I Pull Investments
Most of the time, I'm pretty chilled out and I'm never stressing out too hard. For the most part, I'm happy to be the therapist friend, and for my close friends I reach out at least once a week. It's typical for me to be really busy, but I do touch base with everyone in my circle enough to still be close. I'm firm in 'communication goes both ways' but I know good people can just be hesitant to make the move first. I know when I'm bothering someone, when they wanted the silence to last longer, and I know when people just really do forget.
It's work. Don't pretend like making that routine isn't work. Relationships take energy and effort, and most days I make a point to let the people I care know I care about them. Whether I have a lot to say or not, I do this because I care.
When I'm down in the dumps, I pull from those investments. Don't pretend like it's too expectant or too demanding. I now know how to recognize what I need and when I need for my mindfulness and well-being. And if my friends aren't willing to treat me the way I treat them, they are removed from my support system. I'm a good listener, but if that's all I am, that's the title. I don't look to my family because I know it doesn't help. And that's not a bad thing, it's just what it is. My friends are my chosen family for a reason, and I know who to go to for what I need.
Most of the time, I just need distraction. Sometimes, when I check in on someone, that's for me too. Everyone's guilty of solving other people's problems to distract from their own sometime in their life. Sometimes that's what it is, in disguise. Doesn't mean I'm using people, or that I'm not really valuing what they're saying to me. It means it matters to me too.
Other times, I need to be listened to. Talking is a way people organize what they think. And most of the time, when people rant or explain an issue they're solving, they already know what they want to and should do, but they need another opinion to deter them or encourage them. Sometimes just talking something through is what people need.
And when you need opinions and advice, don't take the internet seriously. It would take at least three credible friends to convince me to do anything or move forward with any plans that I didn't originally come up with. It's good to get ideas, but real friends over internet strangers any day.
When I'm not vibing and I'm not chillin, I reach out to the friends I know and love, and I let them know I'm cashing in a favor. This looks like a very cut-and-dry business model, but what's business without relationships? And it's not a business.
It's just going both ways.
The best way out.
I had a dream once that I was walking on stepping stones and seemingly going around in circles but I eventually ended up where I needed to be.
I awoke with a profound sense of understanding that has been hard to explain. I seriously feel that dream was my subconscious telling me a secret about life.
There is no bottom. There is no up. There are no straight lines. There is just the continued walking on a winding path, from one moment to the next, stepping stones in the cycle of life that finally connect to help you reach your journey’ s end.
A philosopher once said “life can only be understood looking backwards”.. but it takes time to get to that vantage point.
So keep going, as you don’t know where the next stepping stone will take you and as a great poet once wrote “the best way out is always through ”.
Hurting & In Love
My magic sputters, although I feel it on my fingertips. I try again, but it does not travel beyond, instead pressing against my skin making me itchy and ticklish all-at-once. Peeved I try once more, trying to materialize a flicker with no luck. I drop my hand by my side, curling it up into a fist and digging my nails into my palm. The half-moons of discolored indented flesh a painful reminder of my failure.
“Any luck,” the trainer asks, my eyes are drawn to her asymmetrical high ponytail and it takes me a beat too long to respond.
“Nope,” I reply, “But I can try again.” I lift my arm again, slightly bent at the elbow and concentrate.
Lu shakes her head, “That’s not necessary. The others are struggling as well. You all need to rest.” Her eyes soften, and she reaches for my still outstretched hand. She halts suddenly, her eyes falling upon the marks on my palm, the half moons now faded.
“Did you do that?” she asks concerned. She holds my hand palm side up and rubs her thumb gingerly across my hand.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, tempted to pull my hand away, “It wasn’t intentional.” The marks will disappear soon, but Lu pours over my hand as if I were badly hurt. They are losing their strange purplish hue reverting back to my skin tone, the half moons barely visible.
“Okay,” she replies with a sigh of relief, but she continues to caress my hand. Sometimes I forget that Lu is not much older than me, that she’s my friend first and foremost. Maybe even more than that. When she’s in trainer mode she seems to be a wholly different person, so distant. I search the training facilities for any prying eyes, but thankfully find none. The others have no idea about Lu and I. I’m not sure if I want them to know about us, I’m not sure if there is even an us.
“Let’s go on a walk outside,” she says, intertwining her fingers in my own.
