Thursday, February 16, 2017

That Red Light

How easy it is to ignore that red light at the intersection. How easy it is to just drive off the edge of the overpass. How easy it is to just pound the gas pedal into the floor and crash into the face of the mountain. How easy it is to ignore any sense of self-preservation and public safety.

Easy. Too easy. Oh so painfully, tauntingly easy.

But she doesn't think like that anymore. She's better now.

She's changed.

Depression was what the psychiatrist called it. A monster that wanted to take their daughter away was what her parents called it. Her siblings called it just wanting attention.

She once called it a friend.

She doesn't anymore.

A friend wouldn't have caused her to get her sent to the hospital. A friend wouldn't have whispered lies and false promises of a bleak future. A friend wouldn't have taken and twisted her mind to think that all that was good was bad, and that all that seemed good was an illusion.

How blind she was, she thinks of this in hindsight. Hindsight is 20/20, after all.

She remembers its soft, soothing voice: so facile and pleasant to listen to. But it was dangerous.

That voice almost destroyed her. That voice lied and told her that she had nothing to lose. That hopelessness and despair was at the end of the long tunnel of life. That there was no need to wait for oblivion – it was right at her doorstep. That death would be easy if she just tried again and wanted it with everything within her being.

How terribly she wanted it.

She doesn't anymore.

She's better now. She's found purpose. She believes wholeheartedly that it gets better, that life gets better if she just hangs on. She's finally found the beauty and love in living. She can make it. She can do it. She now sees that there are people that care, and that she finally finds compassion residing in her heart instead of the constant hate for herself and mankind. She's better now.

She's changed.

But at that red light of warning as she sits behind the steering wheel, an echo of the past taunts her.

How easy it is to ignore that red light...

2 comments:

  1. Powerful stuff, Jodee!

    I noticed that this entry is uncategorized... Would you consider this a poem?

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    Replies
    1. I'm actually not sure what to categorize this as. When I was typing this out it felt like prose, but seeing it the way it's formatted right now it has that poem vibe to it, too. Since I simply couldn't decide, I put "uncategorized" as a bit of a reminder to go back and figure it out at a later date. If I wasn't too shy I would probably ask around and see what other people think it should be, but as it is I've still got a wall of shyness I need to overcome.

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