But I'm not resilient. Everything sinks, and slowly releases, and the mess that gathers throughout the body, I cannot reclaim. No, I don't want to. But I need to take responsibility.
I feel like I've been living in an alternate life. Not alternate reality, but just, in a not-real life. As though it were some trial stage for the real thing. But everything is very real, and I was too blind to see myself clearly, and my actions.
I want to maintain my new narrative. To not be fatalistic as young children are, because they have not yet comprehended all the things around them. They only see the cup in front of them, and the lack of cup when something is placed in front of it. Of course I should know that I'll be okay jumping from the rock ledge into the pond if all the others who jumped before me emerged smiling in the joy of it, shaking the water from their heads.
But I'm so overwhelmed with my anxiety, my fears which incapacitate me, despite my ability to go to work, make dinner, clean house, and do things for school. I'm able to orient around goals, but have taken the person I love most for granted. Worse than that--I think I forgot he was my best friend, my biggest advocate, no matter how many times he would tell me.
Remember, he'd say. And there's that thing where I do know, but yet I don't fully have that knowledge hit me. That the loss of it would be devastating. I apologize for using hyperbolic words. It would be deeply deeply sad for me to lose this. All the words: devastating, insurmountable, everything but the end of the world and including it. All the cliches because the big feeling would be this pit stuffed until it vomited only a dark thing. Something like that, only smaller, quieter, and no longer in my domain of control.
Too late, as the symptom goes. The last symptom. I fear that it is too late, but I have (far far too late) tried with everything I can give, offer what I do know, and what I can promise. Belated realizations, apologies, promises. A broken record of a pathetic thing, but I am trying very hard to not slip into self-loathing, despair, and melancholy. The mistake many make, and hopefully only once.
I only want the good. I want to be good, stay good, and remember as things happen what is happening. I blind myself with too much flurry--this city to a certain extent is terrible for me. I am not my best, and lately, I have really been my worst.
Apologies doesn't render anything away. I don't want this loss--which would be the most unbearable to me because I had it, the entire time. Except this is my doing. I am facing the consequences I put into place. It is bluntly like that.
I am not resilient, and I need to keep reminding myself, maintain the track others are helping me to stay on. I feel so weak, so sad in my movements. My attempts. The body made useless because I was a mean person. I am a mean person. I know that I can catch it sometimes, and try to make it right--my whole life is filled with attempts of making things right.
But it doesn't ever get back to a solid right--time helps people heal and move onward, and I know that at this point in my life, I am the hardest, cruelest on myself, and also the most fragile and incompetent.
I rely on those who support me, but try so hard to not ask. I cannot do it alone. I can manage, for a little while, and maybe get lost in the mess of what used to be resilient, but I need him.
I haven't acknowledged or every really been thankful. I feel empty, and only full of mistakes. The night is never kind, and the days are a steady impassable fever. There is guilt, and my setting off a loosening/loss of a very important part of my life. It's a simple mantra: I wasn't careful.
It's true: there's that one poem with the refrain from the Anglo-Saxon that goes something like "This too, shall pass."
It does, it all does--and I am learning/attempting to be patient. And I am patient. And I worry that I am too sick to keep this behavior up. That my weakness delivers to me my own miserable self. I worry that even in my lucid moments I cannot escape this direction my body has been conditioned to lean toward. My worries drown me, and I am eating them.
I think there are no real people words to ask for the leap back.
I only meant to say that I miss you, and I don't ever want to forget this feeling. There is no reassurance, and there never should have been for me. It made me weak, blind, and only a half-kernel awake in my life. I am shamed into being here, today. I know that I sound hard on myself, but only because anything else would be unbearable. Do not console me, but look at me--do what I cannot do to myself because I deserve judgment, all that, and more.
I do not know how to ask for you now. I'm sorry. But I understand.
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I don't try to hide the trembling, I just try to make it stop. I flew off my bike today--a limo was stopped at the red light, and there was only a park on my right side, so I tried to go around it just as the door opened immediately in front of me. My hands braked too hard and my bike skidded on its front wheel only, and somehow I remembered to immediately let go, get my feet out of the top straps, and fell over the bike (which collapsed behind the car) in front of the extremely shocked and startled exiting passenger. He was genuinely worried and alarmed, which oddly comforted me. The limo immediately sped off, but then, it didn't do anything wrong. It just should have put on blinkers to alert surrounding people that a passenger was exiting.
I'm not careful enough. Things I should be able to control, I have no control over.
The bruises are only now starting to surface, and I think people won't notice. I couldn't stop shaking, though. I'm okay, the bike is okay (I was more worried about the bike since I'd have no money to fix it).
You know--so often, in my other dazed moments of half entering my own life, I sometimes wish I would just step off into the subway's path, or be hit flush by a bus. But I do choose life, I choose life.
I don't know what that means, or what that sets into motion, but my body, despite all that it takes and has endured in my short life, my body desperately wants to live. And love. And drive.
Harness? Harbor--cup & breathe & free.
I'm fearful and hesitant that my steps might push something in a way of my influence. Even though I want to have no influence. Don't want to talk about the bike fall, in case it seems like I'm making myself into a pitiable thing. I can eat my events and keep them alone. I can do that with almost everything--I'm going to try. Only share what fosters.
Timid. Toes & brushing, ironing, tearful egg sandwiches and the love I need to rely on.
I want to share every holdable thing. I want to stop leaking.
I have capacity, and have made this myself alone.
