I don't write very often, but I did so last night, and figured I might as well create a space on my blog for the bits of writing that bubble up every now and then...
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Why do you feel so cornered?
Is it because you see them everywhere, they have you surrounded, their guns are cocked, and you don't know how to secure the walls? Because when you walk out the door, the enemy is on every stairwell railing, in every innocent bystander, in you, even, perhaps.
Or is it because you know you'll never see them coming. They are nowhere, and you're fine, and no one you know has been captured. But the cells are filling up regardless, and it's only a matter of time…
You think about the prisoners. The bodies you’ve seen walking dogs, planting flowers, staring up at the sky, eating doughnuts and laughing when the bite is too big and the icing cascades down a shirt. Now they are tied to their rooms. Now they stare at a screen, saying goodbyes. They blink, and they wonder: what war is this.
You think about the cells. Where only one doctor is allowed at a time. And only one collective breathe is allowed to be exhaled. Where the inhale will kill you, but your lungs are filled with so much heartache that all you can think to do is gasp, and clutch your sheets, and cry. There are walls there, and windows with birds trilling outside, celebrating the advent of Spring. But inside the machines whir, creating their own new seasonal ritual.
And you think of the doctors. The ones who have houses, who have babies crawling out of their cribs at night, who have puppies that need training, or old, tired dogs losing their hearing and walking slowly to their beds. All the normality that exists in one small square of land. Until they drink their morning coffees, then go out to face a world on fire.
Why do you feel so cornered?
Because your normal square of land has been invaded. Your grief is stunning in it’s breadth. Your fear is your aura now. Your eyes are as open as they’ve ever been, so open you forget to close them while you look for the bunker that will keep you hidden.
I know you don’t know what to do. You don’t know when to stop seeking out the end of your panic, where it’s edges are and how not to fall off of them.
So you have to make tea. You have to drink it and be cornered in your corner. Accept shelter. Acknowledge the room - it’s roof and it’s walls, and the solid concrete floor that holds you up.
When all there is to do is think, you have to breathe.
- Tate DeCaro, April 2, 2020
