#theproblemwithforever

No one else. It was me who had to carry myself over the finish line, and all I needed to remember when I felt like not trying was that the feeling wouldn't last forever. Forever. I used to believe it didn't exist. One word had terrified me as a child and haunted me. But now I knew, in many small ways, that it was real, but it didn't scare me anymore. Forever wasn't the little girl cowering the closet. Forever wasn't the shadow sitting in the back of the class... Forever wasn't being the one who needed protection.  Forever wasn't pain and grief. Forever wasn't a problem. Forever was my heartbeat and it was the hope tomorrow held. Forever was the glistening silver lining of the dark cloud, no matter how heavy and thick it was. Forever was knowing moments of weakness didn't equate to an eternity of them. Forever was knowing that I was strong... Forever was the fire-breathing dragon inside me that had shed fear like a snake shedding skin. Forever as simply a promise of more. Forever was a work in progress. And I couldn't wait for forever.

I didn't want to lose him one day, and God, there were so many ways you could lose someone. I didn't want to disappoint him. I didn't want him to disappoint me.

I was in love with him.  I knew that much was true. Love was the swelling, hopeful feeling in my chest every time I saw him. Love was the way I could forget about everything when I was with him. Love was the catch in my breath when he looked at me in this intense way. Love was the gasp he could draw out of me with the simplest of touches. Love was the way I could be myself around him, know that I didn't need to be perfect or worry about what he was thinking, because he accepted me. And all of that? Love scared the hell out of me.

Man, I was... kind of blank. Like the spots on the canvas that had just the tiniest drops of paint on it. There were things I liked, things that had caught my attention over the years, but for the most part, I was empty.  Over the past couple of years, I'd been slowly unpacking all the emotional baggage from the past, all the trauma and fear, but that mess had done more than just keep me silent, existing in the background. It had held be back from– from living. Wasn't that what being passionate really was? Living? Except that fear was still there and because of it,  I was a blank thing.

When I was a little girl, I used to hide in my closet. The space was dust-covered and dark, and it smelled like mothballs. But it was my sanctuary from the monsters outside. When I got older and I would have to hide, I used to fantasize that I lived in a house where the closets trapped all the monsters and where I would be safe in my bed. That I lived in a house with parents I could look up to and admire, and one day they would become the subjects of a speech I wrote about how they changed my life for the better. I didn't live in that kind of house. But the monsters I hid from shaped who I'v become by teaching me that kindness and love are things that should be given freely. They taught me who I never want to be. That's why they're important to me today.

Forever wasn't real. And I guessed, for me, that I was lucky it wasn't. But for others, I wished it was real, that they had forever.

Forever was something we all took for granted, but the problem with forever was that it really didn't exist.