"Having no choice is still a choice."2009.03.28
We drove into Savannah sometime before 2 am. Exhausted as I was I felt more alert than ever. It was the sort of reflexive attentiveness you'd feel while awaiting the thing that would snatch you suddenly back out into the darkness.
It seemed so fitting that I'd make my return at night. When I'd left Savannah the last time it was dawn. I sped throughout West Savannah blasting Neil Young's Everyone Knows this is Nowhere through my open car windows. Last night I crept back-in secret-as though to not wake that sleeping giant.
The storage facility wouldn't be open until 7 am. We drove down Abercorn to the Waffle House. Scores of young people, fresh from the Friday night bars, lined the booths and filled the place with their conversation and laughter. My mom ordered an orange juice. I went to the bathroom to wash my face in the sink.
We all tried to sleep till 6. I was wide awake feeling the need to quench my morbid curiosity. I wanted nothing more than to roam those dark streets all night long. I wanted to see if that black wave, that bell jar (or whatever those writers call it) would still be looming above my head this time around. 15 months later. I wanted to know if that old city was to blame for my misery, or if I had brought it all on myself those two years. And if it was me, am I beyond it now?
I look back on that time now, so far removed, and wonder if it would have been better if I had done things differently. Maybe if I hadn't insisted on living alone I could have lived in a better neighborhood. With a roomate or two, I could have afforded to live in town. I wouldn't have been so scared in that house all alone. Or would I have? Every behavior and thought I had in that town was so tainted with self destruction that either way I'm sure I would have been frightened of my own mind.
It is difficult to say what is different now. I've weaned myself off of everything meant to aid in those feelings. I'd be lying if I said I feel wonderful all of the time, but these days I can get out of bed without aid of those external things or much trouble. There is a drastic difference now in my ability to operate. I no longer feel that constant heaviness sitting atop my chest, no longer have the desire to hide alone in a dark room, and now there doesn't seem to be any shortage of air.
I imagined opening that storage container would be like unearthing a body that requires further forensic research post-burial. The whole act seemed like it would be more disturbing than actually beneficial. She is dead. What else could you want?
My sensations were all familiar. It was wet and almost hot at 7 in the morning. There were the same sand gnats that would overwhelm you the instant you paused. I had no idea of my building's number, and yet I found myself at the very door, entering my code, and getting it right on the first try-as though I had only been here last week. I walked down that familiar climate controlled hallway and stopped at the door. It was so much smaller than I remembered. Everything was so much smaller.
I opened the door. I smelled my old apartment. Memories flooded back. I remember packing this container and thinking that I'd never be able to get all of this stuff out again. Now it didn't look like such a difficult task. Nothing seems so difficult anymore.
I extracted a few boxes that were labeled clothes for Jan ('08). I thought about how different my life would have ended up had I picked up those boxes on time and shiver.
It amazes me how life seems to always work itself out in the end.
I can do anything.
