As her fingers pulled back the duvet, and she settled into her bed, she let her head hit her pillow.
Would she see him tonight? Would he allow himself to come into her fantasy, to let her hear his voice. Or would it be just another night of wishing to ask questions that had no answers?
As her eyes fought the night with its bare hands, she realized that all she wanted was justification. Reason as to why he made his decision, as to why he left her with nothing more than memories and a letter. A goodbye letter, she might add.
So when he did show, which was more often recently, she made sure to ask those questions that gnawed at her heart. There were only so many chances she would receive.
Stupidly, she thought there would be a simple explanation, That he would tell her why he decided that one breath would be his last. How he could tear pieces of paper from a notebook, and write to his family that his time on earth had come to an end?
Each time, he said nothing. Each time, she felt her heart break and anger rise in her chest and dissapointment’s talons claw at her skin. Was it really that hard to answer a simple question?
When she did wake from her dream, and the feeling of losing him again breathed down her neck, she came to understand that there was no answer. That no matter how many times she pleaded with him to answer, begged him through clenched teeth and tearful eyes, he would never say what she wanted to hear.
He would never answer her “why’s”.
Maybe he wanted to protect her, to keep her heart from hurting more than it already did. Maybe it was because no explanation could undo what he had done or bring him back to her.
She wanted to believe that there was an answer, that it could bring her peace. But too many tears had been shed and too much abandonment had cut through flesh.
Maybe this just had to happen.
If there’s anything worth fighting for, it’s your own life.
It isn’t easy, and there are many mornings I wake up battered and broken from whichever war ravaged my body and my brain the night before. It becomes so difficult to face the day before me, not knowing what lies ahead. Will disappointment greet me at the breakfast table? Will sadness stealthily creep into my heart, or will anger rise within my chest, polluting the air around me with flames and ashes?
Everywhere we turn someone is asking us to take a stand. Whether we turn left or right, there are painstakingly difficult decisions to be made and questions that need answering “Should we still be entertaining the idea that our five year olds are celebrating their first day of school in their own living rooms?” “What role should the police play in our lives and how far is too far when it comes to protesting?” and “Which candidate is going to best answer all of these questions for us?” We are looking for absolutes where there are none. We are starting to become tired of this narrative and we want to find a way out.
It would be convenient to take the easy way out. It would be so simple to let others make choices for us. Even more though, it would be such a relief to avoid or ignore, give in to emotional myths and judgments, and act impulsively, to give up completely. So, what is the alternative to these actions? Stay mindful of our goals during this tumultuous time, proceed with intent and with a focus on what works. When we do what is needed in the situation we are in, we begin to see what it feels like to live a life worth living. Acting effectively is making the necessary choice when it is challenging. It is learning how to be comfortable being uncomfortable.
DBT taught me that if there’s anything worth fighting for, it’s my own life. And if there is one thing I know for sure it is that you and I are more alike than we are different. You are the author of your story, and you decide the ending.
TEA WITH MY FEELINGS
My life is worth living.
I’ve said it
and I finally believe it
believe that I’m worthy
of the struggle
and the pain
of endless nights in doubt
and endless days in confusion
about who I am
and where I belong
and if I should exist
don’t get me wrong
all that is still there
but instead of screaming rabidly around
caged in my body and my brain
instead of inconsolable crying
and you-can’t-convince-me-otherwise statements
a conversation ensues
and I have proverbial tea with my feelings
I settle into the rhythm of
knowing who I am
and how I’ve come to be
it took me a while
to be vulnerable
but someone on the other end was patient
together I made the changes
necessary to create a life
worthy of me staying alive
and even though my body and my brain
do not always agree with me,
I’ve realized how hard I’ve worked
to get here
suicide, you won’t break me now.