Window

I have difficulty understanding many things. I have difficulty understanding family dynamics, since mine were such a mess. I have difficulty understanding what it means to have a true friend, someone who comes to see you in the hospital, or who remembers your birthday, or who sends you encouraging notes. I do not have one of these. I thought I did for a long time, turns out I don’t. It may very well be my fault, I am not good at relationships I suppose.

I do not have the shared experiences of most of the population. I have not had the same”rites of passage” that most have. Because of this, there is a gap in my understanding and my foundation as a person. I am always looking to be protected, to be treasured and understood. This does not happen. I can not expect another to help me with my lack of understanding and my non-existent foundations. I am always looking in, never quiet being in. The window I look through is sometimes open, almost enough for me to squeeze through. I can see and hear everyone, I can smell and feel them, but I am not them. I am out here.

I work to manage the feelings that threaten to drown me, that push me down again and again. I take the white pill for those, and then the green and yellow for sadness that will swallow me whole after the wave. I sink deeper and the blue and white ones are supposed to let me at least float for a while, as a watch the window, and the people who will never see me, and I will never understand them. I watch with longing as I float further away, the light from the window blinks in and out of view.

I take the little yellow ones that are supposed to relax the kinks and knots buried deep in my body, the ones that keep me from falling but cause so much pain. I look in, and want to understand, to be held and accepted. I look in at their Christmas parties and their graduations, and their family dinners. I watch the embraces and the shared smiles. I take the white ones so I can push it all back down when the light from the window fades. I reach for the light in the window and begin to sink slowly. I like this feeling. I do not want to fight anymore.

I am inevitably washed back ashore, to wade among the things I do not understand and must get through anyway. I am overwhelmed and terribly lonely. I take the pink ones so I don’t throw up when upset. At night so I don’t have to think so much I take three yellow ones and a little blue one so I can sleep, and put the window out of my mind. The chatter and laughter and inside jokes fade away is the sky turns dark. I am not reminded of otherness, or difference when it is dark. Despite the dreams that come, I am not outside them. I am in waking life. Outside.

I wake up again, wondering how I will get through another day. I force myself up. I do it again. I get in another argument, another misunderstanding, because I truly do not understand so many things. At other times, it is because I see and understand more than they do. My window is not clouded with the illusions of family love, or the truth about what really happens. But I still want in. I still want to belong, somewhere.

I drink my coffee, and take my handful of meds. I try to ignore the news as my anxiety about the day creeps in and spreads. My stomach hurts, so I take another pill. They teather me to the anchor far offshore. I paint heavy black lines around my eyes, to keep people from talking to me, from getting to close. Because I can not understand them, and they do not understand me. I watch from my window is the day goes on, I do everything I am supposed to do and still feel myself being pulled further away, into deeper water. I do the breathing techniques, the journal, the gratitude list and the house that holds the window still fades. I am responsible, I pay my bills, and say the right things, and most importantly don’t say anything at all.

As the sky darkens, I take more pills. I wait for sleep to take me and for the drapes in the window to close. Sometimes I wish they would never open again. Sometimes, I wish the windows to my own soul would just stay closed. The waves of emotion dull, and the acute pains of caring fade as sleep comes. One last check of the pill bottles to make sure they are there in case there is light as I drift. Dark waters come for me. I am grateful.