No Rest For The Weary

It isn’t until I start to feel something, that I realize I’ve been walking around in a sort of unconscious state of what my therapist has described as “disassociation”.  Only when the stinging threat of tears stab at the back of my eyes, or my throat burns with the fire of stifled sobs, do I remember what it’s like to truly feel grief - And then I remember why I have chosen not to participate in that sick game of show and tell, choosing instead to cower behind forced smiles and false caffeine-induced bursts of energy - anything to make it through the day.  The ibuprofen works it’s anti-inflammatory magic, helping in combination with the face makeup to disguise the deep, dark circles that have taken permanent residence under my eyes.  I remind myself to keep my chin up to avoid anyone from being able to spot those crescent-shaped puffs sitting just below my bottom lashes, and focus my attention on staying in the moment. 

But then sometimes my mind wonders, and flashes of memories I’ve tried to forget come rushing back to me like the waves of the ocean, leaving me lost again. 

I remember opening my eyes and looking around the dark hotel room. I could hear my roommates soft snores in the bed next to me as she slept. I was tired of pretending to sleep and was finally coming to terms with the fact that keeping my eyes shut and refusing to move was clearly not working for me - I was still awake. The window just beyond the other bed illuminated the room with silvery rays of moonlight. It spilled in with a glow that gave me comfort as I slipped out of bed and followed it’s beckoning call.  I sat atop the cushions that lined the ledge attached to the window and brought my knees to my chest. My tired eyes gazed out at the buildings and watched the cars that still drove up and down Hollywood blvd. It was sometime near 3am and I didn't understand why I was awake. These middle of the night episodes had really started to fuck with my head, making me feel like I was constantly repeating the same bad dream. I had thought this trip would bring my mind some ease, or give me the break I needed from everything going on back home.  The bed was more comfortable than my own and the pillows were the perfect cross between firm and soft - something I usually complained about and used as a pathetic excuse for my sleepless nights. The room was perfectly crisp with the ac air, giving me a cozy feeling under the plush down comforter, but there I was, still awake - Just like every other goddamn night. I watched my roommate for a bit, the soft rise and fall of her figure as she took each calm and controlled breath.  I found myself becoming envious of her as she slept soundly, having to force my attention back to the city lights and the moon just beyond the glass. Lost in that moment, I thought of the book I had recently read by Sylvia Plath. I thought back to her words describing her own anxiety and sleepless nights and the feeling of being trapped under a glass bell jar. Her descriptions of the loneliness she experienced enveloped me each time I read her words. She couldn’t understand the purpose or meaning behind her life and found herself constantly yearning for something more that left her crippled to the point that nothing ever felt attainable. Each fig she described as that of her hopes and dreams withering away and dropping in front of her, just out of reach, felt like the same figs in my own tragic story. 

And as I sat in that window and stared into the California night, I let myself cry for her and for our shared pain of not understanding the world. Because maybe we both knew that the anxiety of always feeling just short of being good enough, would never go away. 

It wasn't until days later, after I had found out about CJ, that I made the connection of his official time of death. As my friends life slipped away, his heart giving up after what I could only assume was a tough fight, I had sat up plagued with insomnia and cried alone. The only comfort I could find in that revelation, was that somewhere deep down inside, I knew that he had sat beside me, just as he had so many times before, and cried too.