foundinthought

The only outlet I ever give myself is through my writing.  It's the only thing I let everyone see.  I grieve in private and I recover in private.  I lost my dad last year.  A phone call one day and on a plane the next to go see him.  He wasn't even conscious by the time I got there.  I don't do well with emotions and I never have.  I knew I was losing him but held on to this naive hope that he would somehow recover.  It was left to me and my sisters to make the decision to take him off of life support and never have I ever wanted more time with someone than I did before that point.  We take the ones in our lives for granted and don't always say the things we want to say before we don't have the chance to say them at all.  We live and we laugh and we love and we forget that everything is finite.  It's been just over a year since I lost you and I can't remember the last time I told you I loved you and appreciated everything you did for me throughout my life.  I can only hope that some part of you could hear me through all the pain you were in.  I only hope that whatever happens after life, you're not in pain anymore.  I'm sorry I wasn't there more for you.  I love you, Dad.  I miss you.

The golden days of my childhood resonate through my mind as I’m sitting through yet another meeting at work.  I’m waiting patiently for someone to slam binders on the conference table or pull the fire alarm or some other drastically overt gesture.  That fight or flight response is about the last hope I have for a surge of adrenaline and energy. Thinking back, I can’t remember being this exhausted although I am sure it was probably only a few hours ago.  I pick up the energy drink next to my elbow and can’t help that overwhelming disappointment as I discover it is empty yet again. It was empty the last three times I tried.

It wasn’t always like this.

I can remember when I was excited to learn every new thing that my career had to offer and to happily offer any help I might be able to give to my colleagues.  I never thought that in a million years I would look and feel as downtrodden as my seniors. Looking back even further, I recall that sense of pride and accomplishment when I got something right or managed to help someone out.  I remember the days when my shoulders didn’t carry so much and my back wasn’t bent. I sigh in frustration. Youth is wasted on the young.

All of those days with all of that boundless energy and innocence could have been bottled up and saved for when they would do the most good.  That ability to believe in everyone around you and pick yourself up off the floor after you get knocked down. It was effortless. Nowadays, it’s hard to roll out of my bed after a full night’s sleep and a pot of coffee waiting for me.

Maybe it’s all cause and effect but I find myself wishing that I had saved those days and spent them wisely.  They seem wasted on my boyhood. They seem wasted when I had my parents to look out for my well-being and no one depending on me for theirs.  To have the vigor and the curiosity and the naivete of my youth would surely cure the doldrums of my life now. It’s easy to see at this point that there was no point to having them when I did.

Looking around at the hapless faces in the room, I see the truth of my thoughts reflected.  I see the days past and the youth lost and the weight of time settled upon my peers. No one escapes time and those who have felt it’s inevitable pressure are the ones who need their youth the most.

We lay in the field under the old apple tree. Our blanket surrounded by the apples we cleared away.  We laugh and smile and lay together just enjoying the perfectness of life.  The skies are blue and a gentle breeze trails across our skin on its way to parts unknown.  My hand is on her hip as we lay facing each other and staring into one another's eyes.  I lean in to kiss her and right as our lips are about to meet, the loudest crack I have ever heard sounds above our heads.  The apple tree we have spent so many afternoons under erupts into flames.  Branches fall and I cover her with my body.  I can see that she is screaming but I can't hear it over the ringing in my ears.  I push myself off her and push the branches that fell away from us.  I pull her up and we look into the black skies that approached from the other direction.  The rolling thunder shakes the ground we stand upon and we stare into the face of a terrible storm.  We see the rain wall moving towards us across the field.  It flattens the crops and shakes the trees.  We're both in shock from the lightning strike and stare numbly at the approaching fury.  Finally, another lightning strike shakes us out of our stupor.  I grab her arm and we begin to run away from the storm.  I look back repeatedly and push us on to more speed.  The rain wall is much closer now and we can hear the fury of the water beating against the ground.  I look back and trip on a broken branch and sprawl face first onto the trail.  She stops to pick me up.  The rain wall washes over us.  We're soaked through in seconds.  We continue to run but it gets harder.  Our clothes cling to us and we can hardly see through the heavy downpour as we sprint for cover.  The nearest barn is hundreds of yards away.  We sprint blindly through the field veering around trees and dodging holes in the path.  Lightning flashes all around us and thunder shakes us to our bones.  I know she is terrified of storms.  I feel like an idiot for not paying better attention.  We gain the barn finally and huddle down as the walls rattle around us.  I cup her face in my hands and look into her eyes and reassure her.  We're safe now.  We're fine.  She starts to calm down and the frantic look in her eyes lessens.  As her breathing evens out, I peek outside and fall back in horror.  I run to the other side of the barn and peek out.  I tell her that we have to go.  She asks me why.  I tell her that we need to run and keep running.  Despite the downpour, the lightning strikes have lit the hillside on fire and it is burning its way towards the barn.  She gets a look of determination on her face and nods.  We make a run for it.

