Do you know that feeling? That one, when for a moment, the world is loud and bright and vibrant, and then it all goes gray. Like when the sun shines steadily but the sky releases a downpour stronger than the bond between you and your childhood dog, and it could last for seconds or days, but either way you can’t do much about it. It’s that quiet sound; that white noise. You see, no one ever talks about how sometimes, healing is just sitting in that silence rather than running from it. It’s that emptiness, that void or lack of emotion, or even worse: the overabundance of it. The fear of feeling takes away the sun; people try to run, I tried to run from what might’ve hurt me more, but I hurt me more. I hurt me in a way my father never could; my ex-best-friend wouldn’t be able to imagine what I did to myself—distorted my skin and brain and all that comes in between.
Do you know that feeling? That feeling of sudden epiphany; when the rain slows to a sprinkle, when the white noise sounds less like TV static and more like the ocean. The silence still drowns but I feel I can breathe now, and I think my lungs have floated above my body and out of the water to inhale the fresh air. The water is still dark though, and I could have sworn the water was freezing and my feet have become numb. But Kaya told me it’s okay to love my scars and baked me chocolate chip cookies while I played with her dog; and I know they love me because Kaya sent me several letters telling me so, and she’s been there at all the highs and lows, and her dog leans against me whenever she gets the chance. And Aashi called me a bitch but sent a red heart right after, and I know she loves me because she traces my scars and she makes me laugh harder than anyone else because she thought I was the weird kid in fifth grade. And all of a sudden, I think my heart is warmer—not warmed, but I’m not so cold anymore.
Do you know that feeling? That one when they pull your body out of the sea, and you can see and you can breathe and the storm is over. I know that eventually it’ll come back—I can’t control the weather—but for now the rain has stopped and the blanket of clouds is cozy like the sweater I left in my dresser before I made my way down to the shore.
Do you know that feeling? When they pull you out of the sea, but all you can feel is the warmth of their hands on your arms? They’ll hand you some ibuprofen but all you can focus on is how the water they gave you isn’t salty and how you have the choice to swallow what’s in your hand, how the waves don’t force it down. That feeling when you know: grief made a mirror of me, but I can understand the difference between the hand and the water.