Your question reaches across everything and makes me feel like I am sitting on that plane again. I wonder who am I now to tell anyone what to do, or how to feel through things. Survival makes us citizens on the same kind of island. I want to tell you it’s fine and that you can’t see it, but it is everything besides fine and we both know that.
The idea that my writing might in someway resembles the architecture of your own heart, feels like too big a thing to ask of words. And if it is true, then I am sorry. I’ve been in that seat. I know it’s temperature. If we are anything, we are all suffering.
I don’t think there is anything anyone told me that made me feel better. Better was such and still is sometimes a relative idea, comparable only to how bad it is. Would you hate me if I told you it gets better. Really it just gets different. We are good at getting along and build little shelves in our lives to store the things we can’t carry around on a daily basis. And inch by inch you will put it there. Something that happened to you once.
I’ve been around people who refuse to relinquish their suffering because in a way it’s the only segment left of something that was once very lovely. I’ve been that person at times too. Stubborn and clutching my fists under the table, forcing him to repeat the things he no longer wants. But that is not a way to be a person. That is a way to be a statue. I think that is what I meant when I said, I wish I had done this a year ago. I wish I had at least stopped clenching my fists and eventually stopped fighting my own life.
I haven’t had much to say for a while because I’ve been deciding that it might be time to stop talking about how it hurts and start talking about how to help myself. I live in a different world now and I’ve been trying to catch up with it, and act like belong, deserve the space I’ve made for myself. I’ve earned it. And sometime, several plane rides from now, you will too.