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Monday, October 22, 2018

Stay


I was talking with one of the counselors in my life a few days ago, and she spoke to me about the physical reaction that comes with certain memories. She said that even though the original pain may be gone, and the situation is no longer a "problem" for someone, our bodies can still create a physical response to triggers that remind us of the pain. I know this to be true for myself. I know the nervous energy and analytical anticipation that come from flashback, and these can create results which feel fresh, even though the memory and the hurt are anything but; even though I have moved on from something.

I've been ruminating on this since she spoke to me about it, and have been recognizing myself in the concept, too. When something triggers an old memory, I can speak about the pain as if it's brand new. This frustrates my counterparts. "I thought we were past this!" is a statement I've heard many times, and I can understand why. I know what this looks like, and feels like, for those who stand with me in the mud of this life.

How does a person stop feeling pain for a situation without resolve?

This morning on my very early drive to work, I was playing CBC Radio 2's Nightstream, which as a sidenote, consistently plays some of the best music I've never heard before. This morning was no different: Late night and less sleep than I needed had me feeling heavy in every facet. And then, these words:



“Take your heart like a drink off a tray
Play the part, ‘cause we wrote it that way
Every year that goes by doesn’t change the way it feels

I’m alright, with the highs & the lows
In a place only you & I know
But I’m through waiting ‘round for a better kind of you.

If you wanna go on hiding from yourself
Would you be so kind and take me off your shelf?

In times like these you turn and walk the other way
Til you find something that makes you wanna stay.”

Stay by Justine Vandergrift


Her words address every inch of my processor these days: the feeling of playing a part for the sake of something, the desire for time to fix things, pain that must be kept quiet, the dichotomy of knowing someone won't change, yet still waiting for them to do so. I have begged to be left out of the story, and then in another breath, wished to return to the reader. Our hearts are, in their nature, contradictory.

I am working through what it means to let go. I do believe it's possible to feel past pain without considering it a backwards step. I believe every thing we do is forward motion, and the revisit comes from the carry, not from return or regression. But the ability to carry something for a long time, and the physical response creating echos that still make too much noise: these are probably best left by the roadside.

I am thankful for those who hold me while I figure out what to do with everything I've carried. I'm thankful for those who help me put things down. I am thankful that the days keep coming, the sun keeps rising, those mercies stay new.




*Perfect image by Alicia Savage

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