The only way to me is through me
I bring people to a hard stop without trying - just by opening up and giving a glimpse of what I'm thinking and feeling. I share my associations and there's that pause. Often, there are seconds of horror as listeners try to compose themselves. I've sat in those moments my whole life, wondering what I could have done otherwise, why my efforts to spare them failed. But now I see that it was always meant to be this way.
Because this is me, and it's not about being sad or angry or anything but who I am. I'm the daughter of rage gone by, of secrets, of horrific moments emblazoned in memory, of human messes spread across generations. I live with the ghosts of the dead encircling me, not as a noose but as a halo; all the best in me comes through them and what they continue to bestow upon me. My relationships with the dead are as real and vital as those with the living, and I remain their loving, attentive student, come what may.
Death and fear and horror aren't just on Halloween for me, but in everyday, lived moments - out of nowhere, there and gone, drive-by brushes with the eternal. By the time I learned about the sublime in college, I'd already learned to live with it. Love and joy and laughter aren't just reserved for perfect peace or holidays in my world; they ring out in the darkest times the loudest because that's when they're needed most.
There's no way to prepare others for me, no more than there was a way to prepare me for this life. Just like there was no way to prepare me for the things I've endured and realized. For the lessons my elders passed down to me raw and unadulterated, the way they learned them. And there never will be. And that's the way it is. In the end, it's the only way. The best way. The first-hand grappling with this trip called life, each of us wrestling on our own terms, just as those before us have sweated and struggled.
The only way out is through. The only way to me is through me.