Shipwrecked

So there's this thing. It's this huge news that falls distinctly into the "bad" category and it's not a thing that I know how to deal with at all. It's one of those things that comes flying at you out of nowhere, right when your life is sailing along, a picture of normalcy. It's the kind of punch that really throws the weight of the world behind it, and I'm not used to being hit by things that leave me so utterly demolished.

Over the past couple of years I've become quite adept at dealing with things pretty much on my own. I used to have this close collection of people who I shared all of life's intricacies with, but lately, I've mostly just kept my insides between God and I.

And then this. This thing. This thing that leaves me aching and racked with sobs that are deep enough that tears won't even come. It's like my life is this calm sea but inside there's this little hidden bit of me that is positively wrecked. There's no cheating this damage--it will have its way with me, and I don't quite know how to manage that.

I knew today after this little bit of me cracked inside that my inclination was to keep this to myself. I knew that if I made it through this day with my glazed gaze and my tight-lipped smile, faking my way through, that this hurt could be kept hidden. I would remain stoic and face it (or avoid it) alone. And it was my inclination to do so.

"It would be healthy to talk," said a voice inside that didn't sound like mine. I don't like this voice. I've become good at pretending the pain away. I'd rather hoped to quit with the feeling of things, because this hurting business pretty much sucks.

Surprisingly, this time I listened. I was tired, and I become vulnerable when I'm tired, vulnerable to letting down the walls that I probably never should have built. I sat in a Burger King booth over my veggie burger and fries and chewed my straw in between sentences as I exposed this wounded part of me to three friends.

And the only reason I did so is because lately I've run into two people who have reminded me of how joyful and painful and experiential it is to be real. I've pondered whether there's hope for me to live this way, and if I even want to. And I looked inside and wondered if this hiding is real, if it is living a life that is alive. I still don't know. The sharing brought little more than the uncomfortable silence that sorrowful news inevitably ushers with it.

I had thought I was okay with being unknown. But the door has been cracked, and my aching soul saw light for the first time in quite a while. I don't know how to deal with this, either. Part of me is afraid that by tomorrow morning, that door will be slammed securely shut once more.

More of me is afraid that it won't be. If I let myself free, wherever will I land?