A Stretch of Normal

boats on calm water

 

I read a quote from one of my favorite authors (Ilona Andrews) tonight... "I wanted there to be a stretch of normal, if not for a few months, then at least for a few weeks."  

I identify with this So. Very. Much.  

Every time I think we break free, the riptide pulls her back out.  We made it a whole week this time before she willingly dove back under the wave and surrendered to the tide pulling her out to sea.  Who does that? Why?  WHY!?!?!?

It makes zero sense - zero - to willingly walk into something that rips you apart. And yet she does it over and over again. I will never understand this.  

But I can't help her unless I understand and identify... right?  I can't help her to swim away (left... right... not sure I care) unless she understands that she is caught by a killer current and that therefore treading water or swimming forward/back are either useless or actively injurious. She can't recognize it as a current just because I think it's dangerous... and the current has already ripped her. So do I let her get ripped apart to recognize that it's dangerous?  How do I trust that she will pull herself out when she's proven that she can't?

How do I maintain my own sanity when she willing dives under the wave pushing her to shore?  Which leads us back to... why is a reasonable stretch of normal so much to ask?  With a reasonable stretch of normal, you can start to understand what is... you know... normal.  What is acceptable.  What is the minimal amount that human beings should expect from each other and put forth.  Beyond that you can look to what's possible, but I think souls have a commonality of what's acceptable.  And that commonality makes itself known in the "stretch(es) of normal".  

Interesting side note, my sister and I talked tonight about normal child/teen reactions to death. My other sister had just mentioned that my nephew was dealing with the potential death of a grandparent as teens typically do... that "people die, and that's just what happens".  It took me a veeeery long moment of soul searching to remember when that might have been me and realize that the answer is never.  I don't recognize that at all.  Not sure if it was when my grandparents died (one of each side) when I was 12 and my parents were such children that all of that crashed on me, or from my own early cardiac issues and certainty of my own death.  But I know that I can't ever remember being "that kid".  

I think it's part of why I can't comprehend the flirtation with suicidal ideation.  When I was seriously suicidal, I scared the shit out of myself and sought help. Because to not fight for life is anathema to everything I am.  I fought my own heart.  I'll be damned if something less than that is going to take me down.

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