I'll Figure it Out

by cain maddox

not long ago, i was pepper sprayed while at a protest.
the pain was like nothing i'd ever felt. never in my life had i so deeply regretted having a face.
in the chaos of other victims screaming, my first thought was that i should probably go home and google how to wash out pepper spray.
when i started walking, another protestor asked if i maybe wanted to wait for the medics to come,
so i did, because i realized how incredibly weird it would be if i kept walking, and i did not want to look weird.
the things that i've survived are the sort of things that hurt people when spoken
i have learned that my trauma is a blade that cuts, if not held closely.
my first attempts at comedy were learning how to package my life in ways that would entertain more than concern
i suppose there's a limit to how many times your mom can say that she wishes she'd aborted you before you become fixated on how your life can harm others.
i'm sorry. that one wasn't very funny.
when things get hard, i like to imagine myself as something impossible
i am a rare metal with infinite tensile strength
i am a rolling liquid with no boiling point
i am a phoenix who preens with every resurrection
my ability to pick myself up after tragedies is why i'm still alive,
and i don't know what shape of animal i'd be if i let someone take that from me. half an hour in, when the medic was still trying to wash the fire from my eyes,
i found a childish part of me that i hadn't yet culled.
the words “will the pain ever end?” bubbled in the back of my throat, threatening to reach out with trembling hands for the warmth of reassurance,
and i killed them. i told myself, “of course it will end. don't bother the nice man
with such a whiny question.”

in my better moments, i remind myself that i would drop anything to help a friend in need, and that not wanting to be helped in turn is its own type of cowardice,
but it hurts to imagine myself as something so small.

i once told a friend of many years a childhood hurt,
and she said it was rude to trauma-dump.
on the days when i love myself (i have more and more of those as i get older),
i realize how terrible it is that i ever forgave her.

one day, when something horrible happens,
i will take the hands that reach out to me
and i know it will be good.
i know it will be good.