I noticed, after the fire, that we veil our tragedies in euphemisms. After a while I stopped hearing "I'm sorry for your loss" and "I can't imagine what that's like" and "these trying times"--they still used those words, I think, but they stopped feeling like actual language; it was as devoid of meaning as it was of sentiment. Because I realized then, when I saw someone who was supposed to be an authority figure shape their mouth into words that held no semantic value, that they didn't care. That's what the euphemisms are for: they make it palatable not to care.
It should have been devastating to realize that, but I felt suddenly free. I didn't have to perform the dutiful mourner anymore, no more brave smiles or trembling voice. Every last one of those motherfuckers putting an arm on my shoulder and telling me "I'm so sorry for you", I could just ignore them, give them a nice bright smile, and tell them to fuck off.
Can you imagine how much of a relief that is? The revelation that no one has ever cared? That it was all based on your willingness to pretend that you wanted to keep your tragedies obscured just as much as they did?
And eventually they all did fuck off. I was left alone, left to experience grief unshackled by their expectations. I could go out and drive all night and sing and scream until my voice was raw and then sit under the empty sky and just stare. No one was left to care if I was lashing out, if it wasn't appropriate, if I was ignoring my commitments, if I wasn't taking good care of myself.
And do you know, I'd never seen the milky way before? I thought I had, thought it was just some disappointing thing, a neat bit of astronomical trivia, but it's out there, and it's so beautiful. I'd never have even known if I hadn't realized that there's no place for people like me in society.
No comments:
Post a Comment