For years, I’ve been taking the pill that makes me smaller.
Six weeks ago, I took the pill that makes me large. Not sure I thought that through. Actually, I’m not sure there was any way to have known.
And now I’m down the rabbit hole.
In a very short amount of time, I’ve discovered that writing (on a regular, bloggy basis) is therapeutic. In an unexpected way. I was expecting to simply write here instead of there. “There” being Facebook, texts, emails, etc. But for some reason, “here” has brought feelings to the surface. Writing is one of the few things I’m good at. I’ve done it (in various forms) all of my life. Dealing with my feelings is something I’m not good at. But when I sit in front of this screen, alone, and lay my fingers on the keys…feelings slide out.
I recently met a writer (“B”) who helped encourage me to start writing. My family and friends have always told me that I could, and should, write…but who believes family and friends? They have to say that stuff, right? So here was someone who writes these amazing essays, and is in such a good place in his life, and I thought, “Hey, I can do that too!” But my goal wasn’t to get to a good place in my life. Really, it wasn’t. It was just, well, to write. Seemed basic enough. And fun.
What is interesting is that “B” sometimes writes about a time and place in his life that is not pretty. Some memories are not happy ones. But they didn’t break him. They shaped him into who he is today.
Like anyone, I have had my share of heartbreak. But, I haven’t let it define me. I’ve dealt with it, and I realize (always) that I’ve lived a charmed life for the most part. I can’t complain. Other people have had it worse. First world problems. Every single one of those phrases has come out of my head and mouth and, mostly, I believe them. Better yet, everyone else believes them.
So now, after taking the pill, and resting my fingers on these keys, I have found myself in a rabbit hole. And down this hole, I have found the moment that broke me. I’ve always known the date and time. I remember everything about that moment. And the moments that led up to it. But what happened after that moment is fuzzier. But down in this hole, I’m seeing all of it. (deep sigh…)
My closest friends know the moment. I’ve told them, but we rarely discuss it. There’s less and less need to these days. But all along, I realize I’ve only spoken of the details and the aftermath. Not of what it did to me. There are maybe 6 people who actually know how broken I am, and the one person who knew it best no longer walks the earth.
As I’ve read over what I’ve written so far, I can see how it looks like I’m describing a “Me-Too” moment. I am not. I apologize for being vague. But the reason for this blog is that I’m actually wrestling with where to go from here. I feel an overwhelming urge to write about that moment, and what happened afterwards. I want to purge all of it. Maybe if the words see the light of day, the memories will turn to ash like vampires in the sun.
But here’s the thing (I want to say now that I really don’t like the phrase “here’s the thing”. I don’t like it when others use it, and I try to never use it if I can help it. But in this case, it’s what I need.) I’m not sure that writing about it will help. I don’t think it will help anyone else. In fact, it may actually hurt some people. And it may not help me. Even if it did help me, it won’t change anything, so what’s the point? (that question may or may not be rhetorical. I haven’t decided.)
Okay, here’s the point. It continues to affect me. I can’t change the past, but what if I can fix what’s broken by writing about it?
As I pop my head up out of the rabbit hole, I realize I’ve come to a fork in my road. But what I really want is a spoon. And some pistachio gelato. But I digress. As I always do when it comes to dealing with this. And maybe that’s my answer for now. Maybe I’m not ready to meet the other side of me.
So for now, I will pop the “smaller” pill and crawl back out of the hole.