Red Pens for My Thoughts


Most days I see in simple terms of red.  But yesterday the first thing I see is a beige envelop sitting on the table resting inches from my chest.  Since it was time to go in for a little checkup, I had expected that the nurse has left something for me to sign or read.  But rather than a series of numbers matching my bracelet, my name was in swooping curls from a Sharpie.

Paper, a few pens and a simple note that said “Write down what it is you can’t tell me.  Even if you don’t ever show it to me, start writing.”  Seems my need to assess the people around me was being called to the floor.  My Den Mother must have left this for someone else who wanted to give me space and time to consider her request.

My first attempt was just an over-reaching series of negatives about why people shouldn’t want to be around.  Nothing that left a door open for discussion, just a basic Say Off My Lawn series of stupid.  Just a collection of red pen marks on a white page.

Even I knew that was my pain and anger about other people coming through.  It had nothing to do with this request.  And I didn’t want any more people hurt by things I couldn’t control.

A bit of a cop-out.

My handy tablet not far let me read up on a few things to clear my mind.  I needed advice and in this case it had to come from the faceless crowd, not asking someone closer.

Hope is a dangerous thing.  So many things bring that emotion out and too many things create a world where it stops.  I already know the Sunny Day Turns Upside-down nature of life.  It changed everything.

My niece and nephew are glowing balls of orange.  Nothing changes that in my heart.  It was always dangerous allowing myself to help Susie’s classmate with her world.  What started out as just advice has turned into concern about her days.  Now her mother leaves me notes asking what I’m thinking and if I could share it with her.

My second attempt went only slightly better than the first.  Raw emotion was on the pages, but there was still too much red coming through.  It needed to be lighter, better, and quite frankly more honest than I had been up until this point.

It’s complicated trying to understand people’s motive’s.  Applying too much of my professional training to my life has at times turned me bitter.  And yet some people still make allowances for that grumbling.

Now for the simple honesty required of a simple, heartfelt attempt to help.

People scare me.  Having someone just show up without being asked is different from my previous experiences.  Finding that I’ve come to rely on that is terrifying, constantly worried that it will go away without an warning.

I’m damaged…

I’m frightened…

I’m human?…

I’m partway through the third.  The idea to drop it off on the way home.  I included all the things that make me confused.  The notions that ring through my brain that should only be part of this discussion.  It’s better because maybe this could lead to me being able to not have the past cloud more than  it already does.

Maybe I’m just acknowledging things others already know about me?

The part we haven’t discussed, how and when did that envelop show up in the first place?


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