She walks down the path through the trees.  Passing through glades and small rivulets of water dancing their way across the ground.  A slight breeze stirs her long hair and pushes it back to caress her face.  Why is she here she wonders.  What drew her to this place?  As her hair waves in the wind, it runs through various shades of color.  From brown, to blonde, to red.  From red to pink and purple and even blue.  Her hair transforms through these hues, mesmerizing those who watch.  With the hair pushed back, her face comes into view.  She is beautiful to look upon. Perfect full lips coated in a faint pink paint, a nose that fits her eyes to perfection.  Those eyes.  Those eyes catch the light and shine green as the grass she walks across.  She is an exquisite creature and she is drawn ever onward.  As the wind blows by, she finally hears what has been calling to her.  Faint notes on the wind beckon her forward.  It is the sound of angels laughing and children playing.  It is the melody of a thousand dreams come true.  It is nirvana and heaven and the most beautiful tune she has ever heard.  Finally, the trees part before her and she comes upon the source of the song.  She walks into the clearing and smiles as she comes to understand.  She walks to the edge of the pool without ripples.  She looks down and sees the beauty staring back at her.  The song has quieted and a deep hush fills the area as nature holds her breath in anticipation.  The girl kneels next to the pool of water and caresses the cheek of her reflection.  She begins to sing again.

I sit down and close my eyes.  The park is quiet.  No birds, squirrels, or insects around the lone soul sitting in their den.  No cars, people, or wind rushing by.  The silence is deafening.  The leaves lay on the ground where they fell months ago.  The naked branches of the trees standing sentinel as my senses fade one by one.  The only noise I hear is my heart beating in my chest and my breath as it escapes from my mouth.  As my eyes close and relax, the world goes dark.  There is no sun, no moon, and no stars.  There is only the darkness.  As I fall deeper into myself, I no longer smell the wet dewy scent of a fresh rainfall in the forest.  I no longer smell the faint deodorant I put on those eight long hours ago.  I become desensitized completely and no longer feel the small wooden bench I am sitting on. I sit down and close my eyes.  I awaken the memories I came to find.

At first, there is nothing, there is only the void I have lowered myself into.  The blank space between mind, body, and soul.  The memory begins to trickle in.  This longest of days has not been so long as to have forgot anything that happened.  The pain from the memory spreads and lights my soul on fire.  I burn inside as I relive this most awful of times.  I soak in the pain and anguish I have been feeling since it happened.  I focus on the pain until my soul is a shattered remnant of what it was the day before.  I let it burn and burn.  I let it destroy who I am.  I let it destroy my hopes and my dreams.  I let it into the deepest recesses of my being and wipe it all away.  I let it wrap me in guilt and sorrow.  I wear these emotions as my cape and my mantle.  I cover myself in them. I cover myself so completely that I can never take them off.  I may be forgiven by them but I will never forgive myself.  I walk the lonely burnt down ruins of my soul wrapped in my emotions.  I search for anything not yet consumed.  I light what I find on fire.  This is the punishment.  A silent death of a still living body.  A soulless walking corpse.  A ruin of a man and a person.  Just as I ruined another.  Just as I ruined everything.  

Eight long hours ago.  I walked into our room and my world stopped turning.  I walked into our room to find you there.  Hanging.