It’s death again, and my life, and what I’m to do with it. My long distance relationship and when and how I’ll find out what love is. How long I’ll live. How long my father will live. How things were before I was here. How they will change after. Why I was even born in the first place. Why I am being made to deal with this. Why there isn’t forever. Whether or not there really is anything afterwards.
It’s 3:47 am and I’m awake thinking about these things, the same way I do any other time I’m awake.
Fulfillment, success, happiness. Will I be one of the lucky ones who get to have these things? Or will I be one of the sad ones who never figure anything out, spending their whole lives searching for answers only to not find anything at all?
How many more years until I come to any sort of conclusion?
Sometimes I remember again.
The thought enters my mind
and I hold on to it
instead of allowing it to pass.
For a second,
time speeds across my eyes.
My heart sinks.
It feels as if someone has tugged hard
on a string attached to it,
the way a truck driver would
sound his horn.
My body follows suit, quickly descending
as if it is being pulled into a well of water,
but just before my nostrils
go beneath the surface
I mentally shake my head.
I throw the thought away.
I have to,
otherwise this paralysing fear
will spread through my being.
I release the breath
I had sucked in
three seconds before.
I sit upright.
I take another breath
and release it.
This is unproductive.
It will do me no good.
I will eventually die.
I don’t know when.
I cannot change this.
I will never be able to.
Continue to breathe.
Leave death alone.
It will come in due time.
Do not ask questions.
There is no one to tell you
why you were put here.
For now go home and sleep.
You have a long day tomorrow.
Maybe there isn’t anything to say,
But there’s way too much to feel
And it’s too bad there isn’t a dictionary
Embedded inside me
So I could put a name to it all
This conundrum, these convoluted thoughts
That are chasing each other
The way a dog chases after its tail
And the same way it never catches it,
They never reach a conclusion
Or build a firm resolve to action
It’s a roller coaster –
But a slow one –
Pushing its way through frozen time
And busying yourself
With moving images on screens
And sounds from speakers
Doesn’t make it stop moving
Doesn’t give you an answer
And then you revert
To that old question, thought, whatever:
Who brought you into this
So you could suffer this way?
And you hold your tears in
Because you’re in a public space
And you can’t let the world see you
Being anything but strong.
Imagining things again, future things, things that won’t happen, because they’re only in my head. Things like what my father wants to talk to me about. Things like how Thanksgiving will go with his wife. Things like how I’ll feel when I see my boyfriend. Things like how my life will unfold, how the world will unfold while I’m still on it.
And then the lies. Are you OK? A slow, hesitant nod. One that is accepted. I look happy. It’s because of my period. I should consider therapy. I shouldn’t waste my money. Why not? I throw enough of it away on makeup that doesn’t suit me.
And so I sit in my thoughts, thinking and imagining and wondering when it will all be over, wishing it had never begun, wishing I could fix it, wishing I could do something. But, no. Apparently this is what life is.
Today I wore a pair of wedge sandals that I haven’t worn in a long time. I checked the weather on my phone before I left the house and saw that the high would be 90 degrees Fahrenheit and immediately decided that I would not be wearing any kind of jeans. I gave a quick once over to my bottoms and decided that I wanted to wear my green shorts. I didn’t grab it at once because I knew I was working in the library after school and that they might be too short…but they also might not be. I put them on and checked to see that half of my thighs were covered. I was satisfied with that. I then wondered what top to pair with them. I looked at one I had bought in Florida this July and decided not to even bother with the idea because I had already tried it with the shorts last month and it didn’t look anywhere near as good as I thought it would. After another “idea” I settled on a sleeveless blouse that might be called tan and hurriedly took out my sandals. They were brown. They were wedges. I wasn’t sure they would match the outfit, but I decided not to care because I didn’t want them to dry rot as a consequence of not being worn. I thought that I should put a pair of flat sandals in my bag just in case, but I was short on time and had to leave quickly in order to catch the bus. Because of this I also neglected to bring with me any kind of sweater or cardigan. That and I just didn’t want to…although I knew that I would probably have to suffer through cold air conditioning at work. Whatever. I left the house.
