text: I've been anxious for a while now. Three months to be exact. Three months ago, my mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The mood swings, the forgetfulness, the depression; it all made sense the moment the doctor walked out of those doors with a sunken face I'll never forget. After each treatment, mom gets better and then gets worse, and I struggle to hold onto what's left of her. I'm anxious about what awaits us when she ultimately passes. All the pain I've gone through will probably be nothing compared to what I'll feel when I have to travel an ocean away to cremate her. My sister and my dad rely on me as a pillar of support and the past few months, I've felt afraid to show weakness and confront my emotions. There are times when I wish I never had a mom, or that she wasn't important to me, just so I didn't have to live my life in fear of her demise every. Single. Day. Sure, I snap out of those fucked up thoughts, but thinking that made me realize, *I'm more afraid of the feelings I'll face when she's gone than the actual loss of mother.* The fact that I would have no idea how to deal with these emotions is crippling; I'd rather feel nothing than something I don't understand. School is starting to become a chore, so I decide to skip today and head to Central Park. As night begins to fall, the park employees begin to "shoo" everyone away as the park now closes at midnight. In the midst of the commotion of everyone leaving, I decide to take one last look at the pond in front of me, observing the ducks blissfully unaware of the upheaval going on right next to them. Suddenly, I feel a soft hand forcibly turn me around with an accompanying whisper. "Hey! You, son, you lookin' for something?" A large, heavy-set man, with caramel skin and curly hair flowing down his face that parted in the middle to make room for his eyes was talking to me. His large frame was somewhat covered by his oversized black T-Shirt and loose, ripped jeans, but I saw through it. His nose was a little crooked and his soft, pink lips spoke with a slight lisp. I observed him, along with some other dealers making their rounds tonight to sell their last batches of M, weed, and other substances. I thought it was funny he would seem to adjust his glasses every time he started a sentence, as if to add a sense of "professionalism" to his decidedly unprofessional line of work. Normally, I would engage but tonight I wasn't having it, so I ignored him. Or *tried to.* Once his eyes locked into mine, I found myself unable to look away, and, as I'm sure he was aware of this, he begins to speak to me, my attention undivided. "You don't look so good. What's up?" Ah, a salesman who actually cares about his customer, an endangered species. By telling him my feelings, I have nothing to lose; it's not like I'm seeing him again, so I decide to unload my situation onto him. "My mom is dying. I'm scared of that, don't get me wrong, but I'm even more scared of entering the depths of my emotions and being consumed by them. I've never been good with expressing them and... and-" He cuts me off. "Son, what if I told you I could help you with that? I don't sell traditional drugs, you see. I'm selling feelings. Trauma, in a pill. Can you believe that for me?" "Dude, what the hell? Why would I ever **pay** for trauma?" "Son, you look like you work out a bit. When you hit the punching bag, your fists bleed. When you hit that bench set, your muscles across your upper body tears. You take this pain because you know real life is even more painful and you need to be strong to confront it. You give yourself concentrated doses of pain in the gym that you know you'll overcome so that when the real fight comes, you're ready. Day after day at the gym, you tear your muscle fibers and bloody your arms, and you not only do it the next day, but you measure how good your workout was by the amount of pain and soreness you feel the next day. Trauma is like that. Once you go through enough of it and embrace it, it all becomes the same, and it builds you up. You become numb to it. You won't **have** to fear your feelings because you'll have none. How amazing does that sound?" "I.. I-" "Listen son, feelings are a game. You go through it enough and you'll be able to control them. Think about your friends, your family that rely on you to be emotionally stable and to understand your feelings so that you can help them understand theirs. Everyone is always so scared to get hurt, or to be seen as 'damaged goods'. But there's utility in trauma, you see? That's what nobody tells you. It's the fact that **everyone** feels the same feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and self-loathing is what brings us together. Your experience with trauma is what will connect you to others, an emotional life-line to others, so to speak. But you can't wait until calamity strikes in order to face your feelings, that's *too