Losing it
It hits you in the moments when you are the most happy. When you feel such satisfaction and joy in the middle of your chest, right at the spot where your true heart is.
And then you start feeling it all. The sadness and the sorrow that become a rock you have swallowed that is now lying in your stomach taking you down with it into the deep of the sea where you drown in your own sorrowful tears.
Your throat slowly closes and suffocates you with the realization of what is actually happening.
Your limbs become paralyzed and you can’t move just be. Your eyes widen, trying to see the entire picture of how that could have all happened.
Your mouth open too trying to save you with words of denial that would let you breathe air but nothing comes out of there and your efforts to not suffocate are useless.
This is loss.
This is the sadness that overwhelms you in the moments when you can’t handle it, can’t grab it.
And you’ll be in school or getting groceries and it will just hit you, so unexpectedly. People will see, stare and not understand.
They’ll never understand how the loss of something like that has changed you and them in a way too.
They are more flawed now because they can’t see all of your flaws.
They can’t see beneath this skin of yours.
Thinking and feeling and knowing and supposing
I don’t know what to think or feel or know or supposed to anymore.
I think of the fact that I have only six weeks left. That is the time of a summer break. I am only one break away, from breaking away. I feel lonely. It’s not the fact that I don’t have friends but the fact that I don’t want to cause damage. Not for them and not for me because I am already damaged by the knowledge that I have to leave again and that I get no say in whether I want to or not.
I know that it’s going to be okay. My friends here and there are not going to abandon me by the snap of a finger, at least not the good and true ones. But my imagination has locked out what I know and let my fear become the director of the movie that is playing out my anxiety in my head on a daily.
I am supposed to be sad.
I am supposed to look forward to go back.
I am supposed to have left a home to find another just to rediscover my old one.
But here’s the thing. I don’t have a home anymore. Or better to say, I didn’t have a place where belonging was written in capitalized letters on the front door banner. And maybe the worst of all is that I am afraid. Afraid that thinking and feeling and knowing and supposing all these things is all wrong. I am scared to do wrong, to be wrong. That’s why I walk on the thinnest of lines because most days, right and wrong blurr all together and become thinking. And feeling. And knowing. And supposing.
I think it’s not obvious what I feel because I only know what’s supposed to be.