It has been awhile since I've written, I apologize, the concerns of the normie jobs and the need to take care of some technological aspects of my business were a stressor that distracted me away from creative writing and soul development. But, here I am, back to find even more clarity within the character of Eponine.
Today, I want to focus on my twenty-something self, specifically the early twenties, as a good deal of that time was spent in the agony mindset of Eponine. The photo above is symbolic to me, and was meant to be just that. It was symbolic of the fact that in a few months from when that was snapped, I was moving away from Ashland and my college and post college life, heading back to my home county and into graduate school. The photo was to be given to the boys I was leaving behind, who had only to recently within that timeframe shattered my heart to itty bitty millions of pieces. Herein lies that story.
Yes, this picture marks an ending, but in order to understand how I got there, I must take you back, back to the year or so previous when I had graduated college and was heading into the wide, wide world. Yes, I had a four year degree under my belt (a BS in Human Communication, to be exact, get the joke), but I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life nor who I really was, for that matter. Having left behind my true calling and not even received the degree in which I had sought after (Theatre Arts), I felt lost, seeking any sort of validation wherein it could be found.
I was newly minted Born Again Christian at this time yet still so new to that world that I found myself stumbling back to the familiar, as it were, to be faced with an unending amount of shame couched in false love and concern from those I called friends within the church.
I needed to get a job and decided the only thing to do was to advance in what I was good at, the only thing I thought I could do. In college, I had worked as an in-home nanny after class for a local family so the next step for me was to apply at some local preschools. That is just what I did.
It was a fun life, for a bit of time. I was young and exploring the city from which I had lived for four years in a fresh way, out of the confines of the college environment. I began to explore myself by defining who I was without. I had also recently broken out of an abusive relationship of three years. He still tried to ingratiate himself in my life, trying to grab ahold and manipulate me back into his grasp, to no avail, thankfully.
However, there was still the storms within. I bounced between living situations, barely staying at a place for more than a year, my relationships were rocky and tumultuousness, I felt no real closeness towards another human, but kept the walls up. In actual reality, I was afraid to allow someone close, real and true intimacy scared me as I felt this unending emptiness aside. Thus, I learned to play a part, put up a false front of happiness, when inwardly I felt continuous turmoil.
All of this, plus I was some years away from the Bipolar breakdown and diagnosis, which would eventually be my saving grace, as well as the discovery of the Celiac Disease, which would also put me on my continuous life-long journey towards recovery and self-(healing) discovery. To be exact, I felt no comfort within my own skin, that cold hard truth is oh so apparent to me as I view the photos of myself from that time. Even more so, I couldn't see beyond my own mind's eye, believed wholeheartedly that what I thought inside was actually how others thought of me, was the cold hard fact.
In every sense of the world, I was Eponine.
And then, a shift happened. It was so slight at the time, like the minutest of earthquakes, the kind that happens, is only felt by a seismic detector, and is reported upon later. Such was this moment. But that decision made had a long-lasting, life-long influence, which would send out shockwaves in its aftermath for years to come providing lessons that would never truly leave me and continue forward in its education and evolution of my soul.
I entered a cafe.
In this cafe, I found a sense of peace, escape from the ex-boyfriend who would just show up at my apartment. I would flee there every Saturday morning, reading my bible and journaling, drinking coffee after coffee, avoiding phone calls from the ex. And, in this world, I discovered...them.
The coffee boys, ie, the cute, red headed barista who was so gentle and kind-hearted in his quiet way, the dark long haired, "Scary Dark Boy" (my nickname) one whose darkness was so encapsulating that it left an air of mystery, the long, lanky one who resembled Shaggy, the straight-laced looking one with the tie, and the older hippie looking one. There were others as well. They'd sit on the small patio, examining me as I examined them, the glass separating us. Who would be the first to shatter and bridge the distance?
And I watched from my window
Always felt I was outside looking in on you
I wanted to, I felt the desire and the attraction, perhaps a deep down, long buried, since of belonging. But, per the usual, it was one of the guys that made the first connection.
"Are you reading the bible?" One of them asked approaching me at my table.
"Yes," I smiled proudly. I thought this was the moment to be shared later with my Christian friends, my duty as evangelist to win their souls. Maybe that was my calling here in this cafe? Maybe...
They were in utter disbelief and mockingly laughed with the friends. (Yet, the red headed barista did not, that was notable, he kindly placed my oatmeal on the table and smiled reassuringly down at me. Note that.)
But, thus it began. I was a girl living so many existences but not my own. Seeking outward validation in the form of acceptance from the church's enforcement of righteous living and approval through the love found in a man's arms. I was lost in the sea of my own tumult, dashed about by the waves of those who thought they knew best for me, I tried to comply but came up lacking.
But, oh there were moments reaching towards the heavens divine, leisurely summer days on the patio at the café, long hiking adventures with the boys, hanging at the bar, laughing, being together. Looking back, within the confines of my café friendships, I felt a sense of security that was not felt anywhere else, of the unconditional, non-judgmental acceptance sort. But, there were still the voices from other forces, the elder figures of social norms trying to get me to settle down and choose a career, the domination of the church, abusive elements that I would one day have to break free from but in that moment I still hung to a thread of, still believing that if I only obeyed I would be loved, but never, never measuring up.
