How am I doing this?
I know you all watch it happen here, the same way it does in my head… a pendulum, swinging from not OK, to OK again, and back.
I lie to myself, tell myself, all the way… that I am doing OK, that I am just fine.
Because what else can I say? What else can I do, when I responsible for myself and two little people as well? There aren’t many other options here, valid ones, other than ‘being OK’.
In truth of it… and keep this quiet, because it feels like a secret, one that will lose it’s magic if too many people know, one that only keeps itself tight through pretending.
Inside my mind, inside my head, is a little girl who has been driven insane. She screams and sobs and weeps, cuts herself and burns her skin. She writhes on a tiny couch in an ugly room, hand knotted through her hair, pulling at chunks of it to try and rive images form her mind. She is so distraught… every thing she believed in is dead, burnt. She will never feel safe again. She will never trust anyone again.
Some days, the wall between her and the outside word is so thick I can barely hear her. I get closer and closer to hope, to sunshine… and she grows smaller and smaller.
And then there are other days, days like today… when the wall between her and the real world is paper thin, like eggshell, a membrane. And people can see her, screaming. They see her through my eyes. I know, because some days I see her reflection in theirs, overladen with pity or fear.
I think that’s why I sleep so much, why sleep brings with it relief… when I sleep, she must too. But some nights I’m sure shes up before I am…. doesn’t that explain why I wake myself up screaming some nights?
Sometimes I worry she will escape. What a pointless thing to worry about. Even I do crack, split, and all that pain and screaming trauma comes running out… what happens then?
Nothing changes. If anything, I will terrify more people, and the handful that I have left that can handle me will turn away too.
And life will still go on.
I’m such a fucking optimist.
It’s just my nature… to look forward to things. To feel grateful for things. To see the silver lining, real or imagined. To find happiness in waiting.
If I wasn’t, I would not have survived this far, I don’t think. It’s only that dumb, happy optimism that keeps me afloat.
I convince myself that things will get better, will be better. When the weather is warmer. When I find someone, someone I love, someone who loves me again.
I expect life to be a fairytale, for things to work out OK, for some love and happiness to come and sweep me off my feet and complete me, find me at some kind of peace…
What if that doesn’t happen? Reality, experience, it tells me that humans are imperfect, and so am I. That life is ordinary, not a fairytale.
But I have to hope for something… I have to hope it gets better than this.
That dumb, happy optimist… maybe she’s a room mate to that screaming, tiny girl…. she just won’t have it any other way.
I look back, to see what progress I’ve made.
The first three months after Tony died…. I don’t even remember it… how did I survive that?
Those six months is Paradise, chilled with sea air and grief…. how on earth did I survive that?
It just makes me wonder, will I look back on these first few months in the TinyTrainTown… and wonder how, in heaven’s name, I survived this too?