Into the Grave

Every year in the Fall, I have a really bad day. This is not a typical bad day or caused by something in particular. The world just takes on an irritating quality that grates on my nerves. The bad day stems from a severe trauma I suffered as a teenager, and out of necessity, my mind forgets about it throughout the year. Then the weather changes... the leaves begin to look different and the wind blows a bit colder. I begin to wear sweats in the morning and curl up with blankets in the evening... And my body remembers. 

I begin to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I get irritated over nothing. I feel lost and insecure. Nothing makes me feel better for long. I wonder all day what the eff is going on with me... and then my mind catches up. The memories come flooding back... and commence the evening of heart wrenching, metaphorical bleeding where I remember what I've been progressively forgetting all year long. 

So I listen to the appropriate, melancholic music with hopeful undertones. I cry and grieve. If I lived in a society where mourning was an outward practice, I'd probably tear my clothes and rub ashes on my face, but I live in America where even our mourning behaviors are appropriate. I sink down into a place that is ugly and lonely yet at the same time safe and secluded. I'm reminded where I came from, and at the end of the day, I slip into an exhausted sleep and begin the forgetting all over again. 

What I'm forgetting is worth remembering, for if it weren't, I would not bother at all. Maybe some things are better left covered by the rest of the year except for one day though. It is therapeutic to sink down into the grave that almost swallowed me, the event that almost took my power and my voice, to reset me on my path and remind me what it is important. 

"With new lungs, I'll begin again. Lift my voice and sing my part. 

This is the sound of a living heart" 

~JJ Heller