A few people were stunned when I told them my plan of relocating from Texas to Pennsylvania with only a two-week notice. Others were not as taken aback. It's just Janessa... back at it again. Fleeing to Florida when I was 20, although extremely warranted, did not work because there were no plans or support or goals. Five months passed as I worked part-time at a Ross in Orange Park and witnessed a hero of mine fall from grace. San Diego only lasted a couple months and it was beautiful and I felt an iota of rejuvenation, but still, there was no plans or support or goals, which I felt (at age 24) were crucial more than ever. Both times I returned to Colorado like, "Ah, jeez... now what?"
Now I am 32-years-old, and I drove twenty-two hours to Pennsylvania to see what version of myself I could meet here. There's a strong distinction between running away from something and running toward something. A question that came up repeatedly over the years was: why did you move to Texas? I'd initially reply, "It's not an interesting story," and then proceed to explain how family friends moved from Colorado to Sweetwater for the oil rig and encouraged my family to join them and I can't stand cold weather and there was an opportunity for my mom & I to move but Sweetwater is just as small as where I came from and Abilene was the nearest bigger city.
Right before I moved from Nebraska to Texas, I was released from probation for a refusal to submit to a breathalyzer and I had a miscarriage and my alcohol consumption was out of control and I didn't know what to do with myself. These events led me to the rooms of Alcholic's Anonymous when I arrived in Abilene. I stayed sober for 5 months straight, which was the longest I had been clean since I was 14 years old. Even though I was 25 at the time in meetings full of men and women aged 40 and older, I resonated with their stories. I may not have lost custody of multiple children multiple times or been to jail and prison or done eight rehab stints or had my house foreclosed on, but I know what it's like to be spiritually bankrupt and burn bridges I'm standing on and repeat the same patterns year after year after year and to think alcohol & drugs are the solution just to find out they are the biggest glaring problems to those who love you. I know what that feels like.
March 2020: the state of Texas shut down due to the COVID pandemic, and shortly after I started drinking again. And then shortly after I started doing cocaine again. And I started going to the bars and clubs again even though it was strongly discouraged by the CDC. The amount of nasal swabs I had to endure whenever someone in my circle came down with The Rona because the guidelines were so persistent about keeping the cases contained. What an irresponsible phase in my life (title of my memoir).
Corissa and her two kids moved in with me and my mom that September. Her baby daddy was being emotionally abusive after years of being physically abusive and I told her to come to Texas for a fresh start. Baby girl was 18 months and our boy was 6 years old. My mom moved out within months so it was our own little nest. I quit doing drugs for the most part, but Corissa was a pothead since she was, like, 15 or 16. I tried on many occasions to get her to quit but in the last couple years she'd say, "I have to smoke weed so I don't smoke you." Coming from one of the most mellow people I ever met in my life.
I think Corissa would agree with me that Abilene pushed and pulled us to our furthest brinks. We grew tremendously in a short amount of time: from weeknights at Lonestar to Jarrett's apartment and Pat's house to Chelsea's Burgers and our frequent crab dates and shopping at Ross & Burlington and the multiple jobs we ran through and having movie nights with our kids and the lengthy list of horrible men and women we dated. Her therapist Cleo helped her make sense of the rough world she navigated; one of the first people in a long time to convince her that her goals were attainable and she was worthy of reaching them.
And we were very different people in that aspect. My Tumblr consists of lavish mansion interiors, elgant women in expensive cars, and humungous yachts I will only be close to in fuzzy daydreams. Cora aspired for "realistic" pursuits. (The amount of time she spent begging me to get my head out of the clouds and be so forreal.) She wanted to own a house with three bedrooms so her kids could inherit equity. Simple. My brash energy forever weathered by her buoyant spirit for 15 years.
I drove for two days and touched Texas-Arkansas-Tennessee-Kentucky-Ohio before landing on my Plymouth Rock: a decent-sized Pennsylvania town of 43,000. It'll do for now. Because when one of the most important people to ever bless your life is murdered by their boyfriend you begged them to leave for a year, pretty much any place hundreds of miles away from the scene of the crime & the life you made together & the goals unrealized seems welcoming. Going through a decade worth of photos and videos on her Snap Chat became my obsession for a second there. My anger seeped from my pores. I've experienced chest pain for almost two months straight. And there's a discernible knot in me throat that aches like love lost. My babies relocated to Florida with their dad so there's some strange relief in being closer to them on the eastern coast. I daydream about them being able to stay the summer with me or a week during a holiday break, like the dysfunctional Brady Bunch we are.
I have good days and I have bad days. I am joyful when I think of us eating hibachi while watching Chappelle's Show shortly before she left Earthside. And the tears start flowing like Niagra falls when I come across screenshots of her professing her love to me.
All these people circulated a corny AI photo of her with angel wings that she would absolutely hate, and they say things like "heaven" and "god" and "angel", and Corissa was not a Christian, though she did believe in a higher power. I took down a beautiful alter she set up for her deceased mother and grandfather when I cleaned out her place: photos of them, two tall candles, crystals, incense, an evil eye bracelet. Oh, my girl was witchy as fuck. And the last magic words she texted me said: you're not annoying, you are hilarious. So now it's written stone and veritable and ya'll can't tell me nothin'.
Living next to your best friend for two years seems cool as hell until they are taken in the most abhorrent way imaginable. And then coming home after a twelve hour shift at work, parking in the driveway, and staring at a desolate home that was once swarming with vitality... that'll ruin your whole day. There were only so many days I could take like that before I started plotting the Great Escape, Pt 56. Because as furious as I am at the man who hurt my sister, and as frustrated as I am with her for not standing in her resolve when she tried to leave him earlier this year, my heart shattered that terrible morning and I hate being the first one to know because I wailed thee most grotesque sound my body ever produced, and I hated holding her son while the sergeant told them their mom was not coming back, and I have hated every day since that I cannot talk to or see this goofy, kind, intelligent, forgiving, affectionate, wonderful (in all her faults and insecurities and resilience and pain and progress) love of mine. She should be here. Thirty-one felt like a long time to her, but only now can I see it was not enough.
So who am I without her? My suicidal ass out-living Cora is peak Universe humor. There are so many out-of-pocket statements I make/thoughts I have & I shrug and say, "She would have laughed." Because no one knew this woman better than I did. Her death ruined my whole life plan; I don't even like making new friends, let alone losing someone who has shared lore with me across three states and 15 years. Our love will be irreplaceable. But if there's one thing this lady wanted me to do it's to live life fully and loud and give myself grace. So I unpacked my belongings and bought a poster board and decided on goals for my stint out here:
- nourish writing
- be consistent at gym / eat healthier
- pay off debt
- reset mindset
- be present
This gaping hole in my heart may not ever heal but all I can do is continue to be myself, flighty and manic and eager as ever. Corissa would be proud.
♡
The Rose That Grew From Concrete by 2pac
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong, it learned to walk without having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping its dreams, it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else ever cared.
♡
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