We walk hand-in-hand, until I grow self-conscious and loosen my grip. She lets go in that moment and comes to a standstill. I have no idea why we have stopped and I turn towards her, questioning why our walk has been cut short. Her eyes stare back at me, immense sadness consuming them. Self-consciously I stare away, pretending to be captivated by the trees, embarrassed to have seen her so vulnerable.
Lu lets out a sigh. When I glance back at her, her eyes are more guarded.
“We’re all hurting right now,” Lu says, “I’ve been a mess the last few weeks. Ever since we lost Sandra, my world has imploded.”
I fidget, wanting to keep walking but Lu remains rooted staring up at the sky. I did not know Sandra, not like the others. But unlike me, Lu and Sandra were practically sisters. I barely knew her and yet I feel a lump in my throat at the mere mention of her name.
“I think magic responds to our emotions, our mental health,” Lu continues, matter-of-factly, “And so it’s natural that we struggle to access our magic after losing someone that meant the world to us.”
“Your magic is gone as well?” I ask surprised, never expecting to see Lu struggle with her magic. She is the most powerful enchantress I have ever met
“It’s not gone,” she replies, “The magic will always be there. Nothing ever just disappears, just as no one ever just disappears... I still feel like a part of her is with us.”
I want to argue with her, we’ve lost so many of our own, we’ve lost so much. Isn’t that what it meant to disappear? Do we not disappear in the crevices of the silence, as our voices continue to be ignored. Instead I hold my tongue. This is neither the time or the place.
“I was thinking we should have some kind of ceremony,” Lu says, her voice raw, “I know that there was already a memorial--” She sputters out, unable to finish what she wanted to say. In that moment, I put my arm around her and draw her into a hug. She cries into my shoulder, and I hold her as tight as I can.
“I’m here for you, Lu. And you know the others are as well, right? I know you think that because you’re in charge you have to be strong all the time, but there’s no need for that.”
“You know I love you, right?” Lu replies pulling away from our hug and instead placing her arms on my shoulders, her voice so small for a second I think I misheard her.
“I love you too, Lu,” I reply, almost too scared to stare in her eyes.
“Don’t tell the others you saw me cry, but you can tell about this” she adds with a wry smile, hesitating before kissing me. She stops midway and I cover the rest of the distance, meeting her in the middle. For our first kiss, it feels strangely familiar. And yet it feels wholly new as well.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Lu says, “And I’m done waiting to kiss you.”
“Can I kiss you again?” she asks, sounding suddenly timid. I nod.
Was it worth it?
Was it worth it?
Shaving the hairs away, one pimply hair
follicle at a time
to appease the male gaze?
Was it worth it?
Slathering on eye liner
and mascara
for one night out -
Who are you appeasing -
one man?
Was it worth it?
Sliding on your mini skirt
one inch at a time
for him -
Was it worth it?
Or are you a living testament
to society’s standards -
a minion?
But not someone -
wholesome,
worthwhile?
Are you worth it?
Counseling
I entered the room. The books slept quietly on each shelf as if they haven’t been touched in decades. The couch was leveled with the desk in front of it , seemed to me they were having a simple but bland conversation. Also, the windows sat aside from each other , like they wanted nothing to do with one another. There I sat. She told me to talk , and I forced every word out just like they forced me to think this would help me. She soaked up every word I said as if she was a sponge. Then it repeats , again.
Know this.
Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?
Or can you comprehend what it's like when their fingers suddenly sag as they no longer possess the strength to hold your hand? Or that quiet noise they make when the very last shard of air is crushed from their lungs, the one that echoes through my skull like thunder?
No, you don't. How could you?
There is no way to imagine the crippling agony that stalks me by light of sun and moon. The nightmare of an image that clings to me tighter than skin. It pierces my bones, scraping them hollow with its icy fingers. And my flesh decays under its damp touch. And my body shakes from the spreading chill.
Do you know what it feels like to hold a dying person? To feel the warmth of their precious blood run red across your lap? To hear the pain in their labored breath, knowing they will stutter into impending stillness?
My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for.My soul festers with wounds that time itself knows no remedy for. You cannot know this pain. But you will.
You may doubt me now and I under why. You might think it can't happen to you, but you cannot be everywhere at once. Someday somewhere I will catch up to those you love and then, only then, will you know my pain.
On that day when you feel their soul wrenched from their body as you stand witness know it was I who cut the thread. It was I who took them from you and you'll only have yourself blame.
You will be powerless in the face of death just as I was.
Know this and know you will be alone.
