Behind the glass

Roxanne Willems Snopek

There's so much to do. You know you should get up, but your limbs feel heavy and your head thick. A black fog seems to fill your mind, swirling and growing, a noisy, cluttering cloud that chokes out the light, threatening to take over completely. With so much noise inside your head, how can you possibly hear anyone else?

But they will be heard, all those around you who demand your time, your love, your talents and your energy until you feel sucked dry, drained, an upside-down pitcher trickling out its last few drops. Why they still want you is a mystery. You're so inept these days, functioning way below normal. The familiar ache in the back of your throat returns with the thought of your own inadequacy. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow hard, willing yourself to think positively. This is no way to start the day! It's too early to be feeling this bad.

You caught yourself yesterday, suddenly crying about something that happened ten years ago. How long you sat like that you have no idea, but it's a wonder no one saw you. It's getting harder and harder to keep your emotions under control, and you wonder how much more you can take. You've been here before, in this bleak, joyless pit, but never so deep, or for so long.

You know you are weak, pathetic really, for feeling so sad and overwhelmed. Look at all your blessings, everything the Lord has done for you. Be thankful. Reach out. Put on some happy music. Smile! That's what the friends you confided in once told you, before they quickly changed the subject. You saw the strained smiles, the walls in their eyes, and you never mentioned it again. It's too dangerous to talk about anyway. If you ever start, you might not be able to stop. All the fear and ugliness inside could come spewing out in an uncontrollable, poisonous flood, threatening to submerge you completely and permanently. It's a terrifying risk. And for what? To have someone say you are too sensitive? That you should get over it?

You're past the pat answers anyway. This, whatever it is, runs deeper, into the core of who you are, what you do and believe, how you think. You're afraid there is something very wrong with you to feel like this. People around you laugh and joke and make plans, and you wonder why you can't do that, why these people don't seem real.

Maybe it's you who isn't real. Maybe you're just a spectator in your own life. You walk through the day as though surrounded by plate glass. You can see beyond it, but you can't hear through it, or be heard. And no one can touch you. People are on all sides of you, yet you are completely alone. Behind the glass, you are screaming and clawing, "Let me out! Let me be normal! Let me feel again! Please let me be happy." But the words don't get past the glass; no one hears you.

You remember a friend lost to cancer, so young, same age as you, now gone. What is it like to be finished? No more struggling, worrying, exhaustion, failure. Imagine . . . to be completely at rest. Sometimes you envy him.

But for you life goes on. You stare dully at the face in the mirror, skin haggard and drawn, eyes dead. You'll fix yourself up and hide most of it. You'll get dressed and go to work, as usual. You'll smile and say, "Fine, fine", and if it sounds hollow, no one will notice. The really sad part is, you look just like everyone else around you.

Roxanne Willems Snopek is a member of Northview Community Church in Abbotsford, B.C.

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