Mostly the voices, they stay quiet. A misprint of a thought, circling my head as I stand up to take a few steps through the long grass of time, into the future. They start as a chorus as I move, a low hum following.
They mutter to themselves, stare impudently at me. I grin and walk along.
I see a future laid out before me, and it scares me. My voices conspire to give me a reason to flail-my anxieties about dealing with new people, with organized systems with rules. I see the mistakes I can make, and might.
The broken brain, she grins back.
It doesn’t have to be this way, not this time.
So I’m staring at what will likely be the genesis of a career, in nursing, as a midwife, in healing. And I like that thought. I like the thought, I like that I now have a future plan, that I have a dream. You had dreams, right? Had them I imagine, at 10, at 17, at 25. Dreams of travel, of career success, of finding love and devotion, starry nights and mimosa.
I dreamed of staying alive. I dreamed of outrunning my demons. I dreamed of functioning well in a world I could barely hang on to.
The prosaic nature of having a simple goal, of a career, of something fulfilling I wish to do, it quiets the voices which haunt me with my failures. I have come back from the absolute pit, the darkness of no dream, teetering on death, to hold in myself so simple of a beauty.
I can now believe in a future. I now look ahead to when we’re old and crotchety and throwing peanuts at little kids who walk on our lawn and think
oh yes. Please.
and mean it.
I’ve lived for so long, empty bereft of such a simple gift. To be filled with it now, to hear doubt and fear cease, made mute by calm hope, is almost too much.
These voices, they’ll come around.