The Closet

It’s now 1 am and everyone in the house is sleeping peacefully… the baby is making those peaceful sounds babies make when they are sleeping and feeling safe and secure. I am in the closet, a small space that was advertised as a walk in when we first came to look at the “luxury” apartments that we live at. The space is small but the walls feel like a hug. I am laying on the floor looking at the ceiling wanting to cry torrents of tears but the tears will not come the way I need them to. I am only getting a few drops here and there. They are not even giving me the benefit of a dramatic scene. At least, if they did then my problems would feel bigger and more urgent but they don’t, and I wonder if it’s resilience or indifference.

I think the tears won’t come because I have cried enough for a lifetime, and I know that after I am done crying, my problems will still be waiting patiently for me.

I am thinking about the loneliness of being lonely when people are around you. I look around me and everyone is talking and present but all I can feel and hear is nothing but an echo. I am screaming at the top of my lungs but I am not making a single sound. My body is there, I can see myself nodding, smiling and responding to the conversation but somehow I am not there. I look around and I am occupying space, but I wonder whether I have arrived yet.

I have grown into a very understanding person. Nowadays, I rarely complain because before I do, I have already thought about the response that would come from the other person, I have already predicted their perspective and I have already understood. I wonder whether my understanding is just a coping mechanism in disguise. At some point I wish I could stop understanding so I can overreact and be angry but I just can’t. Everything for me is involuntarily meaningful and understandable. I miss the days when I didn’t understand and when I would just feel everything and be completely devastated and wronged without observing and analyzing.

I don't know if not understanding would be better or worse. All I know is that I don’t know much right now. Honestly, not knowing feels very profound, like I am standing in front of a door I haven’t opened yet.

My emotions are everywhere. I crave so badly to organize them, because I know that I should know better by now. I know knowing is not the same as being okay, and just because i understand the room doesn’t mean that i am not still locked inside it.

I think of my family and I love them honestly. I know I need to be whole for them and I am trying to find out what whole means right now. I wonder if I am seen. I am stuck between present and functioning somewhere between surviving and lost.