I didn’t care about the burns the salty, hot fries were searing into my tongue; I kept methodically delivering them into my mouth. I didn’t care about the tediously slow drivers in front of me; I followed them at their pace with a distracted mind. I didn’t care about the haraam Burger King cheeseburgers awaiting their consumption in the bag to my right; they offered nominal comfort against the blow received.
All I cared about was the fact that another lurch toward a frightening future had shifted me again into the freefall.
I suppose I may have gotten too comfortable with hope, to familiar with faith. I suppose I leaned too easily on the dream that everything could, and will, work out toward a tidy resolution. I suppose the protective elapsing of days, weeks, months….hypnotized me into a false sense of security; the shattering awakening from which could not be penetrated by incessant oral cauterization.
Two days later and the burns on my tongue have healed, but the certainty in my heart continues to list. Today I am feeling that this pain is nothing more than a novelty; a scene change to challenge my sense of adventure. That tells me that the pain is too great, indeed. I don’t run from pain, so if I am feeling effusively welcoming toward a tragic end to my present security it means that the thought of loss will devastate me.
Yet that’s what I’m doing, again. Looking at plans B and C and telling myself that they aren’t so bad, and could be enjoyable. I convince myself so thoroughly that I start to believe I would rather have these outcomes, than the one I spent the last 9 years of my life investing in. The one I have put nothing short of my life, reputation, and heart on the line for.
So I tell myself, I don’t really want a house. I don’t really want to live the rest of my life with my husband, and have my children know what an intact family is for the rest of their childhoods. I tell myself I never really cared about touring the world and country with him, and all of our past inside jokes and epic moments of bonding were insignificant and meaningless. I tell myself that I would be happier on my own or with someone else entirely. I tell myself every lie to contradict 9 years of hearfelt and sacrificial truth.
As the world continues to sway, and as I continue to slide- though clutching gravel and dust- off of another cliff, I believe the delusions befored my tightly closed eyes. I believe they will keep me from falling, and from hurting. And while I believe, and manically conjure more dreams to distract me, something deep inside tells me that all of this existence is an illusion anyway, even the fall.