So much has already been written and said about the 20-somethings that are taking over America. We’re a generation that always has much to say, and we each strive to be a voice, whether it’s the voice of a new found coffee shop we want to share, the voice of angst as we muddle our way through lives, the voice of frustration as we work through law or med school. We are all a voice, and sometimes in that noise and cacophony of words and phrases, some voices feel like they no longer need to speak, much as I have. I felt I had nothing to say that wasn’t already being said, and then I came to realize, what I need to say can be important and it can bring change.
My words are raw, for my feelings now are raw. Having been happy two days ago and then having had the rug ripped out from beneath my feet, I at last fully regretted moving to Boston. Now I knew I would be inconsolable when this relationship came to end, I always imagined it coming to an end when I was in a place in life where I had found a niche. But I should have realized that I can never rely on life to wait for me to be happy. So, rightfully so I regretted moving. I regretted moving here for a job I was nervous about and turned out to be nothing as it was described to me. I then moved to another where I was quickly eliminated due to reasons out of my control. I had friends, close friends, but I still felt a visitor in this city. I never felt at home. I still don’t feel quite at home.
With only a few words Monday, I lost a best friend, I felt I lost a family, I felt I lost friends, connections in this crazy world. I lost my normalcy, I lost so much. I felt I had reached bottom, and then Monday came and went, and I found myself lost and drowning in emotions and pure misery. I lost another piece of home, and suddenly Boston became a cold place.
I let only a few people in, I have no need for dozens of friends when only a handful will do. So when I lost my best friend Monday, I seemingly felt I had lost dozens. I had fallen for a way of life, I had lost meaningful, happy memories. Memories that had kept me going for so long.
Riding the train to see a friend, I looked the part of an escaped mental hospital patient. I would begin to breathe rapidly, catching my breath, fighting to slow my racing heart, and to quell the warm tears in my eyes. I’d close my eyes, lean my head back, and try to calm the crushing feeling.
All I could think was the quote by Tennessee Williams, “The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.” If the violets can move mountains, then I can surely survive the next five minutes. And I did so. Again, and again, and again. I survived. My violets were growing.
My violets may only be shallow roots, fighting in the darkness among a rock and a hard place, but my violets are growing. My violets will be the most beautiful shade of purple, they will face adversity, they will stumble, they will be set back, but they will not fail. My violets are growing.
So as the moments of sheer panic and sadness rushes over me, and I find myself doubled over from sobs, I remind myself, my violets are growing, your violets are growing. And someday those violets will shatter each and everyone of the rocks that is crushing me.
