Sliced Trees and Dead Words

11 - When your weary heart is at odds with your rational brain.

- DALEN -

Obligation is an interesting thing.

The obligation to do what society tells you is right and just, and in the best interests of everyone; not just yourself.

To thank your parents for all they've done to raise you. To look out for and set a good example to your siblings if you're lucky enough to have any. To call and check in with your grandparents because they're old and forgotten and usually alone. To make an effort at family events to ask about how your aunt's chronic back problems are going, and how your little cousin is enjoying their first year of high school. To dote endlessly on your partner and make sure they're satisfied and content with the life you share together. To feed your pet, make sure they get enough exercise, and that all their dependant needs are being met. To love and support your friends, share in laughter and fun times, and be there regardless in times when it's not.

To watch out for the kid living down the street. To use your manners and thank the guy who made your coffee in the café. To always pay your bills, and pay them on time. To work hard when you're given a job, and always do your best possible. To not speed in your car and endanger the lives of others. To not do more harm upon the earth than is absolutely necessary. To smile or wave and generally be kind to random people you meet on the road who are running away from life just like you.

The general obligation to participate in society.

A society that is riddled with betrayal, disappointment, isolation, abuse and distrust.

When participation is burdensome and exhausting, and takes more effort and energy out of you than what you gain from doing whatever the right and just thing is.

When your weary heart is at odds with your rational brain, and you end up a confused mess who's reliant on others to remind you of what those right and just things even are anymore.

At many points along the way, the battle waging between my heart and head threatened to consume me entirely. And in most instances, it was both obligation that got me to that point in the first place, and obligation to get me out of it.

I used to be a person who could handle pressure. Stress, hardship, worry, fear. I used to welcome it. As a very young kid I had more bruises, cuts and grazes than all the other kids at kindergarten combined. I'd fall, but I'd get straight back up, brush it off, then go back to whatever reckless thing I was doing in the first place.

Nowadays, at the first sign of any of these things, I shut down. Something I've done isn't quite up to scratch . . . I'm a failure and should just quit and never try again to get it right. My answer was the wrong one . . . I'll never offer up another one again. Succumbed to just one smoke after going cold turkey for weeks . . . I'll never be able to quit for good so I may as well just buy another packet and welcome cancer of the lungs. I feel sad . . . it must be the beginning of another depressive and suicidal episode. I got into a fight at the bar last time I went out . . . I have to stay back and just never go out again. I felt awkward and anxious the last time I went out on a real date . . . I'll just be single and alone and not ever date anyone again. Got into an argument with Luna . . . she'll never want to speak to me again and I've lost one of my oldest and best friends forever.

You see, I realise these things make no sense. I know one occurrence doesn't set a concrete precedent for how all things will turn out every other time in the future. That there are so many variables and circumstantial things that will inevitably impact the outcome. I do know this.

But when you've spent so long haunted, assuming the worst is behind every door, every corner, under every bed, lingering in the shadows, it's all you know. It's all you expect. It's all you think you deserve.

And the obligation to realise that and access a part of you that is majorly broken and fucked beyond repair in order to make a 'right' and 'just' decision in the moment, alongside the overwhelming sense of failure and uselessness you feel when you don't succeed in doing this, haunts just as completely as the painful shadows of the night.

Luna was the first person to stop me and give me permission to not feel the constant burden of obligation.

It was something small and insignificant too, to me at least. To her (and I assume a lot of other women too), it was crucial. And all it was was her dismissing me for holding the door open for her.

"I am perfectly capable of opening my own door, Dalen. But thanks for the offer," she had said, which was followed closely by, "You're really going to piss me off if you don't at least let me pay half, considering I'll be eating half of it. It's food. I pay for my own food every day. That isn't just going to change because I have company while I eat, Dalen."

I'd always been taught to offer up my seat on the bus and train, and hold doors open for women and old people. I've always been told that it's polite and expected to pay for things when you take someone out on a date.

Luna, despite being one of the girliest girls I know, who spends more money on makeup, hair products, and high-heeled shoes that look torturous and crippling on both calf muscles and ankle bone strength, is also one of the most progressive. Even with her abysmal self-esteem, she is so confident in so many other ways. So bold. She isn't afraid to tell you what she really thinks. She'll never shy away from disagreeing with you just because it is the 'socially expected' thing people have associated with her sex.

She sets her own expectations and lives by her own obligations.

And when you realise that and what it means, it's unexpected. When your guard is down and you aren't at all prepared for it, it hits you. So hard. The enormity of her. The complexity.

She's found that perfect balance between care and restraint. She's all quiet passion and assertive dominance, in both her relationship with herself as well as with others, especially me. She knows when to push me and just how much to do it before I panic and back down. She knows when to coddle me and suffocate me with affection when I need it most. She knows when I need to be protected, and when it's actually time for me to fail.

Luna knows what I need better than I do, and she's almost always right about it, regardless of whatever obligation she may or may not have felt towards me.

I always knew it, though I often didn't listen to her.

I'll freely admit that I'm unyielding in my pigheadedness, my anxiety recalcitrant, and my depression growing more obstinate than ever by the day.