A Paper Crane, Unfolded
I was a terrified thing, once.
Cliches are easier to rely on now that I'm older and criticize things a little less intensely (and more.) This one is the most relevant: When a parent dies, you are altered forever; no one will understand unless they've gone through it as well. It's true. There is so much I let go now, four years after her death. So much I'm not willing to dwell on or pick apart.
But I really want to say:
Sad Girl,
It's ok now. It takes five years, but it's ok. After your last post and broken heart you string yourself along for a while. That's ok, too. He was hard to let go, but you did, slowly. You talk perhaps once a year. It's easier to see how different you are. It makes you sad and disappointed, sometimes. That's ok--it's not crippling.
You go to gradschool and it's wonderful.
In 2011 You meet someone new and it's magical. You'll be terrified, because the intensity and immediate spiritual connection has betrayed you before. He's patient (more patient than you ever will be,) funny, and kind. He's a cuddler--the kind that doesn't make you feel selfconscious or needy. The two of you go through hell for three years. The death of his cat (his animal soul-friend) and your mother. Other terrible things happen. Your family finally fractures. His family does as well. You hold onto each other. It's been just over five years. He has had more positive influence on your mental health than you can imagine. You're open, now. Bolder.
The two of you live in a house (his, now ours.) It's not split-level, but it's perfectly sized and suits both of your needs. You have a library-office and get to hear him edit or play music. Fruvous is healthy and alive and so, so happy.
You have a job working for people you both like and respect. It's still optometry. Mum died quiet, with diginity, in her own bed. You see pink flowers and swans. You go to counseling for a year and it helps. Your anxiety is less--not gone, that's impossible without medication--and easier to manage Instead of intense emotional dives your depression manifests as boredom, or "feeling overwhelmed." It's all so much more tolerable now.
You write less, but you're working on that.
But above everything else:
You. Feel. Safe.
Cliches are easier to rely on now that I'm older and criticize things a little less intensely (and more.) This one is the most relevant: When a parent dies, you are altered forever; no one will understand unless they've gone through it as well. It's true. There is so much I let go now, four years after her death. So much I'm not willing to dwell on or pick apart.
But I really want to say:
Sad Girl,
It's ok now. It takes five years, but it's ok. After your last post and broken heart you string yourself along for a while. That's ok, too. He was hard to let go, but you did, slowly. You talk perhaps once a year. It's easier to see how different you are. It makes you sad and disappointed, sometimes. That's ok--it's not crippling.
You go to gradschool and it's wonderful.
In 2011 You meet someone new and it's magical. You'll be terrified, because the intensity and immediate spiritual connection has betrayed you before. He's patient (more patient than you ever will be,) funny, and kind. He's a cuddler--the kind that doesn't make you feel selfconscious or needy. The two of you go through hell for three years. The death of his cat (his animal soul-friend) and your mother. Other terrible things happen. Your family finally fractures. His family does as well. You hold onto each other. It's been just over five years. He has had more positive influence on your mental health than you can imagine. You're open, now. Bolder.
The two of you live in a house (his, now ours.) It's not split-level, but it's perfectly sized and suits both of your needs. You have a library-office and get to hear him edit or play music. Fruvous is healthy and alive and so, so happy.
You have a job working for people you both like and respect. It's still optometry. Mum died quiet, with diginity, in her own bed. You see pink flowers and swans. You go to counseling for a year and it helps. Your anxiety is less--not gone, that's impossible without medication--and easier to manage Instead of intense emotional dives your depression manifests as boredom, or "feeling overwhelmed." It's all so much more tolerable now.
You write less, but you're working on that.
But above everything else:
You. Feel. Safe.