The Weight of the World

So what’s the plan? 

There isn’t one. 

I will write what’s on my mind, what memories are playing in my head, what I really want and need to say, whatever it may be. It will not be sugar-coated and it will be honest. That’s what I’m looking for, being honest with myself, and with everyone around me. We all have a story to share, and mine at age 21 happens to be a long one and if you can bear it, if I can bear it, I will tell it. That’s all I want to do. Maybe writing it will put it to rest, bring me some relief, or help me find something I didn’t see before. Maybe forcing myself to sit with my memories, and with my feelings will make them less scary, will make them better, will remove the negativity that I associate with much of my life, and will make them just what they are, experiences that have made me who I am. They are nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hate, nothing to regret, nothing to stress over, nothing to lose sleep over, just experiences that have brought me to where I am now. Things that I need to come to live with, and to take for what they’re worth. 

With that, I feel at a loss for where to start… Where to begin, I’ve stated where I am after many events this past year, but that doesn’t give a whole sense of who I am, and naturally I feel that I should introduce myself. But this is a journey to do just that, to find out who I am, to find out what matters most to me, what has made me, me. While I am whole heartedly excited to do this, I also feel like issuing a warning to anyone reading this, to explain that there are a lot of, well, unpleasant, unfortunate, bad, horrible, terrible, no-good, things that I will write about it. By the end of this, I will not categorize my previous experiences as good or bad, unpleasant, or unfortunate (I find it counterproductive) and because then it would seem that my life has been a series of unfortunate events, and that just is not true. The beautiful soul that I aspire to have and to be, is built with love and hope, not with misfortune, not with circumstance. I hope it will be from how I live my life, what I do with what I’ve learned from my experiences, how I choose to carry my pain and my heavy heart. 

I think that I may be classified by some as someone who wants to fix everything, but I do not see myself that way. I do think that I see myself in other people more often than my peers, I think that I see my pain in other peoples’ faces, in the way they walk, talk, and breathe, and that I feel this overwhelming urge to help, to offer relief. I feel the weight of compassion on me, some days worse than others, when it just seems unbearable, when I try with all my might to carry the pain of the world, the pain of my friends, the pain of my family, the pain of my acquaintances, to take it all away from them, to give them all a break, if only for a day. Those days I could implode, those days I find my strength, in believing that I in some way have made a difference. It’s often those days when I could scream at every passerby at every seemingly oblivious individual for not seeing the pain, for living on the surface, for not being in the deep end where all this pain lives, where I am struggling to remain afloat. Those are the days when my roommate has a cough and is whining that she is dying and has a final and she doesn’t know how she’ll make it through the next few days, and all I want to say is, how can you complain about your cough and your exam? I got angry and I bottled it up… and I find my weakness. My weakness in my inability to understand and to see everyone’s difficulty as their own, to view the value of all types of pain. Then, I am reminded of Marissa, my so admired, so beautiful, so kind, and funny, my princess of a cousin, who was able to see past herself, past her pain, that she suffered through, a lot of the time silently, to have compassion above anything else for everyone, no matter their challenges. She had time for everyone and everything, at least that is how I felt, and how I remember her. She always asked me how I was feeling, how hard it must be with my arthritis, was I getting on okay anyway, she would tell me stories of when her knees would lock from her CF-related arthritis and that she would get the football players to carry her to and from class. No matter how bad her situation, your problem was your problem, and if that meant that you had stubbed your toe or got a parking ticket, she understood and she was there for you, even though her problem was that she was dying. I don’t know what kind of a person that is, except for selfless, and beautiful. I try and remind myself, on days when I feel the weight of the world, how I would like to react, how I would like to understand and how I can try. But I still struggle, and a lot of the times wonder how it is possible, if it is possible to study for the exam, to read the book, to have a conversation, all the while knowing and feeling so overwhelmed by the pain and suffering of others, nevermind myself.

Most of the time, I am carrying someone else’s pain, because, maybe that’s my coping mechanism, maybe I feel my pain is just too hard. Letting go, has proven difficult to me, because there hasn’t been any resolution, there hasn’t been any consequences, there hasn’t even been any discussion, there has just been pain, which has grown into anger. I had an opportunity to carry and release my own pain this weekend. To address too many things that had not previously been dealt with. Something I had been wanting to do for over 5 years, but was never able to. This release may not change anything, the fact that I confronted my alcoholic father may not and probably will not change his behavior, but the lock and key that my heart and mind have been living under and being buried under for over 5 years, feels like it has been cut off. It almost felt as if something had died, I don’t think I realized how much I had been carrying, how much weight could be lifted off by saying I was angry, and I was hurt, and that things he has done are wrong, all of them wrong. I don’t know if he heard me, but I looked him in the face and I said it, and that’s all I can do. And right now it feels that it’s all I needed to do… At the beginning of the weekend I felt that going home reminded me of how much anger I hold, my breathing changes, my voice changes, my muscles tense up, and at the end of the weekend, though it caused much upset, I feel a real release. 

I hope it sticks, I hope it means something.

My mom has told me that I can’t save everyone, when I would return home from work over the summer and talk about the different patients I had seen that day, she would tell me that I can’t take their pain away. That is true. And what I would say back is that I can hold it for them. But she knew that, and she is the same way. We can’t all carry the weight of the world, but we can hold each other up and offer support, we can find a place to meet in the middle.