The Wild

I may never forgive you
For releasing me back into the Wild.
For leaving me stranded,
Alone.
It was a long walk back from nowhere,
And I'm still evolving.
Some days I thrive,
But most days
I only survive to spite you.


- kb

A Letter to the Loved Ones

I need you to know that this is a thing that happens. I can’t predict when, as much as I wish I could; the timing is often just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. It might be prompted by something someone did or said, whether it was directed at me or not. It might be the stress of an event or deadline that is rapidly (or sometimes, not so rapidly) approaching. It might be, and often is, triggered by a simple thought; a “what if?” that came from no where in particular.

I need you to know that it gets away from me. It’s something I’m familiar with, but that I’ll never get used to. A minute ago nothing was wrong, but now my mind is racing and my chest feels tight and it’s getting harder to breathe. I’m having to focus hard on this to try not to make it obvious, the breathing. But that almost always makes it worse.

There’s something else I need you to know: it’s just as much physical as it is mental. It’s my fight or flight response completely out of context. I get that it catches you off guard. I’m so sorry for that. But I need you to know that a lot of the time it catches me off guard, too. Once it starts, I can't stop it. I can't redirect and I can't focus on anything else. It swallows me whole. 

It's completely terrifying.

I need you to know that I can't always explain it. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that not all feelings have words.

I need you to know that I’m working on it. I hate it even more than you do. Even when I feel okay, part of me is wondering when it will rear its ugly head again. I feel like a ticking time bomb. I’m afraid of how it makes me feel and act, and I worry it will make us fight. I know how confusing and frustrating it can be for you.

I need you to know that this is a thing that happens, and that it’s not your fault. I understand that you’re not sure what to do with it. Neither am I. But I need you to know that it’s not your fault, and that it’s not your responsibility to fix. All I need is for you to hold my hand and tell me something true and understand that this is a thing that happens. 

I need you to know that sometimes I have panic attacks, and I need you to know that I'm doing the best I can.

(2015)

Tightrope

I think I've effectively established that I have a lot of feelings. Lately, I've noticed that they tend to fall into one of two categories, creating two opposing mindsets:

On one hand, I'm tempted to let the chaos that the past year of my life has created continue to crush me. Sometimes I still feel completely suffocated by it all. My mind easily and routinely dissolves into a swarm of lies and fears and doubts about who I am and what I'm worth and how my life will turn out. In this headspace, it's easier to be bitter and cynical. Love and marriage are cheap and fleeting. Being divorced equals being damaged and undesirable. The word recycled comes up for me a lot; it's the story of my love life: reduce, reuse, recycle. Depressing, right? I've been conditioned to believe a lot of depressing things; and those depressing things have become accustomed to running the show. All of this makes me want to shrink and give up and hide forever.

On the other hand, though, there are moments when I feel strangely but completely inspired and capable of rising to this challenge. In these moments, my head feels clear and it's easy to believe what's true. I know who I am and that I deserve big love and beautiful things. In this headspace, I can be big and bold and brave and hope that someone will love me well someday. Sometimes, I can even one-up hope and dare to actually believe for it. I can stand up under the pain and silence the lies. I can believe that love will win and that it's worth fighting for.

Right now, it feels as though I'm constantly walking a very thin tightrope above and between these two extremes with grief in one hand and hope in the other. All of this exists inside me, and I never know which voice will be louder. Sometimes I get to choose, but not consistently yet. I also tend to trick myself into thinking that choosing between the two is a one-time thing, but it's absolutely not. I have to choose every day which side to fall to if I can't manage to keep my balance. Sometimes as often as every minute.

Historically, the tension and the contradiction have been primarily frustrating and discouraging; but I'm learning to replace my hardwired either/or mindset with a both/and mindset instead. As difficult as it is, I'm learning to be okay with walking the tightrope, because grief still needs space. I'm still figuring out how to let grief and hope coexist. Allowing them to share space feels dangerous and risky, but also necessary to the healing process. So maybe the challenge isn't getting to the end of the tightrope, and maybe success and failure aren't measured by how many times I fall. Maybe my challenge right now is to focus on finding balance by giving grief and hope the space they each need and deserve. Maybe it's learning to embrace the tension and the necessary trial and error and acquiring grace, strength, and poise in the process.

Maybe the tightrope is less of an obstacle and more of an opportunity to become an acrobat.