and quit our jobs, drive across the country and arrive in a strange place with limited funds and no employment. We did it, and although we both hated it there, we made it work. We helped each other and stayed with each other and made it work.

But he’s not here now for me to share that with. Those two years are like lost years, now, and there is barely any proof that they actually existed. I am now the sole person who remembers that period of time and that fact really, really hurts. We were supposed to be able to recall them together and go back there together and be thankful that we did it and then undid it together.

I don’t want to experience new places with anybody else. Chris was the first person I ever traveled with. He knew so much about places. He read about them before we visited, arranged the entire trips and brought me to them. How can I ever travel without him?

Visiting Somerville and thoughts of visiting Los Angeles and San Francisco paralyze me with fear and guilt. I can't go to the latter two places. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And I can barely drive the streets of Somerville, where we met, without being thrown into shock by the vision of the houses, so close together, thrusting me right back to those first few months when we first began to know each other. I still remember vividly, how he looked when he came down the stairs and opened the door when I picked him up for our first date. I remember standing on the front porch thinking that I couldn’t remember what he looked like and when he came to the door, his beautiful, warm, white smile was the first thing I noticed and what is burned into my memory forever.

Chris died a year and six days ago and I still can’t believe he is gone. Will I ever fully believe it? How can I ever move on? How can I let go? How can I stop the guilt that threatens to overtake me each time I realize I’m having fun?

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so god-damned loyal. My tendency toward loyalty is really getting in my way. At least when I was loyal to a living man, I had somebody to be with. Now I’m loyal to a dead man and that just makes me loyal and alone.

I miss him so much. I’m afraid to go places without him. Travel is something I’m going to have to overcome if I want the rest of my life to be as adventurous as the six years I shared with Chris.

But right now, I’m haunted by my memories.