Blanket.

A sweaty-toothed madman with a stare that pounds my brain.His hands reach out and choke me.
And all the time he's mumbling. Mumbling truth.
Truth like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. 
You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. 
You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. 
From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, 
it'll just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream. 

▬Todd Anderson (Dead Poets Society)

Processing

How we met is not so important. I think the best part of our story is the way things evolved between him and me - how we went from being “friends” to lovers. I don’t even know what we were. It wasn’t the usual kind of relationship; he didn’t ask me out and neither did I. We were not “together” but we did fool around a lot (if you know what I mean). We started off saying that this shouldn’t be more than just a platonic friendship. Of course, that was before things started to get messy between us.

First I got his email address somehow. We exchanged emails here and there just to get to know each other. I would ask him what kind of music he liked, what tv shows he watched or what his favourite sports were.. You know, the basics! Then we took the next step: msn. How silly. But God do I miss those five hours conversations. Past midnight he would always tell me that nothing good happens after midnight. But then again, we both knew that neither him nor I wanted to stop. The only times we did call it a night before twelve o'clock were the times that we got into a fight. We seemed like we never got bored of each other. There was always more to talk about.

One day, my friends decided to “bond” a little (but really, it was just for the sake of gossiping). So they started sharing stories with each other. I thought to myself “oh, this should be interesting. Let’s hear what they have to say”. Half an hour later I just wanted to get out of there. I needed to. I had reached the peak of my emotional instability, and I knew for a fact ten more minutes of listening to their bullshit would have resulted into a nasty cat fight. When I went for a walk, all I could think of was “why me?” All I wanted at that moment was to hear his voice. So I called him; and as soon as he picked up the phone, it didn’t hurt as much. 

We talked; I told him what had happened, what was on my mind. Then I cracked, as usual. He hung up the phone and thought it'd be a good idea to meet me up. For some reason, I was nervous while I waited. My mind started drifting away from what seemed to be the original issue. And there he was, slowly approaching me and searching for any signs of tears on my cheeks. I stopped crying by then. I couldn’t afford to let him see me in that state. I’d look so weak and vulnerable, wouldn’t I?

But who was I kidding? I knew that my eyes were puffy and red-ish.
 
He was now standing in front of me. He looked for some eye contact and asked me if I was okay. I tried to come up with a lie like I usually do. But not this time. This time, my mind was too busy processing other things. Because without realizing it, he took me in his arms and started kissing me.

Something.

Everyone has that one person that they always go back to. And each time, they swear it’s different and they’re done for good. But they aren’t. They wish they were, but the thing is, they can’t be. Because that person they keep going back to, they can’t be completely happy without them.

I still remember the day, the moment him and I really ‘connected’. I had never felt what I did that night, before. And I have no words to describe it. Chemistry. An attraction that cannot be explained or qualified. I’m eighteen and alright, it might not have been love. I don’t really care at this point. Put whatever name tag you want to attach to it, all that I know is that it made me happy. He accepts the both sides of me. The whole me. I did feel butterflies in my stomach; I did feel weak in my legs whenever I saw him. Isn’t that how authors of romance books describe love as? So why should I walk away from this?

A few weeks passed by and everything was fine. I remember feeling light headed, as if nothing could ever take him away from me. I felt as if I was high on some kind of drug, one that I had never encountered before. I automatically smiled whenever I saw him; I always had this strong desire to hug him oh-so-tightly and never let go; I wanted to sit on his lap and kiss him, and stay in the moment. I allowed myself to be completely engulfed by him, by the connection that we had. It was the best feeling in the world. How could one ever possibly let that go? 

When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces. ▬Jodi Picoult

One evening he called me. He asked me when we could meet up to talk about something. Something. I couldn’t really tell whether he was nervous or sad by the tone of his voice. But I remember thinking about what it could be, about the worst case scenarios. For the week that followed, I pushed him around trying to get something out of him, but he insisted that we talk face to face. We waited and waited then one day, he finally gave in. Worst case scenarios; I replayed them all in my head as I stood in front of him and waited for whatever he had to say. When he did, it wasn't just in my head anymore. As he spoke out and uttered those three words, I swear I had ever felt this heartbroken before. The worst case scenario. 

