I am the only one in the cockpit and all the controls are just at my fingertips. There are so many choices of buttons and knobs. I know the purpose for some of them, but most are not clearly marked, so I do not know when or how to use them.
Looking out of the small windows, I have a view of the entire sky. Not just a piece of the sky, but the entire sky as well as the earth below.
I have many choices while gliding so high up in the sky.
The radio that is connected to the tower has many voices that can be heard coming over it. There are loud and soft voices along with crackling static. Every now and then I can hear a distinct sentence directing me higher or lower and pointing me on a different route. I have been listening to them for so long, the voices seem to run together into a mish mash of noise.
I am in the cockpit of my life.
No one else is in control of the choices that I make or the direction that I steadily progress towards.
Sometimes I look behind me to help make better choices and to help me stay the course. My history, like the tail of the jet fighter, is behind me, but it is necessary in order to assist in my success.
Without the tail, the plane would not fly and without my past, I would not be the person I am today. Because of my experiences, I am a better person.
There is always someone willing to give me an opinion as to how I should continue on my flight. These people, for the most part, have no idea where I have been, what I am going through, or what it will take to help me continue.
They think they are better or smarter because they sit high in their tower.
I will tell you how much they know…
They know absolutely nothing.
I am indeed a fighter pilot in a magnificent jet fighter plane engaged in a war – the fight for my life. Not the life I used to have because that has passed and is gone. I do not really want to remain in the life I have now since my mind is a bit – wounded. So I struggle daily as I soar this way and that, maneuvering the best that I can with what is left after the trauma of the last thirteen months.
Yes, it has been thirteen months as someone not so eloquently told me yesterday. It is a miracle that I am still here in the capacity that you now know – albeit a bit diminished compared to what I once was…I do miss the old me.
Thirteen months may seem like a long time, but it really is not that long. To be quite honest, I do not remember much about the last thirteen months. It has really been a bit of a blur for Alyssa and me.
Am I saying thirteen months enough?
Yeah, the voice saying, “You’ve had thirteen months” echoed in my head today.
To all the people in the tower who think they know all the answers since it has been thirteen months and I should snap out of it — you should pray that this type of trauma never happens to you. PTSD is real…hard.
I am taking one flight at a time in my jet fighter plane. Just give me another thirteen months and then we can re-evaluate just how far I have gone.
I am so sorry crackly static voices in the tower. You are becoming less audible as each day passes. Maybe you should just keep your opinions to yourself especially if you want to inflict them upon me and my last thirteen months. I think I have earned my fighter pilot wings already, so your silence would definitely be golden.
How is that for nicely putting everyone’s judgmental opinions back where they belong?
How do you react to unsolicited and sometimes rude advice?