The traditional rainstick is made out of weathered wood and filled with tiny beads the size of ball bearings. These beads slide back and forth as the stick is tilted, creating a sound much like rain drops as they strike the ground. The beads will keep shifting as long as the stick is in motion, never settling, always moving to their next destination.
My life is a rainstick—always shifting yet never settling.
I am fighting for my life amid a sea of feelings that I can’t even begin to comprehend. Everything around me is white. I block it out, the world, the voices, the everything. I cannot think. There is only him and me and this moment right now, this breath, and then the next and the next and I can’t stop my hands from shaking. I can’t lift my head up; I can’t make eye contact. I can’t breathe. Touching me. There are too many hands, too many things that I need to say but I can’t.
Too many feelings that I can’t let myself feel. If I let myself feel, I will die. I have to run.
I can’t. I’m frozen, paralyzed. Stuck in a night that seems forever ago but was really only hours. I am afraid of everything. The lights that are too bright and the people that are too loud and the movements, god, the movements. A car, a knife, a parking lot, a drive, a road, and it all blends together but I can’t get the words out. Always shifting and I can’t settle. I can’t get comfortable in my life without it falling out from under me.
I can’t say anything to anyone. I can’t tell them. I can never tell them. I can’t do this. I’m not going to make it.
I am sitting across the table from a man, preparing. They tell me that it will be hard, that I will have to do thing, say things, that I don’t want to do. I can’t handle their accusations. I check out; I think about the dumbest thing—bunnies. Fluffy white ones with tails that hop through green meadows and eat carrots. I pretend that I am there and they are with me and I fill the void inside of me with the dream. But I am alone. I want to ask for help, but I’m alone. Drowning. They don’t believe me. They tell me no one else will either. I hear that I will be alone, that I will always be alone. That I will have to stand against him, on my own. I am his, always his, and I’m crying and then nothing. Roaring floods my ears and washes over everything. I am nothing. Always shifting and I can’t settle.
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. I cannot change this, it will never go away. I need to fill the hole.
Scared. Help me.
I am embarking on the rest of my life, chasing a dream that doesn’t seem achievable to a place I’m not sure I will be able to go. I am filling a hole, a gaping wound, with a dream that may not even come to fruition. I am using grad school to keep myself busy, to keep myself from feeling. What happens if I do this wrong? What happens if I say A when I mean B? What happens if I don’t fit? I can be the best student in the world and still not make the cut. I have never in my life made the cut. Why should now be any different?
What will I do if I don’t get in? What will I do if I have to stop running?
Always shifting and I can’t settle.