the vantage point

You need a change in perspective, they told me.

Why not? I thought, so I went to the summit, though somewhat reluctantly- who likes being told what to do, anyways?

It was cold, but I hadn’t expected otherwise. You know those places that feel cold, just by looking at them? Everything around and below me was tinted with faint but noticeable hues of mint. The product of a touch of the surroundings was a shock of ice, so bitter that the imagined taste of wintergreen seared my tongue. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and my lungs fought back in resistance. I coughed violently.

I reopened my eyes, squinting to find anything noteworthy. Nothing but a thick haze of gray in all directions.

“You won’t find what you’re looking for by doing that,” a voice chuckled.

I jumped about four feet in the air, startled by the sudden presence. “Who’s there?” I asked, turning every which way to try and its focal point.

“I should be asking you that. I’ve been here all along.” The voice replied, ephemeral in the standstill of the quiet. For some reason, it did not frighten me; instead, it sounded strikingly familiar.

“You don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” I said defensively.

He appeared out of the wall of fog, distorted until he was directly in front of me. I should’ve been surprised to see him, but it seemed achingly natural, as though somewhere in the back of my mind, I had already expected it. Chilled air washed over my face when he spoke. “You’re not new to this place. You want acceptance and answers, just like everyone who was here before you and everyone who will come here after you.”

“That’s not it,” I said indignantly. His presumptuous vagueness was irritating me. “I’m perfectly fine with who I am. Everything’s fine.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raised, challenging me.

The room was dimly lit, the frantic scratching and scraping of pencils rhythmically moving in sync. I stared blankly at the sheet in front of me as the stark contrast of the black ink against the pure white of the paper faded into a blend of milky gray. I ducked my head and snuck a few glances at those around me, and discomfort began to settle in when I saw that their concentrated gazes exuded confidence. My hand quivered as the lead marred the sheet.

I turned my head, and the scene was gone. “How’d you do that? How was I able to be there?” I asked, confused.

“You weren’t actually there, you’ve already experienced it. You were merely reminded of it.” He said brusquely. At this point, I was fed up.

The surreal glow of the lights I had spent hours hanging up weakly shone to warm the tiny space, but I hardly noticed them because I was curled into a tight ball on the bed. The spasms came with zero notion of forewarning, cresting like waves, refusing to relent. Each second brought shooting pain, with shaking that I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I fought it. I clenched my hands into fists, but that only made it worse. Breathe, I repeated to myself, just breathe…

“Stop it,” I said, head in my hands, afraid that more memories would cause an unsightly imploding. “What good is this doing?”

“You tell me,” He answered, somewhat indifferently. “You’re the one bringing these to mind.”

We sat in the car as it idled, and I could feel his eyes on my face. I refused to return his imploring gaze and instead focused my attention to whatever was outside of the windshield. He had tried reasoning with me, but I didn’t want logic; I wanted understanding. A comforting touch, a reassuring sentiment, anything to affirm that what I felt was not ridiculous. “You’re not being rational,” he said, holding back a sigh. The streaks marking my face were the resulting mix of anger and sadness.

“I know that, okay? I know how I should view it, but that doesn’t mean it’s that easy. Emotions don’t make this easy.” The salinity of the tears left an unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth as I spoke.

“Enough!” I cried out, sinking to the ground. It was too much.

He kneeled down to where I was, reaching out and gently touching my face. “Look at me,” he said, dropping all pretenses. Despite the compelling allure to concede, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes, ice blue ones that sought out answers to questions that I didn’t want to confront.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered with defeat that percolated through my veins, coloring my words to match the bleak environment. “I don’t know how to deal with any of this.”

“You know that’s not tr-” he began, but I cut him off.

“You think you know the answers to everything, but you don’t. Do you know what it’s like to feel so exhausted of life? How everything is constantly berating, beating you down, asking you why you even bother when it amounts to nothing in the end? What’s the point of any of this?” I said roughly, frustration seeping out of every miniscule pore in my body.

“Do you really think I’ve never felt what you are feeling right now?” He asked in a low voice. “Are you so unique and such a martyr as to be the only one who has ever felt like it’s too much?”

His words stung, and I felt immediate regret. “I’m not saying that… I’m asking why you won’t acknowledge the way I feel. Why you don’t care.”

“Of course I care, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. Acknowledging is different than caring. If I were to merely acknowledge how you felt, I would leave you in this state, letting you wallow until you eventually consumed yourself. But I care, and caring is helping you to take a long, hard look at yourself so you realize that you’re not okay. It’s okay to not be okay, but you can’t live like that forever.”

“I thought I was okay, but everything has been chipping away at me, to the point where any little thing could shatter me into a thousand pieces.” I choked out. Part of me knew that I was being melodramatic, but the rest heaved underneath voicing what I had ignored for so long.

“You need to let yourself be broken. You need to accept it, because once that happens, you can finally start being put back together.” It sounded so cliche and so ridiculously poignant that had we been anywhere else, I would’ve laughed. I begrudgingly accepted the intent behind it.

“Everything is a constant reminder of the uncertainty… I’m so scared of not knowing what’s next, of not knowing where I’m going or what to do.” I said, barely getting the words out.

“We all are. Some just hide it better than others.” He took my hand and helped me stand up, wrapping me in his arms for a brief moment before releasing me.

“You’re going to leave me, and then I’ll be alone again.” I said, bringing to light the fear that had been in the back of my mind throughout our entire encounter.

“I don’t have it all figured out, either,” he said, the first tinge of hesitance clear in his voice. “I’m still working on this myself. People aren’t your answer, don’t forget that. ”

I nodded. “Doesn’t mean that I want you to go,” I said quietly, hating the vulnerability that made me feel queasy.

“I know.”

“Changed my mind,” I said, scowling in response.

He smiled weakly. “Maybe we’ll meet again, but for now, just remember that none of us are capable of dealing with this on our own. Don’t try to handle it yourself. Give it up to God, and see what happens. You’ll be surprised.”

He disappeared as quickly and effortlessly as when he arrived, and I was left with nothing but the remains of his trademark rationality slowly beginning to resonate in my mind.

I took another deep breath, my lungs expanding more easily than beforehand. Some of the fog had dissipated, allowing a small beacon of light to reach my face, returning the feeling I hadn’t realized I lost from the numb of the cold.

The pins and needles pricked and prodded, but I was grateful for the sensation.

Below my feet, the grass turned just a bit more green.