I was part of his atmosphere before I knew where my feet were taking me. We stood there. Silent. Our only communication had ever been through exchanged glances. First of curiosity, then of desire, finally of mutual understanding. Months would pass between each steady hold of each others eyes but the energy was palpable always causing the hairs on the back of my neck to raise up as though a shock of electricity was shooting through the room.
He was who he was and I? I was with someone. My heart promised to a man I barely knew but couldn’t let go. Yet here I was, so close to him that I could see the tiny beads of sweat breaking out over his skin. We had never been this close before and neither of us knew what to do. So we continued to stand. Silent. Our senses electrified by our proximity. Never had I felt so passionately about anything that I could put no name to. What was this? My heart threatened to beat so wildly out of my chest that it almost met with his. Suddenly I was a fawn just learning to walk and he was the only thing keeping me upright, yet also the one causing me to be so weak and disoriented. I close my eyes and for a moment and the entire world consists of just us two. Our hearts beat in unison, a sound so loud it muted out the cacophony of the room and I can no longer tell where I begin and he ends.
You fill your life with lies that you convince yourself are truths and you shroud yourself in them, wearing them proudly, pretending to bear your soul to the world through a diaphanous curtain of lies perfectly sculpted into illusions of truth. No matter which direction you look at them from you are tricked into seeing something that isn’t there. You convince yourself so thoroughly of love that you can’t decipher what it is hiding. What is your illusion obscuring from you? What is it that is pulling at your heart? What is it that is causing a glint of truth to shine through and dance off of all the rough corners of your lies that you believed to have hidden so well?
“You can’t.” He whispers almost imperceptibly to the point that I wonder if he actually said anything.
But that was it, wasn’t it? That was the reason we wear our lies so comfortably; because all we need is one ray of truth to shine its beauty onto our rough cut lies and dazzle us as it dances across our bodies hiding the imperfections and alighting all the wonderfully manufactured “truths”. For so long I had desired to rid myself of my shroud and as I stood there, completely encased by his warmth, I knew this was my moment.
My eyes open and, breathlessly, I kiss him. An almost imperceptible moan betrays him, letting years of built up wonder escape into the time we can’t occupy. The life we will never have. The love we so long to have but will never be able to hold on to. I continue the kiss for as long as I can but what still feels like no time at all. As soon as our lips part my ears are assaulted by the raucousness of the room. His face fills my vision as my shroud falls down around us, shards of lies and truths shattering onto the floor, glinting in the light – a beauty so vicious you don’t realize the pain until you have been released from it.
I stand there naked as his face disappears into the crowd; from behind I hear my name called. I turn around, a single tear escaping to join the ruins on the floor. With one single glance he saw me. He finally saw me. And before I even had time to take one step he, too, was gone.
Naked and alone I left. I left behind everything I had worked so hard to make myself in to; I left behind the only person who had ever seen me; and I left behind a love that was so superficial I often wondered if I was simply making it up. And now the world could see me. Every part of me. Broken free by the kiss of the one who knew the forbidden freedom of loving yourself. Because loving yourself was the most forbidden love of them all.
Ladies, we’ve all done it. We have terrible cramps OUT OF NOWHERE so we go to google and discover…we are pregnant!! Apparently. Every. Single. Time. Or we have cancer. One or the other. It never fails. I bruise easily even though I take my vitamins like a good little girl and will wake up covered in random bruises. Now, I know I’m accident prone but you would think I would at least remember slamming my knee into something. Or my hand. Or my shin. Or my thigh. But there they are in the morning, dark and lovely, reminding me of a fun time I just don’t remember having. Maybe my dreams are more than dreams. Maybe I actually live it out in some alternate universe and I wake up with that Sara’s pain and she gets to remain perfectly perfect and intact wherever the hell she is. Alterna-Sara is a bitch. At one point I was convinced I had some form of cancer because of the bruising mixed with lethargy and a plethora of other symptoms that matched exactly. I didn’t. I had an iron deficiency. Where was that on webMD?
Anyway, I have discovered that mental dis-functionality is much similar to this phenomenon. I’m having a bad day for no reason so…it must be depression! Here’s some Zoloft! Didn’t work? How about some Cymbalta! Still nothing? Try Prozac! No, no, says a different doctor, it’s your PTSD. You haven’t dealt with all the mean men from your childhood yet. Oh yeah, and that big “r” word that happened. Should probably talk to someone about that. But I disagree. I spent several years in therapy trying to “deal” with my depression only to find out recently that most of it was derived from PTSD. Wonderul. Who wants to pay my parents back for all those therapy sessions? Therapy had its merits, but in the end, it wasn’t for me.
Let’s see, what else? Oh yes, if I start to freak out because I haven’t heard from someone in a few days I have some kind of anxiety disorder. Have some Xanax. Well…I must admit that that one does work, but do I need it? Probably not. At least not until I’m a little less than psychotic because having Xanax and alcohol under the same roof is just dangerous – you start to get ideas…brilliantly bad ideas.
Here’s the deal though, if I do have depression (which, according to various doctors, I do in fact have both clinical as well as situational depression, but what do they know?) why does it matter? Honestly, my earliest memories are of thinking I was worthless, and fat, and just downright useless. BUT! I’m still here. I’m chugging along. I’m…dealing in my own special way. When I WAS taking anti-depressants things seemed to be going well, but I didn’t feel like myself. Is that bad? Is it wrong to only feel like yourself when you are constantly battling negative and self-loathing thoughts. I’m sure most people would say yes. Bad, Sara. Get help Sara. But I did get help and all it taught me was that I need to trust myself more. I began to rely on what they said more than what I felt. Bad. Idea. I discovered that I know myself pretty well, AND I know what I want. And when I say I know what I want, I mean I have no idea what I want and I’m okay with that. My long-term goals as of right now are to be a Stepford wife/mom to six kids and at some point become a novelist. I don’t have to be famous, I just want to made a difference to someone out there.
I think if we embrace who we are, flaws and all, we can all make it. To me, it is similar to embracing your body. Few people like the way they look, but we are taught to like ourselves just the way we are. I still find that part difficult, but I sure as hell embrace my psychosis! I refuse to try any more medication because of this wonderful little tidbit, when you go off the meds, you MIGHT have psychotic episodes. This little girl did in fact have those episodes. Two. Hello ER. Talk about an experience you never want to have again. It scared the shit out of me. How do you get away from your attacker when you are the one attacking? Don’t try this at home, kids.
Depression? Check. PTSD? Check. Anxiety? Check. Self-diagnosed psychosis. Check. Proud to be me? Check! How can I not? The thoughts that bump around in my head that never make it out would scare my friends and family, but I have them, and I deal with them and don’t let them take over my life. Some days are really bad, but there is always a tomorrow. It might not have sunshine and rainbows and unicorns, but it will bring something new to the table. I’m hoping for pie. Or cookies.
As always, I have faith. Faith in myself. Faith that I will make it. Love who you are. Embrace who you are. And never let go.
I like to see my life as this wonderfully messed up story that someone is reading right now, and as they read my life unfolds before me. But at the same time, I’m the one writing the book, and I get to choose what’s in the next chapter.