this afternoon, as i walked through the warehouse towards the soda machine, the shipping guy asked, ?how are you??. now this is a friendly, kind man, who doesn’t ask that question at all rhetorically, who would have listened patiently and sympathetically if i had suddenly answered the question in full, excruciating detail. however i (believe this or not) have some image to maintain. no, i do. really. so i replied, ?ahh, pretty good? in a philosophical tone, with feeling. i noticed that my voice had that husky edge it develops after days of sick stress. i knew the shadows of the storage area masked the puffiness of the recent good, hard cry i’d had. my walk picked up a little extra bounce, as i fancied myself a sexy and mysterious woman, a woman with a past, and secrets. it occurred to me that in that past, i never thought to conceal my secrets, and lived life raw and open to anyone who asked, even to those who did not. and today, they are shared only on a need to know basis; most everyone i know is blissfully ignorant of what i’m going through. and this is how it’s supposed to be.
i think it was the sound of my own voice that got me here, on the other side of the worst of it all. that lovely, raspy little wisp of a voice that happens after the stress has released itself in various forms, a little asthma here, a little screaming there, a little crying in the bathroom. and in the aftermath of all this, when i heard myself saying, ?ahh, pretty good?, i realized that i believed every word. of course, if you look at the facts you’d realize i’m bluffing, but trust me when i tell you, i am good. i mean, if you heard it yourself, you would believe me too.
and really, convincing myself was the most important hurdle, and now, it’s behind me.
details? no, those are ugly. i’d rather share just the feelings for now.