What do you do when nothing makes sense anymore? When the things that you knew to be true ended up being a lie? I find myself beginning again (again) against my will. It’s as though a huge eraser has just gone over the white board of my life and I am now just a series of streaks that used to make sense, colorful dust on the floor below. Memories are now stains on the pinky side of my hand, ferociously trying to scribble in the gaps with marker, dragging my palm as I go. When you look at the board, you can see outlines of things that have been written there for a long time. Even after you erase the bright red of “Marriage” you can still see the word in pink, like a ghost. Like a scab. Like a scar. “Friend” written in blue, now pale like a bruise. “Forever” written in black, just grey like the circles under my eyes. Gone, upon first glance, but engrained when you take a moment to look at it. Pale outlines with clean interiors, clear, but, empty.
I once had an acting teacher that told my class that each of us were “infinite”. I assumed that it pertained to us creatively, as artists. I knew, for sure, that my range was immense, so I didn’t argue the point. As I look back, the theory applies to everyone, because, if we were not infinite? We would be dead.
This last year I have had to be “infinite”. And let me tell you something; It’s fucking exhausting. Words like “infinite; resilient; strong; or, unlimited”, are intended to be compliments. But what these flowery sentiments really disguise, is the need to become that way. Some obstacle has incited change. These obstacles are rarely positive.
An acquisition of a lot of money that you now don’t know how to spend.
Or thinking you failed the LSATs but learning you actually passed them with flying colors and are being made Supreme Judge of all the lawyers.
Or losing 5 pounds but, somehow, your boobs got bigger.
More likely than not, this journey or change is a result of being forced to adapt or recover from seemingly insurmountable odds.
Picture a little single cell organism. Oh, it’s cute. Living its simple little life as the universe is being created. “Fucking awesome! My job is just to be! I love it.” But then conditions change, matter swirls, and, besides just space and gas, there’s something different. Now, I may only be a single cell, but I shall name this swirly newness “Water”. Because I am a resilient little cell, I decide to see what this “water” is about. It is hard. A lot of my friends don’t make it. Most of the time, I don’t know if I will make it. But I change, I adapt, I am resilient. I am me, but also different. I have qualities that make the water as hospitable as space. I was perfectly happy in my swirling world of gravity, but that is gone, and so it’s swim or die.(Disclaimer, I am not a scientist, merely a girl with a lot of feelings, just go with it.)
As great as water is, there’s now this “Land” that everyone keeps talking about. So me and my pals go to check it out, but our new little water bodies can’t live there. Those of us that are “strong” grow legs. I’m kind of pissed off because I just figured out water, but I’ll play along. Fast forward, Land is lit, but there’s a lot of us with legs now. Land is now running out of food and some of the guys down at the water cooler decide they want to expand their palate and start snacking on the community. So, us resilient types, either learn to think our neighbor is tasty, or figure out how to go “up” or be “fast”. Saunter forward on the timeline and there are now hungry mother fuckers in water, land, up and down. Some of our go getters grow wings. Some grow muscular and can really fucking run. Some climb because this “land” thing was a real downer and trees seem cool. Sometimes wings or slithering or all fours doesn’t slap, so, those of us with real gumption stand up. Our brains get bigger. Our hands become more dexterous and we can make tools and solve problems. Some aren’t fast or strong, but they sure as hell know how to start fire and wield a rock. We are INFINITE BABYYYYY.
Congratulations, because if somewhere down the line one of your ancestors wasn’t “unlimited”? You wouldn’t fucking be here.
Looking at evolution, I envy those early assholes. Simpletons. Lucky bastards. There wasn’t right and wrong, good or bad, smart or foolish. The organism next door wasn’t really scratching her chin over whether or not to learn to swim. Dinosaurs weren’t in a moral dilemma about feeding themselves. If Alan in one cave notices that Mark’s wife in the cave adjacent is making stronger babies, Alan pushes Mark off a cliff. He didn’t hate Mark. Alan wasn’t twisting his mustache by the fire, thinking of ways to really pester his neighbor. He just wanted to survive.
It was just “figure it out, or die.” Simple.
To speak my truth? This year there’s been a lot of being far too exhausted to try and figure it out. My little single cell self frequently looked at the land and thought “Ugh. Growing appendages and lungs just seems like too much.” My little critter self saw the bigger , scarier critter running towards me and I just laid on my back in the field and let myself be swallowed. Often times I was Mark, and all I could dream about was Alan coming over to my house and just ramming me the fuck off the mountain. On the way down I would have yelled “THANK YOU ALAN!”
