In her worst days, she parks her car straight. In my best days, I am not.
Melted by chronic stress, my brain floats randomly in its own juice. Rough extremes melted hers. The ‘Why-s’ don’t matter. The effect is the same.
Looking from above there is no difference between us from the sanity perspective. She has a paper saying so. I don’t. This is where the line stands between us. Her paper protects her survival. She has her base covered. I don’t.
I don’t know how I reach tomorrow. There are no safety nets. In the meantime, problem solving filled in the gaps, but I only live if I am the best out of hundreds and thousands in the world. I win award after award. One may think I am a small genius. I know this truth. I am not. I am just a player desperate to survive. I don’t get second chances and can’t afford second choices. It’s one shot, always.
What if I wake up one day just to see I cannot rise above the crowds, anymore? How do I get out from these radically reduced circumstances? I can do so much for others and nothing for me.
It is her birthday. I can feel in the air that our time is up. Soon enough, we will split ways and we’ll probably never meet again. I just don’t know what the trigger will look like and how intense the consequences will be.
I want to leave her something to hold on to, a bridge she can walk on in her worst moments. Her worst moments are beyond words.
I don’t take my pills. You must understand. She says crying her heart out. If I do, they turn me into a numb monster. You can’t imagine their side effects. If I don’t, unexpected hallucinations step in. She says. Tell me what to do and I will do it!
It tears my soul apart. “Try to figure it out how to have a good relationship with them. What if they are friends trying to teach you something?” I say fearing of giving the worst possible piece of advice.
It is such a shock to meet a person today and years after, to meet that person emptied in inexplicable ways. The missing unseen can have a significant impact in ways I cannot wrap into words. I see an abandoned child imprisoned in a network of cages surrounded by demanding creatures from other worlds.
I am clueless. This story is way above my head. I hold no knowledge or wisdom. Witnessing is the only choice available.
There are no saviors. Strugglers, only.
Years ago, I took a picture of her. A faithful mirror of her robustness and happiness. I turn it into a poster. I try to find a good enough spot to hang it on. I fail. She loves it.
She finds the place that makes the most sense. On the ceiling, above her bed. “Don’t you think this is where I should be?”
Looking at this whole picture from above, it looks uncomfortable and almost creepy. The only thing that stops any deviant sensation is the beauty of the picture and the intention behind it.
(excerpt from Camino del Sol)