Fragments Of Us

(05) Alexandria

Tomorrow will be better than today.

After the sophomore year of disaster, I thought that that statement was true. But then again, I also learnt that it was life’s given right to prove us wrong.

First of all, when that statement is uttered, the person uttering it wants to believe that they’ve experienced the worst thing possible and that from there onwards life would be kind to them, in a way, life would make everything in their path align so that all they can experience is pure happiness and joy. Something like ‘Oops, I didn’t mean to make you experience so much heartache. Here is some happiness to make up for making you cry.’

Which is not only bullshit but a way to impose hope that will lead to some very guaranteed and not deserved disappointment. Which then leads me to ask the question, wouldn’t life be better if things worked like that?

To some of us, that statement was wishful thinking. For tomorrow wasn’t better than today. It was worse, much worse than today.

When I was fifteen, I learnt that life could change in the blink of an eye. You could be living your best life in one moment, then everything could burn and become ashes in another. That was exactly what happened to me, one moment I was singing to the songs on the radio with my sister while driving to the art festival, and the next I was trapped as I watched the life seep out of her.

That day, that moment, had become the inspiration behind my downward spiral. The next few months had become almost like a montage of physical and emotional pain, my life coming to a standstill, and the nightmares.

Memories from the last two years were a blur. Between the pain that I tried my best to hide and the need to escape that led me to pain medication that was used as a way to escape reality, there wasn’t much to remember.

However, in everything that I managed to forget, two moments refused to leave my mind. The first was when I was told that I’d have to take a break from ice skating. My injuries—especially my knee—were preventing me from doing the one thing that helped me escape. And that was where the pills came in. What started as something to ease the pain and aches became what I used to escape reality altogether.

The second was my sister’s funeral. A heart-breaking experience I never wanted to relive again, and yet every night when I closed my eyes, the memories came back and hit me like a freight train. However, if there was something good that came with what happened three months ago, it was that I no longer had the nightmares frequently. Victoria—or Dr Lennox, as she’s known by everyone else—helped me deal with the nightmares and prescribed medications that could help me.

I didn’t use the medication often, keeping them in Rosa or Lily’s room so I wouldn’t be tempted to drink them even when I didn’t need them. The only downside was that as much as I didn’t have the nightmares often, when I did, they gave me a headache that lasted the whole day. But the whole experience has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and with a realisation.

I’ve realised that people lie when they say that time heals all wounds. I couldn’t recall how many people had told me that during my sister’s funeral, I lost count after six. Back then, I hadn’t known that it wasn’t true. If I had, then I would have told them that it wasn’t something I wanted or needed to hear.

As time went on I’ve learnt that time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time is involved in the healing process, but it’s not responsible to do anything but just be time. Time doesn’t do anything but move by itself in this process. I had to learn that as time moved forward, that would not move me forward.

I took a deep breath and picked up the pace. I needed something to focus on rather than my thoughts. My thoughts were, after all, a dangerous rabbit hole. One harmless thought could lead me spiralling into something that would take me days to come out of.