SUBMISSION FOR JOURNAL CONTEST
My life is not a movie— I know that. But sometimes I wish it were so that everything I'm feeling— so raw and tender— wouldn't seem so dramatic; but real. As it is to me. I movies a character can be confused, and beautifully so, with a clear intensity of emotion and of heart that extends beyond them. It is open and free. Yet I have to remember that it is tame. The pain is tangible, yet it serves a purpose to a specified, known ending. However, my pain and my grief are not so contained. For me it's chaos— taking me on a wild ride of loops and twirls through a wind tunnel. On the inside I'm being pushed and pulled violently like a child's toy, being thrown this way and that. And I am reaching out to a person, that one person who stands there at the end of the tunnel. I try calling out to them but the wind is so strong I swallow my words and topple backwards. And they are speaking to me, which I strain to here; but all that comes is leftover breath and my own shallow gasps. I don't want to let go. I want to fight. But they seem so distant, so far out of my reach, and moving farther out by the day. All I want to do is run and grab a hold of them, hug them so that our skin overlaps, every piece of mine coming in contact with theirs so that we meld together. But on the outside I am stoic. I stand here, staring into the mirror at myself— into dead eyes— silently. And I search for the meaning of it all. I know I am beautiful. I can see the grace and strength that hold me together, knowing I will eventually get through this. And I can feel all the people that love me behind me, resting their hands on my shoulders, passing their strength and support on to me through their squeezes. But they're not here, and it's only me in the mirror with thoughts of him persisting. The nakedness I feel is frightening. Yet at the same time I want and need to expose myself, my grief to the world. I want to shout out in unintelligible cries what sits churning in my stomach and what causes my heart to cover suffocate itself under a blanket. I want answers, responses, to know what the future will hold... I have these scars that only I can see, embedded deep into my body, covering all its precious part. I have not gone through this world unscathed. But oddly, I have no regrets-- no harsh feelings against my attackers— only love...still. And tenderness. That's what makes it so complicated and unclear. I am standing on a precipice, and I can either jump, letting myself free fall, not knowing where or with what impact I will land. But falling with the hope that I will land gently into the arms of another. Or I can walk away and leave behind what may lie over the edge, unknown, and let all that has passed become a memory. There is no easy path. Any choice I make will come with its own pains and difficulties. I can’t just float up into to sky and wait for it all to pass, or skip ahead through time. I need to face what is here and what is now. And if that means jumping over the edge or staring at myself in the mirror long enough to see something liven in those eyes once more, then I will. It’s not a movie—it’s my life, my love (that I know for sure), and I will fight for it.
—Catherine Luciani