You’ll never understand why she did it. She probably didn’t
either. There comes a point where understanding is overrated: instinct takes
over and you realise that what you will do is, inevitably, the only possible
thing you can do, the only possible thing you should do. There’s no time to
think, no time to explain: you take that course and before you know it, the sun
has risen on another day but you’re not there to see it anymore. Or maybe you
are, just not in the way you used to.
It made more sense to run into the never-ending darkness
than to continue to run from shade to shade to shade, to try to escape,
presumably forever (could it, even if you wanted it, ever end?) the brightness
of the day, the brightness of expectation and confusion and loss and chaos.
Today will be the day, she though, and yet it never was. The darkness is always
there, and so, too, is the light; neither dimming, neither brightening.
She thinks, I will walk away from this whole. I will be
cured. I will be well. They will tell stories of my recovery; I will be a
shining (perhaps a different word, something with less light) example of how
The Ill Become Better. And not just better: pure, whole, “exceeds expectations”.
They will all be proud.
And they remain proud. Always will they talk of her with
reverence; the only thing more inescapable is death. Always hushed tones, never
wishing to say too much, but hesitant to say too little; quiet whispered words,
by loved ones, hidden from loved ones, so as to never upset or hurt those
considered too delicate, those who will never be over it.
She thinks, I will walk away from this. I will never be
cured. I will never be well. They will tell stories of my decline; I will be a
dim reminder of how The Ill Become Worse. And not just worse: lost, broken, “beyond
help”. They will never understand.
For there comes a point where understanding is overrated.
Her instincts take over and before she can think, before she can explain, she
has left. She walks out of her life, as one might walk to the bus stop, or to
the shops. Nothing dramatic; the natural course of events, as instinctual as
breathing, or jumping out of the way of a car, oblivious to your presence.
She doesn’t understand why. But she will see the sun rise on
another day, just not the way she’s used to.
