#writeingrief Day 3I know where I live. I was living in the forest of fairy tales (the Disney ones where everything works out just right). Just one year ago I was in that forest surrounded by life with everything I ever wanted. I had my happily ever after. I knew it was too easy. I have always known that eventually I would meet my wicked witch or worse, my Voldemort. Being as happy as I was would not last forever. I knew this, but I loved life with an optimism that I now resent. The optimism is still there in many ways. I see the good in people and situations. I forgive easily (most of the time).
But now I also see life for what it is. It’s unfair, and the forest--even the lushest and most beautiful of the forests--eventually reveals its darkness. One year ago my instinct in that forest would be to put on a dorky pink hat with a headlight and just try to make friends with the Dementors. If I could just get to know them, we could co-exist. I could teach them about skipping down hallways on bad days, and they would have some profound lesson for me.
I know where I live now. I see the forest for what it is. It’s full of bad shit that can happen at any time. Bad shit that sucks the life out of me. It doesn’t matter that people think I’m a good person and don’t “deserve” such things. That has NEVER mattered. The forest doesn’t give a shit about me or what I deserve. It never did.
I know where I live now. Dementors don’t skip down hallways on bad days. I still can, though; maybe that’s the only weapon I have sometimes.
I know where I live now. I know that my forest may burst into flames and burn to the ground and leave me in a heap of ashes and use my remains to return. Life from my ashes. (And what the fuck do I make of that? Death happens.)