In a Thousand Different Ways

by Cecelia Ahern

She has moments of kindness, but she is not kind. She has moments where she cares, but she is not caring. One good moment with her doesn’t make her a good mother, which is why I will never call her that.

Sometimes it’s just enough to sit and watch somebody else be happy.

Whatever it is, I still have it, still have to deal with it. A name won’t make it go away.

Her colours are still there but they’re muted by the calming colour of the pill. It surrounds the mood, suppresses it, clings to it like white blood cells attacking bacteria, only the problem is the pill doesn’t know what’s a good colour and what’s a bad colour, it hugs every colour she has, even the good ones, dulling everything down, making meh her primary emotion.

Sometimes it seems as if we’re the only people utilising public spaces while everybody is at work; the invisible daytime layer of society made up mostly of mothers with babies, the elderly and the unemployed.

I wish I could bring him in a patch of grass to stand on, to put in his cell so he can curl his toes into the soil like he used to and calm himself, root himself, get some perspective, remember that all surfaces aren’t hard and rough and non-porous.

I used to live like this every day. My body was always rigid and stressed, and I didn’t even know it until I left.

it’s the black of grief. A quiet, contemplative black of drawing the curtains so they can search inside. It speaks to me, politely and quietly, saying, Do not disturb, I’m exhausted and I’m resting, I’m trying to heal.

Troublemakers are usually highly sensitive people and highly sensitive people can be very conscientious, cautious, perceptive and empathetic. They can often see what others cannot and they’re like sponges, absorbing all the energy and stimulus around them.’

‘This is fancy.’ Three simple words that may seem harmless to most people but to me they’re loaded. It’s an insult. It says, look at your life now, since you left me, living it up while I’m here at home, with nothing. Who do you think you are, rubbing it in my face, getting the run of yourself … All in just three words.

We are fortunate that one of us has the will to keep it alive during the moments that count, that at no time when things get dark both of us want to give up.

A marriage requires two people doing their part, yes, but not necessarily always at the same time. At all times it needs at least one. Sometimes one on the ledge and the other to talk them down. Someone to stay awake at camp to make sure the fire doesn’t go out.