180.
once, that night
I walked back from the jump alone. Alone, alone. I knew everyone would be okay without me. So I made my way back to the parking lot. The Subaru was there with its apple stickers inside and no one to ride shotgun or in the back seat.
I got in the car.
I was not a person. I was pain in skin.
I told myself all I had to do was get myself home.
And I did.
And I was done.
181.
once, that night
When I got home, I folded in on myself. I could feel my lungs breathing and my heart beating.
Burst,I thought.Break.
But it didn’t.
I didn’t.
182.
now
I have been so scared of impermanence. And change. And loss.
After that night, I thought:
This is how you stay safe.
You go inside yourself.
You lock the door.
You do not leave.
And now I know this, too:
You do not live.
I don’t know who I am without sadness anymore. It lives in my heart, my stomach, my limbs, my head, every vein threading through me. And a kind of limbic system of guilt runs along with it. For the mistakes I made, for being the kind of person other people could leave behind and discard.
If you take away the sadness and guilt, I don’t know what I am anymore.Only if I fix them, I thought,is there any way to go on being. Only if I hide and stay locked up inside can I possibly keep going.
But there is no fixing.
And this is not living.
So.
Knowing that.