For weeks, I did what I do best - avoiding him. I was still digesting the news. And even if I had already imagined this situation in my head before, I was never really prepared to deal with it. He had someone new in his life now. And it was obvious that she was special to him. I knew then, that everything was going to be different. I guess we tried to get pass that. I didn’t try to avoid the subject although I really wanted to. Yes, I talked about it to make it look like I wasn’t hurting. But I was. Like hell.

I remember how one evening he gave me a call at the most random time of the day. It was the weekend before he told me about her. By then, she already formed part of his life. Yeah, I remember talking to him that Sunday evening. He sounded so happy and I asked him why; “for no reason” he told me. Well, now I know. And thinking about how ecstatic he was, it just makes my heart ache even more. Not because she was now part of his life, but because SHE managed to give him that joy, not me.

I see a man who thinks he has fallen in love with a woman when, in reality, he’s in love with the idea of her. He’s in love with this perfect, elusive person he has built up in his mind. But, when he finally gets the real thing — when the girl lets him close enough to really see her, when she lets him in — he loses interest. When he sees her with all her dimensions, her black outlines and solid shapes… things change. He liked chasing the dream, not her.I guess there was this part of me that always thought that we had a chance. That maybe someday, we could live a happy life; that we could run away and be together; that we could buy a house away from the crowd; that we would make love all night, every night. Yes, I had my hopes up after our ‘connection’. I thought he'd be the last one I'd say the three words to. I wanted him to be the last one. But her? I can’t compete with her, how could I? The only option I had left was to watch my hopes fall down as I move on with my life. Just like in chemistry, some elements come together and create a reaction that cannot be reversed. The transcend chemistry - a part of me was, still is, and always will be with him.

The Dark Passenger.

I want to move on but I can’t. I have tried countless of times, but couldn’t.

I just know there’s something dark in me and I hide it. I certainly don’t talk about it, but it’s there always, this Dark Passenger. And when he’s driving, I feel alive, half sick with the thrill of complete wrongness. I don’t fight him, I don’t want to. He’s all I’ve got. Nothing else could love me, not even.. especially not me. Or is that just a lie the Dark Passenger tells me? Because lately there are these moments when I feel connected to something else.. someone. It’s like the mask is slipping and things, people.. who never mattered before are suddenly starting to matter. It scares the hell out of me. 

I realise that for five years, I’ve been imprisoned by him. I was obsessed with him. And the worst part is that he didn’t even force me to. I liked it, on my own will. I liked the fact that he was possessive, that he made me his. I didn’t feel like I needed other people in my life, as long as I had him. And whenever we got into a fight, I had no one around to talk to. I couldn’t.

It’s been over two years that I left. I don’t talk to him as much, obviously we don’t see each other anymore. And during my first year here, I struggled to move on and make new friends. I wanted to go back home so badly. Home is where the heart is, always. However, the very few individuals that have formed part of my life since elementary school have helped me get back on my feet. New friendships were born; I talked a lot more to others; I genuinely laughed and felt like I was my only master. The thing is, it scares the crap out of me. I forgot how to really interact with people around me. I always second guess myself, and never really have the guts to say what I'm thinking. I guess that could be a good thing too, knowing how strange I might sound did I utter a single thought to these people. 

And despite all this, I miss him. More than ever. He is no good for me. But as I said: And when he’s driving, I feel alive, half sick with the thrill of complete wrongness. I don’t fight him, I don’t want to. He’s all I’ve got.

Bitter Sore Memory.

Out of 30 kids, 25 of them want to finish high school, get their license, move out of their home, experience university life. We all want to grow up. We’re desperate to get there; grab all the opportunities we can to live, to break free and spread our wings. We’re so busy trying to get out of that mess, we don’t think about the fact that it’s going to be cold out there. Really freaking cold. Because growing up sometimes means leaving people behind. And by the time we stand on our own two feet, we’re standing there alone. Everyone thinks you make mistakes when you’re young, but I don’t think we make any fewer when we’re grown up.

Walking away won’t make things better. And walking away with closed fists doesn’t make you any stronger. Because someone once told me that in the end, taking control of feelings is not something too important, dealing with them is. See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it. And remember, reaching for something that’s already gone will only make things worse. All you gotta do is go north.

Healing Halm of Time.

