I found this image at Period Living, and I just adore this kitchen. What’s not to like, I ask you? Flowers and bright colors, and most importantly: red.
It’s been a long day. It’s been one of those days where not much has gone right. Where I feel like I wasted time and that always makes me feel rather chaotic.
So here it is, dusk now, and I haven’t gotten a lot done. In my sort of anal way, I like to wrap the day up with a clean slate and a few already finished posts for my color blog, as I’ve taken to calling it. I like to feel as though I’ve accomplished a lot.
Abruptly changing the subject, someone emailed me last night about the post I did in December in regards to Christine, the blogger whose husband gunned she and her teenaged son down, then killed himself. Leaving behind three young children.
The woman who wrote me said it had taken her all this time to get the courage to do so. Because she could easily have been Christine. She has a friend who could have been Christine. And no one knows how much distance you must put between yourself and the fear before you can even broach it.
It’s like staring at a gaping hole wondering if you’re going to get sucked into its vortex. Fear by proxy. It’s not only unsettling, but it brings back all kinds of fears that you barely keep tamped down as it is.
People just don’t get that it’s something you never quite get over. I have family members who don’t get it. And I’m tired of trying to appease them by doing my dead level best to act normal for their sake. What on earth is normal anyway?
Or you find yourself in a crowd and your heart is pounding so hard you can’t remember where you parked the car. And you think everyone must hear it. That all eyes are on you as you begin to feel much like a deer in the headlights.
Home seems so far away at that moment in time.
But they aren’t staring at you. And it isn’t disastrous. Not on the outside. But on the inside, you know you are close to tears. And aren’t you going to look foolish standing in the bright sunshine with tears rolling down your cheeks while people walk past you smiling and carrying on casual conversations.
You are envious of them. Of their easy banter and ease as they walk past.
You are never the same. Not after months. Not after years.
Something has been taken from you and you will never get it back. And so you live your life on the periphery.
You go out as infrequently as possible. You stretch the groceries because you just can’t bear the thought of going out there.
And when you’re in the grocery store you are on edge. You are peering sideways at everyone who walks past. Because you have lost the ability to be like them.
You hope no stranger speaks to you. And when someone comes up behind you, and, being merely friendly, tells you the fudge recipe is on the back of another brand, not the one you’re holding, they might as well have said there is a gunman on aisle 2.
There was a time when I would turn to them and smile and say something witty. I was good at it. But small talk now eludes me. Sucked into the vortex. Yes, I know what she means.
Here’s all I know: if you haven’t walked in someone’s shoes, then you damned well better not judge them as though you have. Enough said.