The Art of Rain
A single drop of rain is so small, gathered its force is so strong, but even then, the sound of those drops hitting the concrete scream of loneliness.
Rain mutes the sky to gray like I try to mute my overwhelming emotions. After so long, I can't figure out how to deal with them, so I let them deal with me. I'm tired because of the rain. I'm melancholy because of the rain.
Does it ever pass? When it does, why does it only stay for a short time; the sun? Even on sunny days, the sadness gathers in the clouds above, waiting to come down onto the days' happiness. I can be so good for so long, and then, so suddenly it waves upon me.
I don't know how to clear the rain. I try to focus on myself, on my hobbies, doing something other than focusing on the drip. the drip of those oncoming emotions, yet they come despite my struggle against them.
Have you ever seen your shadow in the rain? You can see it, you know, just before the sun fades to gray and only a drizzle has started outside. Those are the days the feelings mix, a humble transition from warmth into the damp darkness; the shadow, reminding you it has always been there. Even on sunny days, it lingers.
It's hard to accept that I'm like this, especially when I have so much to be grateful for. Can I never be pleased? Looking at my reflection in a nearby puddle, I wonder, "how can I fix this...? How can I fix me?" I ask myself nearly every day.
I'm being unfair to the man who loves me. He deals with his own stuff in stubborn silence and yet I expect him to be able to deal with mine. What good am I to him, besides the caretaker of our children and maid to our home?
I saw a post the other day, about a couple who'd been together for 15 years. She wondered why her partner didn't want to leave so that he could be happier. He replied, "I'd rather be miserable with you than happy with someone else." That stuck with me.
I wonder if my partner feels the same. It's sad. He could have so much better. Someone who understands him and isn't bothered when he doesn't meet her unreasonable expectations. My expectations, they are unreasonable, aren't they? I mean, what is it exactly that I expect from him?
He's a good guy. He loves me for who I am. He loves my motherly curves, the scarred stomach that housed his children. He tries to cheer me up when I'm down. He lets me be myself and loves me for it. I don't have to hide with him. He's my best friend. So, why is it I want to run away sometimes?
Independence? I feel like I rely on him too often. He deserves better? He's just as lost as I am. He needs someone encouraging. He didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for this side of me.
I'm not healthy. Not for myself, not for anybody.
I'm worried about my kids. I'm worried they'll think less of me if they realize I'm not as strong as they think.
My kids like playing in the rain.
They love me. Even if they grow to hate me someday, they'll still love me. They'll wish I were better. They'll wish for a happier mom; a better relationship.
For my kids; Mommy does love you. It's nice you like playing in the rain.
I'll hope you'll never come to understand how this feels. Keep shining, even in a downpour. I'm here for you.
Just as the rain beacons sadness, so too does it cause relief. Peace. The drops are salty, but they're best when they're free to stream down my face. My heart aches as I cry, but those aches are growing pains.
Release. As I write today while listening to the pitter-patter of drops on concrete and glass windows, my heart feels a little lighter and my worries feel just a bit smaller. Drip, Drip. Drip, Drip.
Awakening. Flowers bloom in the Spring.
photo from Getty Images