Snowflakes
1 snowflake. It can be so lovely, so divine, so perfect yet so simple. And really, one snowflake is so benign, so innocuous. If it lands on you, it simply melts. 1 snowflake won�t lower your body temperature. By itself, it won�t even survive.
But get enough snowflakes together and it all changes. It�s possible to get snowed in, or even get caught in an avalanche.
I�ve never gotten caught in an avalanche (obviously) and I don�t really know what it�s like. I can imagine the weight of the snow settling on me, the loss of air, the constriction of my body, the inability to breathe or move, the snow settling in around me like cement.
An avalanche, death made up of tiny, innocuous and beautiful snowflakes.
Sometimes, this is how my thoughts are. Each thought, in and of itself, is so benign. So tiny and small. So insignificant. But they cement together inside my head and then I cannot separate one from the other. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, they gather force and grow. They become so big, I can no longer fit them through my mouth. They cover me in a blanket and begin to smother me. I am flattened under their weight.
The other night, Brian and I went to visit my friend Jana who recently had her uterus removed due to cancer. We had met at Brian�s office for the ride over so afterwards we returned to the office. This was one of those moments when my thoughts fused together and became such a heavy burden. The change in me was palpable and prompted several questions of �are you okay?�, �how are you?�, each one answered with �fine� or a nod of the head. I don�t blame Brian for not knowing that I was lying and for giving up and accepting my lies as truth. He asked 4 times. I don�t blame him for giving up.
How could I explain that I could no longer separate each thought? How could I explain that each thing, so small, was creating a negative synergy to crush me? If I tried to say what was the matter, it would sound so stupid, since each thing was so small. And it had become so big that I could no longer form words for it.
So I continued to say �it�s fine, I�m fine, everything is fine� as I got in my car, verging on tears, tears that never came. And still haven�t, a week later.
I�m still buried under the thoughts. I�m still trapped struggling to breathe. I want someone to see the hand that I�ve managed to stick up through the snow. I want someone to dig me out because I cannot dig myself out. I want someone to know that I am almost out of air. I want them to know this without having to say it, because the words will not fit through my mouth.
