As I lay on the floor I gazed at the ceiling. I always found myself counting the flower like patterns, they seemed never ending. I could hear the rain beating on my window. Sometimes I wondered if they actually were tears. If the sky was moody like all of us, and the times where it rained day after day was only because there are so many people on the earth but no one could really reach out for the sky to hug. My apartment was empty, as empty as me. It had been for while, more than I would have liked. But I guess it’s my fault? Or maybe I’m just so easy to blame myself for every little thing. I sat up wrapping my arms around my knees. My tights had a run down the side. As long as I’ve lived here I still haven’t taken the hint not to walk so close to the stove. That handle never gives me a break. It’s the tiniest of things lately that have been putting me in these rages, these miniature rages. The vending machine taking my only dollar and not giving me my snack, the couple with their hands all over each other in the mall, that little old lady who can’t make up her mind on what to buy when I was suppose to leave work 10 minutes ago, and that little kid who made faces at me in traffic. I feel like I could cry forever, punch a wall or break a brick. It’s possible that this is normal? I wasn’t sad when he left, I showed no emotion. I watched him pack his things, I watched him set his key on the counter, and I watched him walk out the door. The door that he once walked into with a smile, lifted me in his arms and twirled about. Every night before we went to sleep he would whisper in my ear, ‘I love you and I always will’. So if that were the case, then why isn’t he here? Is it really real? This word love, or is it merely just a feeling that eventually dies off? I thought I loved him, I felt so strongly about it. But as of right now he’s really only just a memory and the idea of him coming back doesn’t seem like an option. I stood up going over to the window. I placed my hands on the glass and laid my head along with them. The thuds of rain tapped against my ear as if they wanted in or like they were trying to tell me something. The chill of the outside settled on my cheek, I felt so calm in my own form of therapy. I stepped back as it started to pour harder. I remembered what we used to do on rainy days. We’d sit on the couch and he’d hold me close. I’d play with his hair and he’d start to doze off. The best part of it was he’d kiss each one of my finger tips. I ran a hand down my face and through my hair. I was making it worse, reminiscing had me tearing up. That’s the last thing I needed. My phone vibrated on the table, I had been ignoring texts and calls all day. Everyone cares when you’re not there. I went over to the front closet sifting through coats and all the way in the back I found my rain boots. I quickly put them on and headed out. I walked down the stairs from the 3rd floor, all those stairs ignoring the elevator. For some reason I just wanted to run, I ran through the lobby and out the double doors. The man at the desk asked me if I was okay, but I just ran I just ran. 10 seconds outside and I was drenched, pushing and shoving pass people on the sidewalk. But I didn’t care, all I wanted was to run. I came to a park and I stopped myself. I looked up to the sky and I reached out my arms, as wide as they’d go. “I’M HERE FOR YOU!” I yelled. I probably sounded a bit mad to whoever could hear. I’ll admit this was silly of me, but I felt like I had to do something to make me feel right. The rain started to fade as pouring became occasional drops. A smile danced across my face when I saw the sun peak through the clouds. This rush of relief came over me, my bad mood squeezing its way out. Maybe the sky did hug me back or possibly it just stopped raining at this certain time. But that didn’t matter, for I was so much better. Breathing the air after the rain gave my back some sanity. I’ve come to terms that it all happens for a reason, break ups, bad hair cuts, coffee spills, and the awkward run in with that boy you had a crush on in high school. Time stops for no one it’s your choice to not give up. Fail? Try again, learn, and repeat.
my own form of therapy
August 12, 2011