Write about a plate.

This is a story I wrote in my therapeutic writing group in January 2010.

Every week, the group's facilitator presents us with a topic, and we are given one hour to write about it. The earthquake yesterday, and the end of  a different relationship, inspired me to post this....

Write about a plate:

What happens when plates rub, slip or collide? Things shatter, fall down, and there's a whole lot of destruction - even death. Look what's happening in Haiti - case in point. Imagine the world as you know it shaking, rumbling, breaking apart. Imagine your ground not being there anymore. Imagine the terror, anguish, grief, confusion, and anger as your world comes tumbling down around you. Imagine the feelings of helplessness, the denial, the rage, the exhaustion.

I can imagine it all. I'm living through my own personal earthquake at the moment, it's been going on for years, and the aftershocks keep hitting me in waves. I get my footing, feel some solid ground, and then get knocked on my back, again and again. (And the really selfish part of me just wants the world to help me too. I'm such an asshole).

I had a whole stack of plates once, all very fancy and white and new. Just like us:  fancy, new, and partially white. 12 dinner plates, 12 salad plates, and more than half a dozen other platter plates - all matching. That's a lot of plates and that's only counting the 'nice' ones. I'm down to 6 of each now - I lost the others in my earthquake.

Taken after the 1933 Long Beach Earthquake.

 

Strangely fitting to my story don't you think?

So now I'm picking up the pieces. Rebuilding a home, trying to find security, but really just trying to survive. Isn't that all anyone can do? I'm trying, trying so hard to get out of the fog. It feels like I lost my brain somewhere. If you find it please return it to me - I'd give you my address but I can't remember it at the moment. Oh dear!

I'm trying to find my way out of the rubble but it keeps coming down around me. A part of me wants to find a blanket, pull it over my head and just wait for everything to finally come crashing down on me. Then I wouldn't have to worry, to feel anything, I could finally rest, or maybe not, who knows.

Taken after the earthquake in Haiti.

 

My own personal earthquake is hell. There is no place to hide. I'm tired, confused and scared. I crave warmth and safety. I crave a stable ground to sit on, walk on, lay on. I crave a place with minimal friction, a place without all the shaking and drama.