Formative:

There is nowhere to place any of the blame so I hold onto it like a family heirloom. I mix honey into my tea with it just like my mom. I sweep up broken liquor bottles with it just like my dad. I light it every single time I burn a bridge just like my sister. My therapist once told me that just because something is useful doesn’t mean it’s beautiful. She insists neither one of those things are the same as being loved. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word formative lately, how it is defined as a profound and lasting influence. When do you think something is more profound? When it’s there or when it isn’t? Are the homes built from memory sturdier than the ones made out of dreams? Even after I lived alone, I’d go lay on the bathroom floor when I needed a minute to catch my breath. I’d keep seltzers in my fridge long after I stopped drinking just for when I had guests. I’d leave the front door unlocked in case anyone ever wanted to come back. I’m still coming to terms with accepting that the influence will last as long as I last.

Equalizer:

I have these thoughts I keep like secrets but they haunt me in the eyes of all my friends. It’s this lonely yet collective fear lingering in 3pm mornings and 3am phone calls, forever asking the universe but never each other, “are we going to be okay?” My therapist once told me that the world will only ever end once, that everything else is followed by a new day. She insists “good morning” is a manifestation if you let it be. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word equalizer lately, how it is defined as a counterbalance of opposing forces, something that makes things or people equal. Do you think there is an equalizer for the world ending? Do you think there is an opposing force that makes it start again? I still remember the very first morning I woke up in my new apartment with my oldest friends. I meandered to the kitchen dreary-eyed where a pot of coffee was already made. I’m beginning to think that there are only two true equalizers. Saying “thank you” when someone makes you coffee and replying “you’re welcome” when you get to make them some. 

Continuity:

Every time I fall in love, I pray that it will save my life but all it ever does is end it. Actually it does both, one at a time, and neither forever. Despite being sober now, I still feel that same relentlessness coursing through my body. It seeps from my heart through my fingertips and stains everything I touch. It is the closest thing I have to religion. It is the only thing about me that is forgivable. My therapist once told me that relentlessness is not the same as excellence, nor should it be the price of it. She insists that never stopping isn’t nearly as important as how you get there or what you carry with you. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the word continuity lately, how it is defined as continuing for a long period of time without being changed or stopped. What do you think is more important? Finishing, remaining unchanged, or not stopping, not even once? The first time I ever heard the word continuity, the adjective perfect was placed directly before it. Ever since then I can’t really fathom it any other way. I’m still trying to figure out what makes continuity perfect. I’m still trying to remain in a way that doesn’t cost me myself. I think maybe perfect continuity is just making tea exactly like my mom and sometimes for her. And embracing all the love you receive with open arms, being thankful each time. I think maybe it’s giving away love even if a “thank you” never comes. I think it’s always saying “good night” simply because you know the sun will eventually rise and you will get another chance to say “good morning.”

Disclaimer: I do not have a therapist. I literally don’t have health insurance.