These last few months have been hard. Oh boy, have they. I feel like I’m drowning. Each new wave that crashes over me brings in another challenge. My tongue stays tasting of salt, and I fear there’s no more air in my lungs. But that’s the beauty of the human experience, isn’t it?
We stay afloat and hope that the next set will calmly roll by and carry us back to shore. We have to be strong, I suppose. We fight and prove to ourselves that we’re stronger than the ocean. After all, our tears are made from the same salt that gets stuck in our throats.
Have you ever tried to care for someone who refuses to care for themselves? Did it almost break you, too?
Someone I love dearly is struggling with their health, both physically and mentally, and I want to help them with every fibre of my being, but they won’t let me. And learning to respect and act on that is so hard. How can I let this person, whom I love and adore and admire, fall apart in front of me? And why won’t they let me help? Can’t I help?
I’ve spent years trying everything I could to help, so much so that I began sacrificing my own health in lieu of trying to preserve theirs. But there comes a point where you have to stop. But how can you? Is letting them go the right thing to do? Will living with guilt be easier than hurting myself even more? Please, I must know.
Sometimes I get so wrapped up in all my thoughts that I cease to exist. That funny little autopilot switch flicks, and suddenly, I don’t remember the last few weeks. I suppose we’re trying to save ourselves in a way. Forbidding more trauma at the sacrifice of existing.
I like to remind myself that I am blessed. I can still spot beauty in the world. The way the sun feels on my face. And how the wind carries the smell of jasmine into my room. There is good in the world, because I am good. The world is cruel; therefore, I am not.
Isn’t the human experience so beautifully flawed?