I am infinite, but it’s amazing how temporary all of this life we live can be. It can crumble. You can fall for days, and it can hurt when you land. What’s worse, this year my little Mark brain began to realize that every time you reach the bottom, and it’s “over”, that next landing can give way. And then you can tumble more and free fall and finally think “This is the bottom. I’ve done it!” You assume that your bruises can’t get any worse because that last tumble was rough. There is no “bottom”. You come to the bedrock, it drops out from under you keep plummeting. A temporary shelf, painful to rest upon, but praying to stay there because you’re not sure if you can survive anything more. Then another fall. You keep tumbling, waving to life, as you knew it, as you descend. On a few of those spills, you may have seen some friends like Larry and Burt and Carl along the way, and you were confident that they would stick a tree branch out to catch you or something. But they don’t. So you fall further and reflect “Weird. I thought Carl and I were close. I wonder why he didn’t swing from that vine to get me? I helped Carl the last time he fell”. And now you ,(Mark), start having visions of the air and the water and the land and the trees you’ve known along the way and wish so badly you could be…resilient. But you are tired.
This year I have felt fatigue like I have never known. Mornings I got up to brush my teeth and figured, “Why bother?”. Moments at the grocery store where I have just looked at the shelves, forgetting what it is I was shopping for, not knowing how much time had passed. I forgot how to park a car in February. I was meeting a friend for lunch and pulled into the parking lot, and I circled and circled. For a long time. I was now late for lunch, even though I was there. I simply could not park the car. I knew I had to, and that I once could. It was clear that lunch required stopping the car and getting out, but my brain could not process the steps to do so. I could not grow the legs. I could not find those legs to stand on. I could not park the car.
I know that those who offer guidance and encouragement mean well. I know that the suggestions are their version of extending a branch to keep me from plummeting. But, where is the joy in moving into a new apartment by yourself, when you’ve lived with a partner for 16 years? I was building a new bed frame and the tired sadness crept into my bones. I could not put it together. I had the instructions in my hand, and the tools I needed, but I could not do it.
When you have something to overcome, it’s nearly impossible to see the other side. You can’t pick yourself up by your boot straps when it’s a challenge to even get socks on. It is hard to picture “Act Two” when you feel like Act One was just getting started. In Act One I was building the foundation for a kingsize bed. Now, I find myself crying over a full.
When it comes to trauma, it is easy for people to ignore the events that actually took place, because it’s just so hard to talk about the reality. Can you be encouraging and supportive, while still recognizing how shitty everything is? I know many people and spent many intimate years with those that do not have this ability. Carl yelled to Mark and said “You’ve got it, Pal! Just think of how great it’s going to be down there!”, as he fell. Worse yet sometimes he was heard to say “Mark, you’re being dramatic. It’s not that big a fall.” The most wounding of all, “Mark, you did this to yourself. Clearly just save yourself and shut up.”. This, friends, is gaslighting, and it makes the trip even more painful than it already is.
There are people, who, even in my darkest days, didn’t even reach out to say “Hello”. Some who, a year later, have remained completely silent. There are some who did reach out, and made jokes about what happened, since I’m “so funny”. And I am. I am hilarious. But I hurt. I experienced a loss, and I was left alone.
Everyone questions what this life is all about. At some point, each of us feels as though we aren’t enough. To be facing the actual question of “What am I worth?” is a sobering task. I think we all pose it to ourselves, but in a philosophic, non tangible way. But to actually have it placed in front of your eyes in property and dollars and cents? And then to disagree with someone on your worth, and have to fight for it? Humiliating. But? Fight I did. Because I am fucking resilient.
And just as I begin to wobble and stand on my reborn, bipedal body- BOOM. Another loss. Another hurdle. I had no clue that there could be so many insurmountable odds. I’m looking around and screaming, “Can’t some of these odds be…Mountable? Because I’m at my wit’s end.”. For now I fall, and I cling to the few people who hold space for me as I plummet. I pray for the moment when I land on the cool ground and just take a second to breathe and rest my raspy throat. Because when I’m able to stop the screaming and the tears dry on my cheeks, and I lay on the cool earth, I can at least recognize that I am still alive.
Infinite.
Liz Shivener 