via Daily Prompt: Overwhelming
Am I numb?
Wouldn’t anyone else walking this sometimes treacherous path in my old, worn shoes feel a bit of the pressure? Wouldn’t they be crying out, outraged by the unfairness of it all?
I feel nothing.
I am overstating. I do feel. The number of emotions and thoughts whizzing around my mind at any given moment make me dizzy and nauseate me slightly. However, I can’t seem to focus on any of them so I simply focus on nothing.
Does that make me numb?
That first week, I cried every day. I cried on the way to work, I cried in the shower, I cried while I was cooking dinner, I cried myself to sleep, I cried in the nourishment room while I grabbed my patients apple juice or apple sauce or whatever the hell it was they wanted. I cried the first time someone asked me if I was okay (because the answer was a resounding, overwhelming no). I yelled at God and asked him, Why is this happening? – although I knew the answer. I yelled at her, I ignored her, I hugged her, I kissed her, I told her I don’t need her and I meant it.
She would say “Sarah, stop crying” and I would. It wasn’t a plea based in her worry – she was irritated by my display of emotion. I stopped crying altogether.
She’d tell me to come to bed and she would try to hold me and sometimes I would push her away and the space between us felt like miles – but it wasn’t enough. Sometimes I couldn’t get close enough – but I never forgot about the walls she built between us.
I made plans to move as far away as I could as quickly as possible. The weeks went by ever so slowly. Was time doing this on purpose? However, when I would look back at the amount of time that passed since the day it ended, I was in awe. Has it really been a month? Two months? Three? Where does the time go?
Everything has changed for me and nothing has changed for her other than the newness of my absence. I gave up my job, my apartment, my friends, my cat, and my city (among other things). I packed up everything I could fit into my car and I finally, after months of waiting, left. The act of leaving didn’t bring me the sense of finality and closure and peace I was hoping for.
I thought it would.
I am not overwhelmed and I guess I am trying to understand why. I’m trying to define my new normal. To define is to limit, I say to myself over and over again.
But how do I live inside all of this uncertainty? I feel like I’m floating, but not in a bubbly, effervescent sort of way. Just floating, directionless, through time. I cling to the things and people that make me exude emotions I recognize. Sometimes they don’t cling back.
I think I am happy. I feel free. I still long for a few things I can’t quite name. For someone who is always certain of exactly what she wants, I am certainly clueless. I think pieces of me are still missing but I’m not sure where I can find them; will they return to me on their own? Will I find or create new pieces to take their place?
I don’t want anyone to fix me. I am not sure that I need fixing. Perhaps I just need love and time. I need someone I trust to just play with my hair (and maybe hold my cold, clammy hands once in a while) as I figure myself out. I need someone who will buy me french fries at any time of day, who won’t be offended when I am angry and cruel for no immediately apparent reason, who will laugh at my stupid jokes, who will love me despite my missing pieces.
I want her to want me too.