“Shaw was right: as we strain to grasp the things we desire, the things we think will make our lives better: money, popularity, fame… we ignore what truly matters — the simple things: like friendship, family, love. The things we probably already had.”—Lucas Scott (One Tree Hill)
And even though I wanted to not exist, collapse into the floor and decay, I knew I had to be strong because no one was going to be strong for me. I wasn’t about to get on Skype and broadcast what happened, open up the wound and rehash the details. I knew what my parents would say, what the police would say. There wasn’t anything to do except sit there and breathe, sit there and pump blood through my body, cradle every limb and feel thankful for the fact that some part of me, at least, was not damaged, the rest would heal itself.
After all, what could anyone say? At best, I’m here for you, at worst, I told you so. The words would pass through but they wouldn’t resonate. No one who hasn’t been there can understand the horrible nothingness of it, the extent to which there’s nothing to do besides just live through it because you don’t have a choice, reduce it to its bare bones and digest it like everything else. Chew it and wash it down like every other thing that happens because going to pieces over it won’t make it clearer, won’t make it easier, won’t make it anything.