Or So I Thought

I was going to write that last post last night and then my friend called and I changed my mind. I thought I'd back fill it in for perspective.

She called and told me that her ex, who won't stop calling and messaging her, who wouldn't give her enough when she was with him and now won't leave her alone when she's been brave enough to be not, came to her house, from the city one hundred miles away where he lives, and tried his key in the door.

Luckily she had changed the locks.

The door rattled a few times when she was on the phone, but when she checked the peephole, no one was there. Later, it rattled a few times more.

She called me, understandably upset, and I remembered what that was like. I remembered feeling small and scared and vulnerable and, above all, stupid for feeling that way, not knowing why I needed to hide exactly, but knowing simply that I did.

Sometimes you see, you want that asteroid to hit. Sometimes, young though you may be, you're tired to your bones and you just want everything to stop.

Perspective is only useful for those who have the luxury of standing on the other side.