Letters To My SonChapter 11: Tragedy and Suffering
▬By Kent Nerburn
Tragedy and suffering will come to you. You cannot insulate yourself from them. You cannot avoid them. They come in their own season and in their own time.

When they come, they will overwhelm you and immobilize you. You will feel for a time like you can’t go on. If you are one kind of person, you will feel like no other human being has ever known the suffering you are going through. If you are another kind, you will feel that your suffering is so small and insignificant compared to the greater sufferings of others that you are being self-indulgent by feeling your own pain.

Don’t be duped by either extreme. A person burned by a match does not feel pain any less because someone else was burned in a fire. Your pain and suffering are real because they are yours. You must embrace them and realize that they, too, are a gift of life because they take you out of yourself and, for a moment, make you one with all others who have known loss or pain or suffering.

The great lesson of suffering comes from the fact that it is so much greater than the confines in which we live our daily lives. When all is going well, our world is a small, controlled experience bounded by our daily necessities. Going to the store, finishing a paper, getting new tires for the car, wondering whether the girl who smiled at me yesterday likes me - these re the levels of concern that occupy our daily lives.

When tragedy and suffering come swooping in, they are unexpected, unforseen, unprepared for. They shatter our tiny boundaries and break our world into pieces. For a time we are living inside a scream that seems to have no exit, only echoes. Those small cares that seemed so important yesterday become nothing, our daily concerns petty.

When we finally reclaim ourselves, as we ultimately do, we are changed. We have been dropped into chaos and nothing is as it was. We look longingly on life as it used to be and wish we had a chance to do things over again.

But we don’t. Our lives are unalterably changed, and we will never again be the persons we were before. We have been carried into a larger realm where we see what truly is important , and it is our daily lives. It is our chance to thing life afresh.

How we respond to tragedy and suffering is the measure of our strength.
I know a man who was chained to a bed and beaten as a child. He now lives alone in a single room, aligning his shoes perfectly and setting each object in its appointed place everyday. He has no friends other than his sense of order, which is nothing more than the warding off of the chaos that whirled around him as a child.

I know another man who survived Auschwitz as a child and stood by as his mother and father were killed. He now devotes himself to making money and living what he perceives as “the good life.” “I’ve suffered enough,” he says. “I have a right to try to claim some happiness.”

I also know a woman who was taken, blindfolded, at eighteen, to a dingy hotel room in a distant city to have a bloody, scraping, kitchen-table abortion. She dedicated her life to working with cancer patients, perhaps as an atonement for some perceived guilt, perhaps because she understood some broader dimension of suffering.

I can’t judge any of these people. They have each suffered deeply, far more deeply than you or I. But they share something in common - they changed their lives in response to the suffering they experienced.
Some people, like my friend with the shoes and my friend with the money, chose to respond to their tragedy and suffering by insulating themselves further. Perhaps they had to; perhaps the scars were so great they couldn’t endure another touch of pain such as they had known.

But what of my friend in the cancer ward? She did not deny her pain. She did not run from it. She accepted it, embraced it, and saw how it made her one with others who knew pain and suffering. Because she had felt death inside her, she chose to share herself with others who were feeling death inside themselves.

We need to see these dark moments as moments of growth. Those who insulate themselves from further pain miss a great opportunity. They miss the chance to use their pain to grow outside themselves and recognize something greater and shared in our human experience.

Maybe your pain is the loss of a girlfriend or the death of a pet. Maybe it is the death of a parent or an accident that maims or a sickness that never retreats. Whatever it is, it is your measure, and you need to look upon it as a gift to help you reclaim what is important in your life.

Remember, though a hurt may seem unbearable and all-consuming at first, with the healing halm of time it will begin to pass. The human being is a surprisingly resilient organism. We impel toward health, not sickness. Your spirit, as surely as your body, will try to heal.
The question you must ask yourself is not if you will heal, but how you will heal. Grief and pain have their own duration, but when they begin to pass, you must take care to guide the shape of the new being you are becoming. They reduce our lives to chaos, but in return they offer us a chance to rebuild our sense of values and meaning.
So you should not fear tragedy and suffering. From them can come your greatest creativity. No one should seek them, but no one can avoid them. Like love, they make you more a part of the human family. Experience them for what they are, but use them for what they can be. They are the fire that burns you pure.