real*. What I'm about to give you is a warm-up set, so that when you need to do the actual exercise, you know exactly what you're getting into." "What do I buy then? I don't even know the name of the product, or how to use it, or how much it costs..." "Like I said son, it's trauma in a pill, or so to speak. I can't just isolate trauma, since it takes an entire set of emotions to process that. Take the green pill first, that'll give you the feeling of having just gone through something traumatic, a paradigm shift if you will. After 20 minutes, take both the red pill and purple pill consecutively. Those pills'll give you feelings of self-pity and meaninglessness. Eventually you should start to feel numb and experience feelings of hatred directed both inwards and outwards, and by that time you should've cried so much that you just want to sleep. By the time you wake up, your brain chemicals should be re-balanced and you'll be back to normal. And dealing is a competitive field, so I'll just give this to you for free. I need a loyal customer anyways." I swiftly take the pills and head back to my apartment to try them out. I enter my bedroom, grab a small glass of tap water, and slowly tilt my head back as I ingest the pill and chase it down with water. Immediately, feelings of dread begin to overwhelm me. The shock of unpacking something from my past creeps in, followed by intense feelings of self-hatred and regret. What I'm unpacking and regretting, I do not know. Yet, these emotions, appearing from seemingly a vacuum, begin to coalesce as I struggle to wipe away tears. I'm grappling with feelings not only that I'm unfamiliar with, but that are also from an artificial source. I feel overwhelmed and begin to break down crying, throwing my face back and forth onto my pillow, hoping for the clutches of someone, something, to hold me. I stop to look at the the red and purple pill next to me. *Nothing could be worse than what I'm feeling right now. Why not?* My hands shake as I cup those two pills and swallow them. I almost cough it up since my mouth is so dry, probably from all the crying, but I force myself to swallow them. My feelings of utter anguish and despair begin to amplify, and I feel as if I'm mourning something I never had. It's the most empty, forlorn feeling in the world. Eventually, the emptiness fades to black. *2 weeks later* I'm woken up by a call from my sister. I can't understand her well between the tears and sniffles but I know what's happened: mom's dead. I'm shocked, but nothing comes afterwards. No tears, no breakdown, nothing. I know how this is goes, and any feelings that come next are simply part of the script. I take my time and drive to my sister's house where my mom *lived*. My sister and dad are there in tears. As soon as my dad sees me enter the house, he rushes to hug me and immediately goes into a separate room as he begins to break down. My sister wipes away tears and tells me how glad she is to see me. Hours go by of me just comforting my sister on our childhood couch, tears running down her face as I struggle not to say anything dispassionate. Finally, I let something slip. "Sis, when do you think you're gonna be able to go back to work? We can't let this eat our entire lives awa-" "Bhai (*Hindi for brother*), what the hell are you saying!? Do you not feel anything? Our MOM just **died**! How can you think about anything else in a time like this?" "This crying, this mourning, I mean it doesn't mean much. Let's just fast forward to the lesson learned after this. Ya know, life is precious, don't take things for granted, surround yourselves with loved ones blah blah blah." "W-What... bhai what are you saying? That Ma was just some object for you to learn from?" She begins weeping again, struggling to explain to me her point. "Sis, all this... trauma... I know exactly what you're going through. I've felt what you're going through. But it gets better, trust me. Everything, including trauma, happens for a reas-" "Don't. Finish. That. Sentence. Leave, just fucking leave. I can't believed you can be so detached. How can you say you've gone through this!? This is **our** mom, the first and only one we've lost! This is all new to me and it should be new to you too!" Clearly, I was no longer needed, so I left. I thought back to what the dealer said. The utility of trauma in our lives. Whether we can learn lessons and be stronger without going through trauma. What about the ones that don't make it out? My inability to face my feelings has left me unwanted and numb. Is it trauma that truly brings people together? Those are questions I pondered as I began the long drive home. &#x200B; **End** Based upon a conversation I had with a close friend, as well as my own struggles. I'd **love** to hear feedback and constructive criticism for this piece! It's been a long time since I've written but I wanted to get some thoughts out there in the form of story.