My job neglected my contributions, my devotion, again.
My family forgot about our history of affection, a history that’s becoming lost.
My wife, overwhelmed by her blackness, forgot about her loving capacities and vows of understanding.
I broke my hand, the world having forced it. No, it was not solely my fault, but it was my mistake. My coping strategies were not enough. The tools cannot compensate for too much work, when it is combined with too much pain. I could not get past them. I got sucked in.
I punched; it was a mistake – a mistake from which we will learn. We will learn that coping strategies cannot compensate when things get too dark, when the plate gets too full. We will learn that my wife’s blackness cannot make me a victim too; that I need to be the level head when she cannot be the lifeboat of love and care and understanding for which I have come to re-trust. We will learn that one thing too many is too many, even if it is just one thing.
You won. You won, today.