SNAP Mondays | Between walls

At this very moment, I am slightly annoyed that my internet in my apartment hasn’t been working for the last two days. I didn’t mind it yesterday because I was home for all of thirty waking minutes. But right now, I’m trying to study for an English literature midterm (which is tomorrow) and it makes looking up references nearly impossible. I’ve tried fixing the problem in a plethora of ways, but I’ve now given up. This blog was made possible by Microsoft Word, a brief moment of grace, and a fleeting connection. 

I haven’t blogged for a while about SNAP, because we observed Indigenous Peoples day two Mondays ago (known to me as Columbus Day for the first 21 years of my life). But last Monday, K and I think we made some progress with E, who has been averse to wearing goggles since Day One. The only word I’ve heard him say is “No,” and that was the reply to my asking if he wanted to wear a pair of neon green goggles. The head therapist said that it would be a goal to introduce him to just the idea of wearing them, since it’s not uncommon for children with his condition to dislike things on or around their faces. E is very willing to dive underwater—and usually ends up rubbing his eyes a lot due to the chlorine. So one of our new games is the Goggle Wearing Game, in which K and I both gush about how great goggles are while looking through them at E, and then putting our faces in the water. It sounds kind of silly, but a lot of what we do sounds silly. We are also trying to teach E how to kick. We can usually get E to balance on his belly on a noodle with K holding it, and then letting it go. I wait with outstretched hands about five feet away, and encourage E to come towards me. He laughs and splashes the entire way, and when he does reach me, he puts his forehead on mine. 

These are just a few of the great moments in SNAP. I think I mostly tell people about those parts as encouragement, but of course, there are some not so great moments either. Like how I sometimes get accosted by thuggish high schoolers on the way to the pool, how I always need to run to my IV leaders meetings from Milvia in about ten minutes, or how I wake up in the middle of the night because I am so dehydrated from the warm pool. 

But hey, we take risks to do things that we love.

Okay, if I can talk about more personal things for a minute. Lately I’ve had moment of intense sadness because my best friends feel very far away from me. For the first time in a while, my support system has been shaken—no, ravaged. I’m usually the person who checks up on people, who sends that random text or message, who makes an extra effort to catch up. This semester I’ve been busier than normal, with less time for meals and people in general. But I realized yesterday that friendship is a two-way street, and I can’t always be the person running after someone. I think the nature of sin is that it makes a person selfish, which is true for me at this very moment because I don’t want to give more of myself. There is only so much unrequited effort I can muster, and it is running dry. Also, if I already feel empty when it comes to friendships, why would I ever want a relationship? 

I think a lot of it has to do with the way I appear to others. Put-together, on top of things, “Nothing phases you,” a friend said to me on Monday. “You take everything in stride.” That’s my defense mechanism at work. The part of me that assures me that I don’t need anybody to motivate me, to appease me, to satisfy me. The part of me that shuts out emotions and uses disappointment as fuel for my work ethic. The part of me that says “Being close to people means giving them control, and you must protect yourself to make sure that must never happens.”

I’ve spent years building this wall. I wonder if it can ever come down.