trap door

We live standing on a trap door. Some people spend their whole lives just standing on it, never knowing it is a trap door. It may as well be granite. For some the door swings open and they fall to their deaths. Swallowed whole. Some of us catch the edge on the way down and hang there by our fingertips. We can see the raging river beneath our feet. Hear its roar. It is possible to hang there for years. We look like everyone else, but inside we are inches from being consumed. Fingers white and trembling. Trying to hold on a little longer. Sometimes we can even climb back up and get the door closed. But once you know you're standing on a trap door nothing is ever the same. If you can't trust the ground you can't ever rest.

someone dies

In my favorite Calvin and Hobbes, Calvin is standing at the top of a snowy hill with his sled. The hill is obviously too dangerous for sledding, but Calvin thinks "go ahead, you'll make it." and "It's probably not as bad as it looks." He turns to us and says out loud "I think my brain is trying to kill me."

My brain is like that. I've begun to realize that my body is trying to kill me too. Consuming itself. It won't sleep. Muscles old rusty barbed wire from year after year stiffening to receive the next blow. You never know where it will come from or when. I've spent my whole life trying to be ready for the next attack. To brace myself. Then each one catches me unaware. Someone leaves. Someone dies.

Then I realize that the person who left wasn't who I thought they were anyway. Did I even know them? I find out they lied. I find out I lied to myself. How does one grieve the loss of a person that was part real and part made up? Which part was real? Which part did I love?

told her I would do better

When I was 12 I came home from school on my bike and my mother told me to pack a bag. She was taking me to the psychiatric ward to stay for a while. I've never been able to cry, but I cried that day. I said please. Told her I would do better. Not that I ever really understood what I was doing wrong. I just knew she hated me. She seemed to have plenty of reasons. Once I adjusted to the hospital think I liked it. It was predicable. Quiet.