I wonder if - people do notice. But they don't know what to do. You see a girl. Sad. And you want to sit down with her and not say anything much. But people don't know where to begin with it. So they pass by, and think about what they might have done.
I know I have done the same thing several times, so I shouldn't be surprised that others do the same to me.
But I also felt very safe on the streets last night, as if people gave me a safe space by not saying anything, by not pointing and laughing. I felt that the simple respect of not doing anything was enough to take me home safely.
You know, you are going to come through this eventually. This is not something abnormal, or to be ashamed of. It is also not something permanent. I'd say the trite but true things, like reading your journal convinces me that you're not apt to be alone in life any time you want to be with someone, but I'd rather say that simpler things, like take it easy, be kind to yourself, focus on the day in front of you, and just breathe.
Thank you for these comforting words. I know that I will be wonderful and whole again, sooner than I think, probably. It's just this time of mourning that can be so hard. It's a good reminder that these feelings are not abnormal. And yes, the simpler words of advice are often the best. Thank you, again.
Me too. But I know I'll be okay eventually. There are just moments where the sadness is hard to bear. Having this journal as a place to put them helps. Having sympathetic readers helps, too. Thank you for your words.
Yes, this is true, too. There are times that I see someone like this, and I wish that I wasn't so socialized that I can't take them in my arms and tell them it's going to be okay.
Have I told you the story of a friend of mine in NYC who held the newspaper up to cover her face on the subway while she cried? She and her boyfriend had recently broken up, and she had bought the paper specifically to cover her face while sobbing.
When she stopped to take a breather, she noticed a guy across the way looking sympathetically at her. "Man, I feel your pain," he said and shook his head. "It's too bad about Jerry, isn't it?"
That was when she realized, from the front page of her paper, that he though she was weeping over Jerry Garcia's death.
I remember feeling somewhat protected by the anonymity of NYC. Sometimes I get that feeling in Boston, but more it feels like a public embarrassment to be crying in such a Puritan place.
That's a great story. And I agree about the anonymity of NYC. I've never lived in a small town as an adult, but I imagine that it would be nervewracking to always feel like you're being scrutinized. Here, I can cry my eyes out and not worry about a reputation or anything.
It's funny that you say that -- I dropped quite a few there last night, and it's a line that I use very rarely. Maybe there's something in the A/C system in those cars.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-25 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 08:57 am (UTC)But I also felt very safe on the streets last night, as if people gave me a safe space by not saying anything, by not pointing and laughing. I felt that the simple respect of not doing anything was enough to take me home safely.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 03:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 08:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 08:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 09:55 am (UTC)When she stopped to take a breather, she noticed a guy across the way looking sympathetically at her. "Man, I feel your pain," he said and shook his head. "It's too bad about Jerry, isn't it?"
That was when she realized, from the front page of her paper, that he though she was weeping over Jerry Garcia's death.
I remember feeling somewhat protected by the anonymity of NYC. Sometimes I get that feeling in Boston, but more it feels like a public embarrassment to be crying in such a Puritan place.
no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-10-26 06:18 pm (UTC)