A Closer Walk with Me

“Something is not clicking inside of me. It’s like I’m a puzzle, but the pieces have changed shapes, some have even gone missing.”

by Anastasia Cosima

“A Closer Walk with Me”

Fiction Based on a True Journey

by Eli

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character, or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.

I’m disturbed by the idea that I’m missing pieces of myself. Well, maybe not missing pieces so much as not really understanding what I’m looking at. Or not understanding what I do not understand. Or even the manner in which I am misunderstanding.

I want to walk through my heart and visit the rooms and people there, all of these memories and experiences held within me, a part of me.

These places are full and real, richly saturated by emotion and memory and love and fear and confusion and hope. But I do not perceive this richness. I see a frozen tableau in black and white.

I want to sit down with a little boy who used to be me, and get to know him better. I want to hold him and tell him he will be alright, that I will protect him, that he is a good person who is loved. But he is hiding and I cannot find him. I call for him, but there is no air in this place and my voice makes no sound.

I want to understand why, as I wander through one particular chamber, I see a gravel parking lot outside a laundromat full of thrown-away keys. Why does my chest feel tight? There is something I am missing.

I wander through decades and see the people I have loved, and the moments. The marriage. The births. The deaths. Why do those places and people feel so far away?