Luna

As she stood next to the table counting papers feeling a little nostalgic, the lady standing in the corner looks at her then turns to  Abby and whispers, " Poor her, she has no identity." For a moment Luna was dumbstruck. Who was this person and what gave her the right to be so cruel! "Excuse me!" Luna almost shouted. "Yes, I do!" The lady turned to Luna, shocked that she was overhead but didn't deny the statement was about her, then turned and laughed. All Luna could think of was walking over to that lady and punching her square in the face. Instead she stomped up the stairs and out the door.

She sat in the passenger seat of her car seething with anger, her thoughts racing with all the words she wanted to say. Instead she sat there and did what she did best, swallowed her words. Jon knew something was wrong just by the look on her face and the way she slouched in the seat. He was afraid to ask, he wasn't sure how she would respond. 

These past few months his wife was either quiet and distant or irritated and loud. He didn't know how to help her.  He didn't know what was going on because her answer was always,  "I'm fine." Or, "I'm just tired." Before he could ask Luna said,  "that lady in  there said I had no identity. She laughed at me." He could hear the pain in her voice and his heart broke for her. "I want to punch her!" Luna said. "Maybe you should," he told her. She looked at him and burst out laughing. He smiled. "Well, some people need to get punched." Jon said, “by the way, she is a liar. You do have an identity."

She wanted to believe him but she wondered if that lady was right.  Something else was bothering her about this lady. She seemed so familiar but Luna couldn't place her.

Home. Safety from the outside world. The one time I go out in months and some woman decides it’s okay to insult me. Do I have a sign on my forehead saying, “please break me down?" No matter where I turn the compliments even sound like insults. It sounds good until the "but" rears its ugly head. "You’re pretty but if you lost weight you would be prettier." Or, "your smart but you should be living your life this way." No matter how good, nice, encouraging or happy I am I have to improve something to be accepted. 

"Jon I am going out to take some photos." Okay, Luna. Have fun." As she slid behind the wheel she took several deep breaths. It was a rare occasion that she went out on her own. Turning off the main road she slowed as she came to the dirt road that led to The White Rock Cemetery. She felt safe here. No one was around. The noise and energy from crowds of people made her sick. So she found places she could be alone in nature.  She drove to her favorite spot and parked her car. Popped open her trunk and pulled out her Craft Case, camera bag, and camping chair. Once she was settled in she pulled out her journal.

8/16/16

Maybe I have always been sad. I gravitate towards sad songs like they are medicine my body needs to survive. I and I act cheerful in public and most days even in private. I don't know how to explain the ache in my chest, the numbness, the emptiness that is so much a part of my life. I don't know how to say, "I am sad." I am scared to say it because then it becomes real. Then I become something that needs fixing or crazy. "Luna, you just need to get over it," I am told. For brief moments it seems like its working, maybe I am getting over it. For brief moments I seem to be okay, to be happy. Until that moment when my heart shatters and my mind begins to race again. That moment when panic sets in and the world goes black.

Author's Note: First installment of Luna's Story