How the hell do all the rest of you cope?

He’s never been able to explain that all his paintings are an attempt to show how beautiful he wishes he actually was. He’s dreamed of being able to say: “Being human is to grieve, constantly.” 

Because what he really wants to know is: “How the hell do all the rest of you cope?”

- My Friends | Fredrik Backman

Letter to Benji

Joar has Benji's spirit. It's beautiful. I'm learning his story. Beginning to love Joar. Still grieving for Benji.

...

Dear Benji,

I don’t know how to talk about you without crying.

You were all edges and ache. All beauty and bruises. I loved you the moment you stepped on the page—too loyal for your own good, too hurt to say it out loud, too alive to be safe. And still, you loved. Fiercely. Protectively. With your whole damn heart.

You were the kind of boy who laughed to keep from screaming, who kissed boys in secret and carried pain like it was penance. The kind of boy who walked your sisters home, took punches for your friends, and asked for nothing in return but a little space to breathe.

You didn’t get enough air, Benji.

You didn’t get enough peace.

You didn’t get to stay.

And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive the world for that.

Still—some part of me is glad you stepped in front of that gun. Not because I wanted you to die. God, no. But because that’s who you were. You would’ve done it a hundred times over for someone you loved. That’s why we mourn you like we knew you. Because we did. At least, the versions of you that live in us.

You remind me of the boys I loved when I was young—the soft ones with hard exteriors, the ones who made you laugh but never told you what kept them up at night. You remind me of every time I wanted to scream but smiled instead. Of every moment I felt too much and didn’t know where to put it.

You deserved to be held. To be asked how your heart was. To be chosen.

You were the protector.

But God, you needed protecting too.

I’ll never forget you. Not your jokes. Not your love. Not your loneliness.

Not the way your story made mine feel seen.

Love,

A girl who still grieves you

Safety

Like a child, I imagined the trees were waving—one leaned in and said, “Hi, old friend.” I smiled, grateful. Trees stand as sentinels, reminding us that we, too, can survive—and even thrive—through the elements of this world

To know you is to love you. Are you unknown to self?

The "I'm unlovable" story is just that. A story. Fiction. Made up by several unkind contributors, it is comprised of half truths and untruths. Have you seen the way your eyes sparkle when you're excited? Have you experienced your energy when it's electric radiating joy and confidence? Have you been on the receiving end of your love, support, and advocacy? Do you remember, not for the sake of ego, rumination, or validation, how you made them feel they could explore galaxies, conquer worlds, and slay dragons? How you make them laugh? The safety and nurturing you bring? How you listen? How you see others with interest and curiosity? Do you know what it's like to sit with you in silence as you hold space? Have you seen you at rest? My dear, you have a treasure trove of loving experiences. See even the smallest moments. Interrupt the story. You are well-loved, and baby, you are lovable.

The Glory is Within You

Some of the angst we feel - alone, with others, in our heads and bodies - so much of it is unnecessary suffering. So much unnecessary suffering comes from uninterrupted stories and patterns.

Lately, The Universe has given me clear signs. (One day, I'll write about them, sharing them as clearly as they came. For now, I just accept the responsibility to interrupt my stories, patterns, and suffering.)

The signs are so obvious that I feel particularly known. It is as though the Loving Higher Power was like, "There can be no ambiguity with that one in this season," and provided the clarity my mind and heart desires.

I feel a lot of feelings about this insistent clarity. I think a lot of thoughts about seeing that familiar classroom door; about walking by it - even though I'm comfortable with that particular teaching style and environment. I want to peer in the window because maybe, just maybe, there's something new being divulged. 

I also know which of my wants originate from survival and which originate from me.

Mostly, I know I can have my truest, most beautiful life. Worthiness isn't about what I've done or didn't do. It isn't about how I look or do not look. It's not about my earnings, education, credit score, net worth, network, possessions, or anything outside of me.

They tried to convince me that the best predictor of the future is the past. I call bullshit. 11 year old Kechia didn't know. 18 year old Kechia didn't know. 21 year old Kechia didn't know. 26 year old Kechia didn't know. Even, 30 year old Kechia did not know what I know now. 

I am rescuing them. I am rescuing me. I will show us that the best predictor of the future is awareness, desire, and commitment. I will disrupt our unnecessary suffering and create the life history said we were unworthy to live. I see and believe what they could not. 

Peter once asked me when it was that I fell in love with Jack. And I told him, "It was while you were sleeping."

If all the world hated you and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved of you and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.

Charlotte Brontë | Jane Eyre