The Problem with Forever

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

And then it became my voice. He was right. I was right. I could. It would be painful and probably embarrassing—no, not embarrassing, because only I controlled whether or not I was embarrassed. And I could do this. And I wouldn’t be embarrassed. Even if I was, just a little, it didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. This speech wasn’t forever. Being embarrassed was not forever. None of this was forever.

“What is REAL?” the Velveteen Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day. “Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?” “Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a

long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.” “Does it hurt?” asked the Velveteen Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand. But once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.” Rider had drawn a line from the last sentence to the margin, where he had written, It lasts for forever.

Being real could hurt. Being loved could hurt. That’s what…what living is all about and the opposite is unimaginable.”

The past never went away and it was not designed to do so. It would always be there, and it should be acknowledged. Dr. Taft insisted that attempting to erase the past would only lead to a crisis in the future, and he was right. My past could not be surgically cut out of me. It couldn’t be removed from Rider. What happened to Jayden couldn’t be forgotten.

My past was a part of me and it molded who I was today, but it was not the sum of who I was to become. It did not control me.

It was me who had to carry myself over the finish line, and all I needed to remember when I felt like not trying was that that feeling wouldn’t last forever.

Forever wasn’t a problem. Forever was my heartbeat and it was the hope tomorrow held. Forever was the glistening silver lining of every dark cloud, no matter how heavy and thick it was. Forever was knowing moments of weakness didn’t equate to an eternity of them. Forever was knowing that I was strong. Forever was Carl

Forever was the fire-breathing dragon inside me that had shed the fear like a snake shedding skin. Forever was simply a promise of more. Forever was a work in progress. And I couldn’t wait for forever.