Carrying the Weight of the World

 For years, I have carried with me a memory from my childhood. I don't recall the exact situation, however, I believe I was expressing to my parents the frustration that I was feeling towards the hardships people were facing around the world.

I think my parents had been sympathetic towards these feelings. But they only told me, "You can't carry the weight of the world."

 

For the most part, I would use their words to help myself turn off my emotions when faced with another's grief and even my own grief. Still, this hadn't quite sat well with me.

I didn't want to experience the rage and the devastation I feel towards the many injustices of the world. Yet, I was fully aware that shutting my emotions down wouldn't fix anything. Shit, shutting down my emotions didn't even fix my own hardships.

 

When I was in jail, I heavily disassociated. That was because it was necessary for my survival. I couldn't let my emotions get in the way because I was in a dangerous situation. Now, do not mistake me for saying the other inmates were dangerous. My pod mates were the only shred of comfort I truly had. No, it was the officers and the system I was kidnapped into that I feared. I withdrew into myself to keep from being beaten again by the COs.

 

This instance of survival brings me back to a phone call I had with my mother a month prior to being arrested.

She had just had a panic attack and wanted to talk. She told me about the therapy she's been attending and shared with me her latest revelations: she's been living in survival mode and she'd raised my brother and I to live in survival mode as well.

 

"You don't have to live in survival mode." She had assured me.

 

I had already figured this out in my late teens. The high anxiety, the perfectionism, the fear of a failure, and the people pleasing were all traits I had learned from my mother. Through research and talking with my cousin, I had realized those traits were survival methods.

 

As happy as I was that my mother finally recognized this and as nice as the sentiment was, I could read between her words. I could tell it was another attempt to get me to leave my life on the streets and go back to living with her. She's convinced that my life is a constant struggle and that I'm being held hostage by my partner. She believes that true freedom is having money and being a compliant citizen. No matter how cruel and unjust the system is.

 

I simply replied, "I know."

Nothing more, nothing less. Because I've already been ran around in these same circles with her.

 

She still doesn't seem to understand that running away to live out here is my escape from living in survival mode.

 

On the road, I have minimal bills and possessions. Beyond plaster and concrete walls, I have found connections that run so deep, we recognize each other before we even meet. Out in the midst of the world, I have experienced immeasurable grief and rage from the pain of myself and others. But I have learned to use the grief to love and the rage to speak.

 

I cannot fix the world. I often desperately wish I could completely shut down, no emotions and no consciousness. The destruction of the Earth, the vile abuse and mistreatment of other humans, and the hopelessness of it all leaves me begging for an early death some days. However, I am still here, and I am not truly alone.

 

I have an obligation to acknowledge the pain of others. As powerless as I am, I still have an obligation to stand by all of my relations. I cannot carry the weight of the world, but we can hold it together.