Well, not all the café boys did not remain in the friendzone for long, but even more so, the romantic aspect of the relationship would not hold either, overshadowed by the judgment of the church's judgment but even more so my own shaky sense of self. Thus, followed my Eponine existence, I would languish alone, pining, walking the street in memory, singing "On My Own" in my heart, outwardly playing "Don't Know Why" on repeat with my friend, Jamie, on our girl's nights where we would hold mutual "Eponine" heart to hearts licking our wounds over our ex-boyfriends.
All this would come to a head in January of 2004, after the last breakup of the café-boys, the aforementioned 'scary-dark boy', whose darkness I had allowed myself to be encompassed by so as to hide from my own. Yes, he and I had come together in sworn love only to have him become disillusioned once he had achieved that conquest. Years later, he and I would reunite and eventually marry, to be quickly followed two years later by eventually divorcing, due to his abuse and inability within himself to get out of his darkness and be truly intimate. (Well, that's putting it mildly.)
But, I digress, back to the moment in January 2004, when he broke up with me after a week of asking for space, just like Taylor Swift's line "We hadn't seen each other in a month When you said you needed space. (What?)" We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
So, I went over to his house after work because the preschool I worked at had had a lice outbreak and he had probably been infected. I tried to make a joke out of it, felt his tension, but still went ahead with my act.
"I'm infected," I mockingly sobbed. "And so are you."
"What?" he spat.
"I have head-lice," he shrugged it off. He wasn't taking the joke, and more over, he was cold and distant, done with me he was. That was when he called it off officially, telling me bluntly that he didn't love me like he thought he had, loved me like a brother.
Sobbing commenced, broken and laying on the floor. I finally stumbled out into the cold night, trying to regain some sense of composure, but the body was wracked with despair. Calling it an act of God, a response for my sin of sexual deviance was a lie I clung to, another way to hide. Days and months afterward, I would flee into the Christian world-view, maybe, that would give me the unconditional love I sought, still external it would come up lacking.
But, on that dark night of my soul as well, I stumbled brokenly, tears pouring out of my eyes, wailing at God with "Why?". Having a class I was taking at the college, I had some work to do at the computer lab. I sat there in the lab at the computer, trying to work, when my college ex-boyfriend approached. :He tried to counsel me when I told him my boyfriend had broken up with me, tried to control me, get me to follow him once more. I surprised myself by not obliging. I was chatting online with the hippie guy from the café.
"Come over," he told me. So, I went but ended up at the wrong house, however, it was the home of another ex-boyfriend, the one I had rebounded with for two weeks after the breakup from the college ex. I knocked on the door, opening it because I thought it was my hippie friend, but then there was that ex, sweetly, running when he saw me sobbing on my doorstep. I had to stop him with "I have head-lice" for I didn't want to infect his long red hair.
Next, I headed to the red-headed barista's house, running up the stairs pass his mom and at his bedroom, he hugged me, despite my attempts to avoid. We went for a walk, quietly talking, he, doing his best, to help me out of my pain to no avail. This was a battle that could no longer be fought for me, from the external, resolved from the outward would no longer work, no longer able to put a mere band-aid over my brokenness. I had to go within, overcome, and truly look at my own darkness.
There, I was, at last, with 'head lice and a broken-heart'.
I went home that night, sobbing as my room-mate and I disinfected each other's hair, the house, the furniture, then to bed, still with wet hair wrapped in the disinfectant.
As the days tumbled forward, I would heal, or find other ways to hide from my pain, mostly through attempting to find myself within the confines of the aforementioned church. I would re-tell that story of that fateful night and hear parroted back, "you were chasing after guys and when that was taken away, you had to turn to the Lord". But, now I don't see it so black and white, like "God is good, and guys are bad". Because each of those guys had a lasting impact and significance in my life, enough for me to profess love, love which remains, in a different form, but thus is still very much real today. There are seasons to our lives, reflected in those that cross our paths at different times. Each a soul mate for that time, that moment, to teach us, shape us, help us evolve and deepen. If I hadn't had that night, I wouldn't have advanced forward from my Eponine life, slowly realizing my true power to love myself. Truth be told, before I could find real, lasting love with another, I had to know that within. I had to come home with myself before I could find with another.
Thus is the girl hailing a peace sign and wearing her burgundy viva la revolution beret, waving a kind good-bye to those who had helped her grow.
That is the true story of Eponine, the path she takes and her eventual death is symbolic of that release to her real home, herself. I would have many moments of falling back to seeking external validation, and still do after that one night. But that night stands clear in my mind as the turning point of my life, that put me on the journey towards falling in love with myself, safely arriving at my true home and destiny, moving from Eponine and beginning thus my journey as Fantine.
So, what are your thoughts on Eponine? Share your stories below. I love to hear.
The Thriving Artist is a subset of Cafe-Girl Productions, Inc. Find out more about us at:
