Aurelia

Try whistling this…

27 December 2017; unexpected endings just around the corner (35mm film, taken by Manny).

I stepped unnecessarily carefully around a spent chrysalis — I suspect for a monarch butterfly — on a walk the other day, and in retrospect, should likely have recognized it for the sign it was. If not that, the strange dreams that have been visiting me should have been enough. Rebirth, renewal; change. Maybe a whiff of death about the fragile little shell that remained, shed and left behind.

In a little over 24 hours, yet another birthday will come (and go). I’m not particularly thrilled about it, and at this point only hope to get through it as unscathed as possible. I noticed growing wrinkles (albeit laugh lines) around my eyes, without even meaning to look, the other morning; I’ve already encountered at least one gray hair, though I suspect more lurk beneath the fading red dye. I entered my third decade of life last fall with fairly solid optimism, for a good host of reasons, but thread by thread, just about all of it has been stripped away from me, at times in great, cutting strips. Spring is about the last time I can recall feeling as though any of the ground beneath my feet was still solid enough to trust, and here now fall is already upon us. Some years, my birthday even falls squarely on the equinox. It has not been a good year.

I don’t typically assign much meaning to my birthdays, but a friend who celebrated her own just over a week ago suggested that she was “pretty happy to celebrate leaving this last year in the past,” and I could only emphatically agree with her. (My response: “I very much like the concept of leaving this year in the dust on my birthday rather than waiting for NYE. Can that be a thing? Can we just hit reset now? Because seriously, fuck this year.” Hers: “Right there with you. In any case, it can be a thing for us.”) So yes, I choose to leave the past year behind me. There is very little in it, and my memories of it, that I can look at now as worth salvaging. I’ve certainly weathered rougher ones, but it was unquestionably my worst since moving here five years ago. I don’t care to struggle through another like it. I have learned from it (albeit painfully), but all I wish to do now is move past it.

I refuse to give up hope, though I have been greatly tempted to at many points leading to now; just because some things I had come to trust and believe in have failed me of late does not deter me entirely, and I still hold on to my hopes as best I can. But I can see now that many of them are going to have to be wrapped up in a casing of their own, shiny and hard, ideally to reemerge at some date in the future, though likely not any time soon. If, right on the heels of this birthday, I have the loneliest holiday season I’ve ever encountered approaching, too — not guaranteed, but looking more possible by the day — I need to shore up any reserves to prepare as well as I can manage for it now. I know now that any rebuilding of myself, any repairs to the damage I’ve incurred, the losses my fears have cost me, will have to be done in the solitary space of my own mind, as I wrap myself up to protect what I can, and hopefully transform myself into something better, to emerge on the other side. I know fairly well what I wantย to be, and how strong my desire is to become it.ย How long the wait between pupa and imago may be, there is obviously no way to know; I just have to continue to be patient, to wait, to continue working my best at acceptance.

I cannot change where I’ve ended up, nor undo what got me here — neither the mistakes that are my own fault, nor those that are not — and there is no moving backward in time. I refuse to believe any losses are permanent; I’m not old enough (yet) to feel quite so jaded. May as well take advantage of the ability to still believe in better things ahead while it still beats away somewhere in there, even if that means secreting it away behind a dark, tough little cocoon for some time, before it’s safe to once again stretch my wings out again.

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What a choice for the daily prompt word this turned out to be; yesterday’s was “finite,” but that felt both too on-the-nose and too depressing to touch at the time. Right now, there is certainly a crescendo of noise crashing onto me: the noise of seemingly relentless, unfortunate change.ย It is slowly but surely growing too loud around me to hear much else.

I could detail more specifically why the past nine months have been such a difficult slog, but it would not be compelling reading, nor would it be particularly helpful; I already know what the reasons are. I tend to use writing as a cathartic and therapeutic exercise, at best, and so rehashing realities I have already faced feels tired and confined. This general excising of feeling, though, I do need; the poison has to come out somehow, usually by bleeding it out of oneself; it is painful, ugly, messy, and has to happen.

Given the latest batch of bad — unsurprising, but still bad — news that arrived today, I finally realized why this year, on the whole, has felt like such a struggle to merely survive: it started on a high note, and has gone almost entirely downward ever since, in spite of my best efforts to counter it wherever I can. My overall mental health has been much better, and I’ve adopted better habits relating to my health and habits, generally. As it continues to take over, with no turnaround in sight, I’ve attempted to make better use of my ever-expanding alone time. At the time, I took the positive beginning in January — which feels so long ago, now — as a sign that I had a good wave on which to start, and would allow it to buoy me forward, keeping myself more open to the good, and the positive. Thus far, however, all this has seemed to do is put me in a less prepared position for the bad that followed on its heels, as though I’ve been stupidly keeping my back to the waves out in the ocean of all that has hit me, and all that will follow; that continues to roll in like a tide with no turning.

My birthday is approaching in a couple of weeks, but I don’t care. I don’t do much to celebrate as a general rule as it is, but by this point I might have at least already tried to plan something for it, as in the past few years, but this year: no. I just do not care. Recognizing more clearly, today, that just about everything I came into this year either believing as somehow solid or secure, that I hoped for or wanted, or was looking forward to — both big and small — has slid away, if not disappeared entirely. The likely impending loss of my last remaining close family from easily reachable proximity is sort of just the icing on the cake. I wasn’t even surprised to read it; I just felt sad, and alone, and lost.

On the plus side, if I even can believe in such a thing for the time being: I have little, if nothing much, left to lose, at this point. So, if nothing else, there aren’t likely to be many more nasty surprises lurking around any more corners as the year drags on; it’s just more moving forward in the dark, toward nothing in particular. If it is a tunnel, which is a rather optimistic concept in itself, it’s become too long of one to see any light on the other side. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s no way out on the other side, but even a pinprick of light at the moment would be welcome. Fall is coming, and the late part of the year is generally my favorite, but also brings with it difficulties of its own, mostly tied to memory, and as the days grow darker, I don’t have much faith in that black space opening for something brighter to break through. Maybe all I am able to do for now is continue to survive, and sustain some hope that things will look less bleak sometime in the future. Anything more specific than that only feels foolish from here.

I am young, and life is (generally, perhaps hopefully) long, but from the perspective of now, things look bleak, and I am so tired.

 

[To be deleted, I’m sure.]

 

via Daily Prompt: Crescendo