TW: implication childhood trauma, death
as a child, you go through different emotions- to state the obvious. as you learn to put words to these feelings and learn correlation and causation between the things you feel, you might start to question the way the rest of the world is viewed.
are you special? is the way your eyes fill in the blanks to seemingly let you see through walls something only you can see? is the way your nose looks different when you don't notice its presence something unique? something just for you?
when you question if the world is just like you, you might feel less special; less unique. i think it's kind of the opposite, though.
being "special", so to speak, is isolating when you think about it. yeah, you can invision a whole world around you full of colors and fantasy, you can imagine the bugs you find going home to their families after you play with them or the spots in your vision being fairies- but if that was really the case, and you had nobody to share that magic with, would it even be worth it?
if the creativity and things you percieved as magical as a kid were just that- otherwordly and unique- nobody would believe you. you're just a kid, right?
but because you're you, you're human, you can look around and meet a dozen people with the same experiences, just through a different lense. sure, the "fairies" you saw as a kid were absolutely just floaters from eye problems, and the bugs you adored probably never made it home, but at least you've found someone that gets that. they saw the fairies, they prayed to a false god that the isopods would roll home after your tea party, hell they probably even saw the same fantasy you were able to conjure like it was nothing. forest cats and hideaways, tall trees and the stars coming out just to show you the night wasn't scary.
so you solve that mystery, the end of a childhood era of magic- or something of the sort.
now what?
now you know that your good experiences were shared. unfortunately, for you and your peers, your bad ones probably were too.
the afterschool meetings behind bushes while waiting for your notoriously late parents to come get you; being hushed and silenced while feeling guilty for thinking about your fantasy land and the bugs and not him. at least he brought you a watch that he proudly stole from his mother. my parents were not involved with that one.
the therapy sessions where you don't feel anything is wrong but she clearly knows something you don't. she wants you to tell her, but not about the cats in the woods or the stars lighting your fears out of the world. at least she was interested in animated movies, you think anyway.
the bus rides with the person who loved you. what a cruel word, you hope nobody experiences it that young, that one needs to stay isolated at least. the driver hushing the bus- including you- and taking the older kids side in the seating arrangement, despite the age gap. she loved you though, don't worry. are you nervous yet?
the dark in the night is only temporary though, even if the stars don't shine there's still the dawn that comes no matter what. the literal light at the end of the tunnel mantra, so to speak. if you share your negative experiences *and* your positive ones with people you don't even know, everyone's connected, in a way.
in a world full of cruelty and pain there's also gentle touch and patience; "there's always a bright side to any situation", my mother always said. she's right, it doesn't make coping much easier though.
the one thing nobody could ever take from me was my wonder.
my raw curiosity for the world around me and how everything worked.
if everything happens for a reason, i *had* to know the reason. no luck, no karma, just biological reasons for things happening. science had to back me up on this, even as a kid.
it didn't get me very far; i learned more than any kid should about how the world works and i learned more about how unfair everything can feel when it has no rhyme or reason, just cause and effect that evolution and butterflies created.
even twenty years later i still wonder. i still hope. i still sit here at night and think about the bugs, i wonder if the isopods that made so many memories for me have great-great-great grandkids now. the dirt was always perfect for them, but i doubt they'd live without my tea parties. i think about how most of the stars that kept the nightmares away through a busted window- duct taped and cardboarded over- are the same stars i find solace in now.
i wonder if they're proud of me?
i wonder if the wonderful feelings i've felt are universal, i feel like a kid again- wondering if i can see through walls and read minds just because i can read people's faces.
i wonder if because i can feel this way, can animals too? i know animals aren't usually feeling based; food chain and need to survive and all that. but i always hope deep down, that even the smallest creature can feel joy. i hope they have have friends and favorite foods, music they enjoy and a favorite season.
i wonder if when i die, if the feelings i go with will go somewhere where something else gets to experience them. will my joy be felt by the worms? the grass? the dirt, even? i think everything deserves to feel happy. but happiness is a human emotion; supposedly.
i wonder if the joy a dog feels unconditionally feels the same as me getting a message from my favorite person, if i had a tail i imagine it would be.
i wonder if the happiness bats get from soaring freely in the night sky matches the excitement i get when i hear them chirping overhead. do they know how free they are?
i'm not happy i went through what i went through, but i always wonder how different of a person i'd be if i didn't.
i wonder if alex would even be my name.
