Take a breath. The type of breath that fills every part of your body, forcing your body to live on. Hold it. Reminding the body that there is a time when everything will stop. Everything will end, right? At some point. So... Take a breath.
I moved my body just enough to fit through holes and clearings of people as I made my way down Times Square. Really, I shouldn't be here right now. Yet, here I was. I looked around in the sea of people going about their day. They all had places to go, places to be. I sometimes wonder how it felt. To belong somewhere, to have a goal. To do something. It must be nice. I chuckled to myself and then cringed at the sound coming out of my mouth. Somehow the sound always got me compliments. "Your laugh is so nice", "You've grown into such a proper young man". But... had I? Was there a handbook in where it said laughing a certain type of laugh will make you a man? What makes a man? More importantly, why is it so important to be proper? And what made me proper. Everything about me told me the opposite. But no one could ever know that. Mr. Smith once told me that I should picture my anxiety to be something physical. Learn its color, its shape or form. And I remember thinking what bullshit he was trying to teach me when he wanted me to imagine a tiger, observe what it did. Then only to tell me that the tiger represented my anxiety and that I could make it do anything I wanted to. What a load of crap. In reality, the tiger wasn't just moving. It was destroying everything in its path. Forcing me into a corner. Forcing me to stay. Therapy sucked. But I couldn't tell anyone that. In reality, no one even knows about therapy other than my family. I often remember back to all those times where my parents would tell me all would be okay. To just hold on. Really, I knew they just wanted me to be normal. Whatever that might indicate. And I obeyed. I go to the store for them and fill up their guests' glasses when they run out of wine. I act proper, they say. When their friends come over and ask about how I'm doing they just put on a mask. "He's doing so great, we're so proud of him".Proud. That word. The word I always hear my name associated with. The word that is never said to my face.
I sigh and remember where I am. Only seconds ago a woman bumped into me with a handful of bags and a child clinging to her hand. She apologized and I smiled back. I smiled. That's what's to be expected. When someone bumps into you, when someone gets your name wrong, if anything. You smile. They say smiling can make you happier, healthier or both. Well, I've been smiling all of my life and I don't feel a thing. No warmth, no happiness.
Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if people notice me. No. If they notice me. Not the smile-giving, wine-pouring properguy. Who I really am. I wonder if people have ever noticed. Noticed that behind the smile, there's absolutely nothing. No warmth, no hope... No love. Nothing.
Do they know it's just an act?
Someone bumped into me.
That someone didn't glance my way, they just kept on walking.
Walking away from me.
It brought me back to reality. To where I supposedly should be. But I didn't deserve to be. No, I didn't. A painful image flashed before my eyes. I had never hurt someone before. Not physically, not emotionally. But I had lost my temper over something so simple. Something so insignificant. I've always told myself to just say yes, never be in anyone's way. But today... Today I lost my temper. I yelled at her. I told her no. And then I ran out of the door. Ran until my feet couldn't run anymore. Until I was standing here. In the middle of Times Square. In the heart of New York. A beating one, a functioning one, nothing like my own. I wasn't meant to be here. I was meant to be nowhere. A place no one was forced to notice me. Where no one had to pretend. Where I didn't have to pretend. But I knew as well as anyone that life doesn't have a reset button. You don't choose how everything turns out. Life is just there. It's a chance to survive. The term "Survival of the fittest", said by Charles Darwin had never been more right. Those who can, they survive. They keep up with the pressure of time. Everyone else wash away and are left behind. Because after all, life moves on. With or without you.
My feet moved without my consent. I ducked under arms, from side to side to get out of the busy street and out onto the bigger roads. I walked until my legs were giving in. But then I walked more. Until all physical pain was forgotten, left behind on the side of the road. I felt a stab in my heart as I stood at the start of the Manhattan bridge. I tried pushing out the memories that were now coming flooding in, but I couldn't stop them from entering.
The living room. My mom's cold hand gently holding mine as we sit at the table.
How's it going with Mr. Smith?
The coldness running down my back. I knew why she was asking. I didn't want to answer. I felt her next words like a slap across the face. Clearly, he's not helping. Maybe we should find someone else?
Clearly not helping? Was I that bad? Her words prickled my skin, like tiny needles. I couldn't. Couldn't get someone else. Going through the same again? No thanks. The dumb introductions. The assessment of my mental state. The judging. The endless useless conversations. The "How are you" and "What are you going to do about that?". The crying.
No, god no. Not again.
So I told her no. Wait, no, that's not correct. I yelled her no. I screamed. I broke. In pieces. A piece for each conversation that led nowhere. I was a basket case, everyone knew it. And everyone chose to ignore it, myself included.
My legs forced themselves forward towards the middle of the bridge. Calmly, I ran my hand along the huge fence, keeping people from falling. The pain had subsided. But it was always there. Just in the middle of my chest, lurking in the shadows. Waiting. But for now, it was hidden. I took in a deep breath, knowing that I was giving my heart what it needed for my body to survive. Oxygen. Biology classes had taught me that much. I looked back at the fence and my vision darkened at my new set of thoughts. The part of me that knew fences didn't hold people in. They didn't hold people out either. They were just a barrier. A barrier that was easy to break.
I stood for a moment and admired the view. The water glistening in the sunlight, the wind making the trees at shore calmly sway. And after a minute or two, I started my climb.
