There is this phantom of a Week I Had Once which haunts me. A year and a half later and it is still around every corner, it is lurking in every storm drain, it is in the eyes of the moth at my window, it winds its nails around my throat while I sleep, it tears at my stomach lining.
And I feel like I’m supposed to be Over It by now, you know? That’s the most satisfying linear narrative, right?
Trauma -> Deal -> Move on.
But it isn’t linear, is it? Trauma is a labyrinth and some moments I am drinking an iced coffee and earnestly thinking I might be worthy of any future and a second later I am crying in my bathrobe and I don’t remember what anything has ever meant ever.
I am lost in this maze and my backpack feels too heavy and I wish I hadn’t forgotten my water bottle.
Today was kind of okay, actually. I drove on the highway and I wasn’t even that scared. I leaned over the coffee shop counter and finally started reading the third Simon Snow book. I haven’t read much Since. Stories hurt sometimes.
I mopped behind the coffee counter and I came home and Morning Me had actually put some dinner in the slow cooker, because I am inching back towards the notion of taking care of myself. I joined a gym, I bought some multi vitamins, I am learning about credit scores.
I am… different now. And I think perhaps the biggest source of this year and a half of grief has been in mourning this one particular version of Dani and their particular dreams. I am harder than I was and I hate it. I have constructed walls that I never thought I would want. I am angry. My tongue feels sour.
I am crying in my bathrobe.
I am trapped in the maze but I read some of a book today, you know? And turning even a single page was just enough of an itch of hope, I guess.
Well, I started a book. I have to hang on so I can find out what happens.
I don’t always know how to say it to you, so I guess I’ll give it another shot (always, always finding any remnant of raw sugar left between my teeth):
I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay in a long time. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault, including mine. But sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind and there’s nowhere to go to scream it out, so I wind myself up into a ball and I ignore everyone’s messages and I try to make myself drink water. This is one of my core truths: I am tall and I cry over all animals and also my brain doesn’t work the way some brains do.
And I don’t know. I really don’t. I still feel angry and sad and broken. But I read a book again today. And that felt worth documenting.