Crutches

I remember once consoling a friend who had made her decision to end her marriage. She told me she didn't feel she had the right to be sad, as she was the one who left. I supportively argued back that she had every right to be sad, for no matter who holds the knife, when two people cut away from each other, they both bleed.


I also remember my dad, once comparing my mom to his arm. She had been away on a trip and he was having trouble sleeping without her. He told me that my mom was like a limb, and that when she was gone, he felt her presence missing, not just in the house, but in his own body. He seemed, almost to ache as he said it.


And finally, I remember my brother, once injuring his leg. It wasn't any type of injury that required an amputation, but it was enough to wind him up in crutches for a period of time. Causing him to need something to lean on and support himself while his limbs healed up.


I think often, once a relationship ends, it may feel as if something's been amputated, or at very least, badly injured, and many of us may feel the need for a crutch. Something to hold onto. Something to hold us up. It's not to say we wouldn't be able to get along without it, it's just to say there'd be a whole lot more wobbling without it, and more periods of noticeable acute pain. With a crutch, the pain still exists, the lack of mobility is still there, it's just slightly less bad.

Some of us find these crutches in vices and distractions. In spending one's self. This may include going out every night and tossing back a few that equal to several. Filling every moment of space with busyness. Going, going, going and trying not to stop, or even slow down, as to keep the mind and aching heart distracted.

Others of us find these crutches in people. Often finding a temporary somebody to fill a space they cannot possibly fill, but in which we'll try to fill them with nonetheless. Because even if it's not enough to stop the heartache, it's something. And there is comfort in having someone to lay down with. In having someone who's beating heart can be felt, when our own hearts have ceased to know how to go on. I think often, we may not even be aware that we use these people for such reasons, we just know we need someone near and grab hold to what we can.

I have in the past used both types of crutches. Something I'm not proud of, but not necessarily ashamed of either.

And sometimes, I've forgone the crutch to find myself bedridden. Trapped under covers. Hiding out from the pain of a love, like, lust, whatever that once was, and became no more.

But somewhere along my need for crutches, I've found one I hope to never give up. Somewhere through the trials and tribulations of living life. Of falling, again and again; I turned to writing to hold me together and help me get through the pain. And once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. Every heart pang I felt went down in words. In poems or blogs. Writing was something I didn't sleep with, but rather that came to me in my dreams, woke me in the middle of the night and called to me. Something that made me throw myself, my feelings, my experiences on to paper or computer screen. Somehow it made the pain into something, even if ugly and raw, almost pretty in the right light.

I think some crutches can turn into prosthetics... No longer merely metal and rubber to grab onto each time we rise, but rather something we strap to us and wear, not to take off unless to swim, shower or sleep. The drinking at the bar each night becomes an addiction, a way of life. The bed buddy we used to soften the blow of our latest fall becomes less buddy and instead, turns into a boyfriend or girlfriend.


And I think some prosthetics turn into those titanium limbs... the ones that screw into your leg, fuse to the bone, and become inseparable. Become a part of you that will not be removed, unless of course, ripped savagely from the body or surgically abstracted.

Some crutches, grow into us. Become a part of us.


And though I write less than I used to, I would like to hope that writing is to me like titanium is to bone. Fused. A part of me. No longer there to ease my aches, but rather, just there.