Similar Days

Adobe Express

As a survivor of my own personal abuse, I go through moments of relived trauma. Where I usually creep back into myself and hide. This usually takes the form of oversleeping or just getting very quiet. It’s usually a time where the mask slips a bit and I end up being much quieter than my usual bombastic self. Yesterday and today are some of those days. Now being this way myself, I feel like I’m especially attuned to others that get this way.
 
When I sense someone slipping into this form of struggle. I usually slip into a joke or a gentle probing into what I sense is a matter. Unfortunately for me, I usually don’t sense that type of empathy. I don’t think it’s got so much to do with others’ lack of empathy or concern as much as it’s got to do with the isolation we’ve crowded ourselves into. It’s sad in a way that we’ve become a neighborhood of strangers. Never checking on the little old lady down the street or the screams coming from the apartment above us.
 
At the moment my hand trembles slightly from waiting too long to get up and take my medication. Outside a group of young boys are planning an adventure to explore an old, abandoned building down the street. With the windows wide open, I hear their young laughter and see their backpacks stocked with provisions. Meanwhile, my head gets a bit lighter as the medications kick in and my blood sugar drops a bit. But there’s nobody here to check on my situation, surrounded by two that depend on me I’m used to the quiet and seemingly lack of concern.
 
But where do you go in these moments, but deeper into yourself. Depending on the reserve you’ve always saved for yourself. Often pushing dangerously close to the empty line, where many of us are pushed into a territory we dare not go. But the boys return on their bikes ready for an adventure. Standing right by the window, where I hear every word and smile. Remembering similar days.
 
#Reflection #Isolation #Neighborhood #Empathy #Storytelling