Depth Over Distance

Feb 22 | 2023

I didn’t ask for this. I don’t know what I did for my world to retract out from under me, hurling me through hidden dimensions, uncovering tender places calloused by survival.

I didn’t ask for this. I’m not the girl for this. It already meant too much. Everything means too much. Why this?

I’m too good at being alone. I’ve been alone since I was born. I was too healthy, not near enough to death on the daily to deserve attention. I was inadvertently neglected. Always the observer, taking in every detail of pain from many vantages. I was born into it. Parents stunted by trauma, unable to see that I actually did see. Children’s trauma units were my second home, and they were no less traumatized than my own. The deepest pains from every angle, every waiting room, every long walk down those horrible halls, averting eyes from the passing, bc no joy exists there. All pleasantries gone. This was my home. And I was alway always alone.

I got to watch my best friend be poked and prodded my entire life. His entire life. Horrible pain, unable to speak, no voice, no reprieve. Banging his head in agony, dislodging his shunt, shredding his skin with his own nails. Seizure after seizure, mitigation after mitigation.

No solution. Just more pain.

We communicated through biting at first. Don’t do that; I don’t like that.

Understood.

And then music. That boy lovvved his music. The only sense that was not impaired, heightened even. He was so picky. I would try to show him new songs, new beats, instrumentals and voices, but he was stubborn, screaming in disapproval, or cooing when I finally got it right. All worldly things faded when I got it right. And, in those moments we were just chillin, siblings and bffs bonded in a way that words can’t suffice.

His death… was both a relief and the most excruciating pain I’ve tasted. I knew he wasn’t hurting anymore, but now I could. I could actually feel the pain I held for so long. Bc while he was alive, no pain of mine was valid enough to be pain at all. No comparison. So he left me here, to deal with 30 somethings years of repression.

My husband skipped the funeral to travel across the world to cheat on me;

salt in the casket while I’m giving a eulogy.

The in between, no lighter shade of hell. Three rapes, abortion and prison for one. Death threats followed. Two stalkers. Five cities.

The irony? I come from wealth. But if I wasn’t their way I couldn’t be at all. So, I figured it out since 17 by myself. 5 engagements, one marriage, no love. They always thought it was. And I always knew.