If I think too much about the things that have been lost, those things that can’t be recovered, I find myself truly going mad. I mean it – going mad in a pulling my hair out of my head in handfulls, open mouthed shrieking, crazed black rimmed sunken eyes – the whole shebang.
So I don’t. I don’t think too much about it. I push it under.
Going mad won’t serve any purpose and will only create more loss.
As I write this, as I chronicle deep abiding anguish and unrelenting pain that I have to push under the surface, I sit warm and comfortable in an ergonomic chair, the crack and sizzle of meat frying on the stove behind me, the delicious scent of pepper, garlic, cumin wafting through the room. My feet are tucked up under me, the dog warm and friendly on my lap, occasionally licking the inner part of my forearm where it brushes his nose when I reach for certain keystrokes. And it is all of this that I pile on top of that anguish to push it down and keep it down. I push.
There is a fair amount of effort in pushing. If you’ve ever pushed, then you know. If you never have, then I pray that you never will.
I enjoy people watching. I enjoy people. I am always wondering about them, their lives, their thought processes that led them to wear that shirt, partner with that person, or hold that expression on their face in that moment. I think of them as being pushers. I think of them smiling and chatting and drinking their double-tall-non-fat beverages or carrying their recycled eco friendly green bags full of organic produce and wonder if they too are pushing.
“Thats why you are so good at what you are doing right now!” someone says to me (someone who thinks I just smile and laugh and tell strangers to care for themselves and treat themselves kindly) when I connected with her over a common educational background. I nod and smile and agree that perhaps she is right but in that moment I was pushing with all my power, pushing anger and loss and grief and the sudden welling of tears. Push, push, push…breathe. Smile. Victory.
I push to exhaustion. I sleep to restore my strength. I remember to treat myself kindly when I can. I try to be my own best friend…sometimes though I even wear out my own welcome…*insert wry chuckle*…
And when I am worn out with my own pathetic whimperings, I cook, I write, I sing, I smile, and I try to notice new treasures to use. Push down and under, but also push up, up into being and experiencing and living. I push.