Drive My Car

Drive My Car

my therapist likes to stop me whenever i criticize myself with the word ‘should,' that i should feel some way, that i should have done something. we stop and dig into this statement until i get to the root of it and try to understand how i've internalized whatever idea or feeling or action is meant to be "correct" or "normal." it's a hard thing for me to do because it's always easiest to lightly lean on myself as the real problem, and even when i'm able to understand it as a behavior i've learned from outside of myself, it's difficult to think of that external force without declaring it right or wrong and without reckoning with the way it's conditioned me to behave. thing is, the very concept of "should" can't apply to everything. some things don't have a right or wrong way to be. some things just are. and it's even more infuriating when those things affect you, because you can't justify your heightened emotions by criticizing them. if they don't have a "should," how can you?

every regret is an instance of grief– a moment of mourning for the death of a timeline that can no longer exist. a moment of bereavement for the person that still has to. that grief will contort you like a sculpture in relief until a new shape has formed, and in that shape you will still find more, a never-ending matryoshka doll of regret. it sounds horrifying, but you've lived through it already. and you will continue to live through it.

the sun will rise and you will grieve and life will go on. it will. and it should. and it should.

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