cmdreamer

“But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.” -Haruki Murakami

I never liked the city. When I was younger I could list everything I hated about the city as easily as listing my favorite books. I associated it with the fear of losing sight of my siblings, long car rides with stressed out parents, and the smell of sweat hitting hot pavement. 

The only thing that made the trip worth it was my grandfather. He loved the city. After he passed away, I tried to fall in love with it the way he had. I tried to see it from his eyes – freedom. 

I couldn’t. 

Then, when he passed, the city stayed his. Visiting was my way of returning to a moment in time where he and I both existed. But this version could never last because it wasn’t real.

I finally met the city my grandfather knew so intimately when I had to venture in for grad school. Maybe it was the healing I did with my therapist that gave me the clarity to see what he did. Or maybe it was the act of becoming one with it. 

There is an art to walking the streets of Manhattan. To fitting in. But the beauty of it all is that once you have mastered it, you can be anyone and no one at the same time. 

In a city filled to the brim with people who stare straight ahead and pay no mind to those near them, I find myself comforted that I am merely an extra in their story. Because when I get on the subway and sway along with the other passengers, I don’t have to wonder if they noticed that I only wear wide leg pants or obsessively touch my leg to see if I need to empty soon. Instead, I get to pretend that I’m just like any of them. A person on their way to school. A person with a life controlled solely by them. 

I got my suprapubic catheter procedure done on August 3rd. Since then, I’ve dreamt of New York City. The skyscrapers and the sound of trains screeching to a halt invade my daydreams as I sit on my couch, holding my stomach and praying for the pain to ease soon. Here, I am me and everything that’s happened to me. I am not invisible. 

Yet underneath the surface I am hurting from a wound deeper than the permanent one the surgeon sent me home with. I am surrounded by those I love and yet, I am alone in my mind, thinking about all the things I’ve lost. All the parts of me that will never be whole again. 

I crave the city for the ability to disappear into the masses and simply be. With no expectations of who I am or who I’m supposed to be. 

But I’ve been here before. I’ve been at the bottom staring up, knowing that if I just start the climb I’ll get there eventually. Until the dirt stops giving way under my hands I’ll dream of New York City. And when I finally get to a place where I can go back to work, I will cherish the ability to release myself from the chains that I’ve placed on myself, tethering me to who I used to be.