I wasn’t comfortable. I wasn’t sure how I looked and I hadn’t worn anything with heels for a while. I thought that I probably looked weird, especially since I was walking quickly, and I had a big blue bag on my back, and a big blue lunch bag. I felt weird the whole day, like I was being watched and silently ridiculed for my choice of clothing. In my second class I thought I drew attention to myself because my heels made such loud noises on the floor. I still wasn’t sure about my outfit. And I was still worried about whether or not it would be okay once I got to work. I had been worrying about that on and off all day. Before I left the house I thought that the worse that could happen is that I’d get a warning and then not do it again. There was no way I could change anything because I wasn’t carrying any extra clothing with me. In class I hoped and hoped that the professor would let us leave early. That way I could stop downtown and quickly buy a long, open sweater.
Leaving school I was annoyed with myself for worrying so much about something like this, instead of maybe the fact that doctors still can’t find anything wrong with my father even though his body keeps doing things it’s not supposed to.
When I showed up to work no one said anything except one of the library assistants, but it didn’t bother as me as much because she wasn’t being malicious or anything. I had bought a sweater anyway; my professor had let us out really early. A friend of mine also complimented me. I had put the sweater on. I felt something near relief.
I asked myself why that made any difference, why I needed someone else to tell me I looked okay, why it hadn’t made such an impact when I had said to myself earlier that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, that this really wasn’t that big a deal.
No answer was attempted. I guess the questions were rhetorical.
And this is what took up most of my thoughts for the day.
I have nothing to say and too much to say. A lot going on, but not enough. I’ve been hurt so much, though barely at all and I complain way more than I need to. I don’t know where this is going and I don’t know where I want it to go, but I want it to go somewhere, to go somewhere farther than here. I want it to be something more than just this. Am I talking about this post, or about my life?
I’m drinking a large latte with almond milk and a hazelnut swirl that I bought from Dunkin’ Donuts a little over thirty minutes ago. I felt like nursing a cup of coffee so I went out and got one, and then found it to be too sweet. I wished that I had bought a smaller size, or that I had gotten a caramel swirl instead of hazelnut, but I’ve been drinking the latte anyway.
In forty minutes I’ll be leaving work and I’m not quite sure what I’m going to do yet. I want to get two rolls of quarters so that I can do my laundry. I want to buy a dish drainer for the kitchen because as of today, there is none. I also want to buy two curtain rods because I finally bought curtains and I want to hang them up in my room. Oh, and I want something for my walls, or for a wall. I’ve never wanted anything on my walls before. Not that I was thinking of getting that today, but I do want to get that.
Should I be worrying about money right now? I just came back from visiting my cousins in Florida and that trip cost a couple of dollars. I’m thinking – I’m going to Jamaica next month and that won’t be cheap either, though it will be nowhere near what Florida cost me. (I just spent about three minutes making sure I used the correct past tense of the word cost.)
The temperature of my latte is slowly going down. It’s not doing much to keep me awake. I’m writing though, and that’s always a good thing – unless someone reads your journal without your permission. In that case, I suppose writing is still a good thing. It is simply the act of invasion that is the opposite.
In thirty minutes I’m done with work. I need to make a decision by then. I suppose I don’t have to do anything at all today, but I probably will. When things find a spot in my head, they aren’t usually displaced very easily. My only concern is carrying the things I’ll buy. I’m not particularly fond of baggage.
From April of last year. The opening words were said by the woman leading the singing at church on a particular Sabbath. I didn’t like what she said.
“We don’t deserve to live!…”
“Thanks for reminding me,” I said out loud. I stood unwillingly, with no intention of singing that hymn again. I hated when they did that. I folded my arms and kept my mouth closed and looked off to the side. Like I needed to be reminded. Like I didn’t know that already. As if there was any way I could forget that.
A miserable wretched sinner, yes I know. I was born evil and have no good in me and deserve a horrid death. And if I don’t deny myself and live completely for Jesus, I surely will die that horrid death. Never mind what I think. Never mind that I was dropped into the middle of a war that has absolutely nothing to do with me. But I have to make a decision anyway. I have to pick a side. Does that even make sense? You mean to tell me I was made so I could die? Love me or die. How on earth can you command someone to love you? And what if I just can’t find it in me to love you wholeheartedly and believe every word say? You kill me? Or leave me to die? Thanks a lot. That surely is unconditional love.
I was thinking this on my way to pick up my brother from daycare. I almost cried. I was thinking this before I went to bed last night. I shook my head and tossed the thought away. I’d been thinking this a lot lately. I’m being forced to do something I want nothing to do with.