Juggling Chainsaws (Guest Post)

My words have been a jumbled mess as I’ve tried to journal these last two hellish weeks, and I’ve found myself saying “I can’t word” to those in the unfortunate position of having to listen to me try to speak. It’s like my brain decided that it just won’t allow me to conjure the cogent sentiments that will ensure that I remember the emotional and physical roller coaster that it’s been battling COVID for my family and me. As if I could ever actually forget. 

But then came April. 

April* entered my life via a mutual friend and I immediately felt a connection to her. Something about her manner. Kindness. Humor. It just felt…good. I needed good. Then I learned that before we’d met (virtually of course) she’d been inspired by my post, Dark Passenger – and its companion guest post by David, Twilight Traveler – to write a letter to herself. How very lucky I feel that she not only let me read it, but that she’s allowing me to share it here with you. 

In reading April’s letter, I found the perfect two words to encapsulate how it feels to battle COVID and, quite frankly, manage the last 12 months as a whole – like juggling chainsaws.

But I also discovered so much more than that. I found the kind of raw beauty and vulnerability in April’s letter to herself that makes you hold your breath as you take it in. I found the sting and recognition of a life lived with pain no one should have to bear, along with the sheer triumph of will and indelible inner strength that often goes unrecognized. Her spirit that just won’t quit. A scrappy soul. A beautiful heart. A survivor. A friend. 

We talked of lighting bugs this week (fireflies for those on the other side of the Mason Dixon line) and she confided that they’ve always represented something special to her. “Tiny creatures no one notices until they light up, then they’re magic,” she said. When I asked her if I could post her words here, she wondered if they could help people. And that’s when I knew that she wasn’t yet fully aware of her own magic. 

Yes, April, my lovely, magical new friend. They will help. You have helped. As I imagine you’ve done your whole life. Like you did for even an internet stranger like me. So if you ever find yourself handling more chainsaws than you can manage at once, throw one of those suckers over to me. I’ll be happy to juggle it for you for a while. 

Here’s April’s letter. 

********************

Hey, you. 

I’d use your name right now, but we both know you’d never believe it. Would you even recognize the word, would it take you back or feel like nonsensical syllables just out of reach? 

You’re laying there on the floor, again, and you’re going to revisit this moment oh so many times.

For years. 

Because you just never learn, do you girl?

I was you again yesterday, and, like always, I pushed the thought away. Just a ghost of an image of a weak creature in a pool of blood holding her head and stomach and begging her baby not to die. Promising anything if she would live, as if a creature that had never drawn breath was somehow stronger. You were supposed to protect her. 

See, here’s the thing you always miss though. You did. And she did. And there were three more, but you only ever got to hold two of them. And they may well have each started out as some way to show you who was boss, but what they did was make you me. 

I didn’t want to write to you. I didn’t want to talk to you or even look at you. But, I saw something a couple of days ago and it has haunted me. Honestly, it scared me. You, laying there, was the last time we were ever truly scared. So I squared up with it and stared it down. Guess who taught me how to do that?

You are about to spend so much time not being “that girl” because you know in reality you aren’t. You are though. You’re the trophy and the punchline and you walk into so many door frames. But what you don’t know is what’s about to happen. You’re so busy you don’t even notice you’ve pulled yourself out of the gutter, repeatedly. You notice everything else though. 

You’re about to be called everything except a lady, and you’ll be so used to it it won’t even phase you. You’ll be abandoned well over a thousand miles from home and breathe a sigh of relief while everyone around you expects you to crack. You’ll throw the kids and the dogs in the car and get out with everything that’s important. You’ll survive, no matter what. Then, my dear, you’ll lose your mind; well, not all of it, just the part that controls words. Those precious little butterflies that you used to make dance will flutter just at the edge of your consciousness. You’ll teeter close to where you are now, back on the floor, in the dark and the silence. They’ll put needles in your brain and spine and you’ll laugh and knit while they do it. You’re used to surviving.

Then, the world will stop. 

Everything will go dark and still and quiet, and you’ll hear them. The people who aren’t used to it. They’ll have empty cupboards and you’ll tell them how to make something from nothing because that’s all you’ve known. They’ll rail against the oppressive nothingness, and you’ll spin tales as easily as you spin wool. The sun will rise and the sun will set and everything will be the same except this time you’re standing in the gutter, not kneeling. 

And then it will happen. You will fall into something that terrifies you. It will sweep you along its wake like a relentless, beautiful, terrible riptide. You’ll hear whispers while you work, and their voices will get ever louder. You’ll hear things you’ve never heard and you’ll wait for the other shoe to drop…and you’ll slowly realize that the world may have run out of shoes. You’ll hear people use your name again, you’ll actually hear it spoken. You’ll be given not only your voice, but something to use it for. Because, you silly thing, you do learn. 

Remember what you read to the children, hidden in the dark so you could keep them safe? 

“When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.” 
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit. 
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 
“When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
– The Velveteen Rabbit

So, whilst you’re busy juggling chainsaws, keep in mind that maybe your authenticity isn’t a bad thing, it’s just had the wrong audience. And maybe, just maybe, you can remind me to square up to the last thing in Pandora’s box. You handled what flew out, but when I looked in all I saw was what’s left. 

Hope.

********************

Thank you, April. So much. 

I’m thrilled that April’s choice of accompanying music for this post lines up nicely in time with the current #MusicallyRanting prompt from the beautiful and talented, Jae Lynn, another generous and magical soul that I have the pleasure to call friend. I’m also linking this up to a new meme for the first time, #MindfulMoments – found here, hosted by the lovely @thebarefootsub. 

For more 70’s inspired #MusicallyRanting and #MindfulMoments this week, follow the links in the badges below: 

*April is a pseudonym as she prefers to stay anonymous. 

Post Image Credit: Kodama via Morguefile