The Sting of Uncertainty

She sat today, watching people’s mouths move and sounds escape them, but her ability to process the information was blocked by distraction. Thoughts in and out, racing at an uneven pace, speeding up and slowing down, producing a fluster in the cheeks and a rapid heartbeat. Her anxiety compounded as she thought of home, the feelings of those who occupy it with her, and her own guilt at not being the wife she could be. The guilt runs deep, and resists abatement. Eight years, countless experiences, struggles and triumphs. She wonders why she cannot fathom eight more. For what reason?  It doesn’t make sense.  Is she a bottomless abyss that can never be filled with enough love and attention? If so, how does this strong desire to flee become quieted?  She’s used to seeing things end, she knows the pattern, it’s comfortable for her.

She thinks about the past, and how things were comfortable then too. Instability, unspoken and longed for commitment that was chased after like a dog chasing meat.  She has the commitment now, but is it too little? Why was she okay with chasing after love, when she should have demanded of herself the dignity to only seek it from those willing to provide without prodding?

The past doesn’t matter, or at least that’s what she’s told. Focus on today, the present, and be grateful for your circumstance, people say. But they don’t know the hurt that swirls around in her blood, sucking up oxygen, leaving her beating heart restless and torn.

She attempts to learn a new language, where a pat on the back, a shoulder rub, a gentle kiss on the cheek can be accepted by her evolved partner, but memories do not die, and she can hold onto the pain forever. Soft spoken words said in earnest are just as reflective, she doesn’t believe them I’m betting, and it’s a tragedy because she could avoid an endless cycle of pain by nurturing what is in front of her.

Maybe that’s just it.  She is a nurturer, she loves deeply and when her walls are torn down, and her heart given to another, the prospect of disintegration is at first too much to bear, but after years in a dazed fog, following the heart despite what the mind admonishes, an awakening starts and an accounting is required of the mind to appease further discourse.

She hopes the mind will be satisfied soon, or the urge to flee will likely prevail.


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