On one of the last legs into Los Angeles, a young European couple were seated behind and right of my recliner. I would estimate them to be in their mid 20’s. They had that glow all around them. So happy to be in each other’s company. They held hands or one would lean into the other as they gazed out the window taking in the view. They remained in constant contact.
Their words were soft and delicate. Their glances were loving and sincere; young, fairytale love. The world outside the train may have been cold and unfair, but the spark they shared was enough to keep their hearts warm and safe while in each other’s arms.
To be young again. To have that naive, doe-eyed view of the world before having your heart devoured by a society consuming itself. Broken hearts. Emotionally compromised spouses. Shitty bosses. Genuinely terrible human beings. Exposure to people who hate happiness. Traumatized by people who weaponize sex and love. The self righteous. The self-centered. The self-entitled.
What I observed in those two feels as foreign to me as the language they spoke to each other. I don’t know if I ever really had it. What I once believed to be real turned out to be nothing more than elaborate cons. A survival tactic performed by two desperate women suffering the same mental condition. If what happened to them wasn’t their fault, how much are they to blame for the path of destruction they leave in their wake?
What they distorted into was created from unimaginable childhood and adolescent trauma. It doesn’t make what they did to me hurt any less or lower the emotional baggage I was left to carry, but it does allow me to accept that there was nothing I ever could have done differently to make the circumstances turn out any way other than how they did.
What’s almost impossible to believe is that their actions are no more personal than a wounded animal lashing out. When your trauma runs deep enough, the whole world is your enemy.
Off The Rails 