Space

I was born into this world with miles between everyone else and me. No comfort, no dependence, I was born in a glass box. Three sides are filled with mirrors, while only one side serves as window to the outside. I used to think for the longest time that I was all alone, like, the world around me was free, hustling together, able to communicate with each other; they all just looked like safe, functioning adults to me.

I just didn’t want to be a burden. I know my mother resents not having a more normal, skinny daughter like she once was. She didn’t get to brush my hair and take me dress shopping. Instead, I got to watch her fall apart, right through my glass window. It felt like my words were the only thing that could reach anyone else. 

The older I got, the more I understood. Everyone else is in their own little boxes suffering. For a while I felt like I wasn’t alone, but now, all I see is suffering, and all I feel is a paralyzing distance from others. 

For a while there, I didn’t care about myself or my space. I allowed the spiders and filth to take over. I just wanted to rot away and disappear. I was a walking corpse. Something small inside me told me to get up, one day. It told me that I was gonna be okay, and that I deserve this space I’m in. So, now I do my best to open my space, and let the light shine on every single part of me. I’ve grown closer with those around me for it, but I’ve also left myself wide open for too much hurt. 

I know what it’s like to need space, too. I’ve always needed space. At any moment, I’ll just stop talking to someone because I’m going within myself. That’s why I don’t understand why I can’t let my beloved friend do what he needs to do. Is it selfish? Part of it is, it’s too personal, even though his space has nothing to do with mine. Most of it is fear for him, though. 

Alone, my mind has devoured itself more times than I can count. I know that going within is the only way I know of so he can save himself, but I never want him to feel like he just needs to rot alone, in the dark. Not like I had to go through. I grew a lot, but being alone also sometimes made me convince myself of things that were not objective reality, because my pain and my hurt and my baggage was still there. For the longest time, I couldn’t stop thinking, thinking, thinking. And I made things worse for myself.

But. I’ve led myself to believe I can fix someone else many times. It never works, because you can’t fix anyone. My only choice is to watch him struggle from several rooms away. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. I’ve let my own fears become the fourth mirror. He is not me. It’s funny, because I guess isolation to me hasn’t been because I wanted it, but because the world just failed me. It failed to meet my needs.

I guess that’s why space hurts still. I haven’t gotten rid of this notion yet entirely that I’m only worth something if I can help people, if I can meet their needs.

Slowly though, I’m building comfort in my own mind rather than seeking it from the outside world. I hate to break it to my friend, but he’s truly a huge source of comfort for me. He’s a good friend, and fuck is that rare. His energy is something you want around you as much as possible. Before him, it was just me that once people got to know they wanted to be around all the time. 

I went to bed so scared and upset, and as my mind unfolded during sleep, it held me in his arms. I woke to miles and miles of bed that lay before me, and I saw him. We broke the ocean of sheets between us together as we moved towards company. My mind used his face and his body to hold me, but, I think I was reminding myself that I’m not alone.

Let’s just play out the worst case scenario, since I’m already thinking about it. This is something I do a lot. 

Let’s say the space between me and everyone I love only grows, and some of it is out of my control, other parts are my fault, I still gotta believe that I’m okay, and I will be enough for myself. I am held by the loving energy within myself, and anything I need, I can provide. 

I know a lot of people hate the idea of talking more lovingly to themselves, and I did too. But now, I understand the pathways I’m making for myself as I use self love out of habit instead of the alternative. I don’t even think I realized how hard on myself and how mean I was for absolutely no good reason until I began replacing the nasty things I tell myself with something much more healing. This is what Space has taught me. This is why sometimes I needed to be alone. This is why I love being alone. I discover new things about who I am all the time. 

So, who am I to step out of the role of a sister, a friend, a daughter, and not allow anyone else to do the same?

In fact, I need others around me to take more space. 

I see your agony,

And I just want you to find the power that lies in remembering who you are.

And who you are is not in relation to other people. 

Space was never something to fear.

It’s an opportunity to hold onto when it arises.

~a.f.