Depression: The Shape-Shifter

Shape-shifter (n.): one that seems able to change form or identity at will.

Depression is not a tangible being that can be outlined by a set definition; it manifests itself in many different ways, for different people, at different times. Sometimes it presents itself externally, sometimes internally. Sometimes it’s something enticing, sometimes it’s threatening and terrifying. It is an expert shape-shifter; it knows your desires and your fears, therefore is able to draw you in by creating a mirage of your deepest yearnings. Once it has you, it manifests into the demons that haunt you, scaring you to death. This is how it retains its grip. This is how it wins. Although I cannot speak for others, these are some of the forms that Depression has taken in my life-long battle with it.

Depression is the flood of water that comes gushing toward you, while you are standing in a narrow corridor, with your back against the wall and nowhere to run. It is the water filling up your lungs as you try to swim, making it harder to breathe. You start to panic as the water rises above you, knowing that there is nowhere to go; you are stuck. You are drowning.

Depression is the line of gasoline that leads straight to you as someone lights the flame. You see the match falling in slow motion; knowing that the fire will inevitably reach you, but you are rooted to the spot. You watch the flames approach; you feel the blazing heat on your face. You feel the fire burning your skin and it hurts, but you cannot move. You know that it is only a matter of time until the flames engulf you, leaving nothing behind except ashes on the ground.

Depression is the dirty mistress. Your partner knows about her, but knows that you will never leave her. They have to deal with having a third party in your relationship, no matter how much they try to show you that you don’t need her. They will love you until it hurts, thinking that if they loved you enough, you would leave Depression for good. Depression is the desert that is between you and your lover when you lay your head down at night. Your lover will reach for you, but you will be too far away. It will prevent anyone from getting close to you, because this desert is impassable. You are an island that no one will be able to get to.

Depression is the monster hiding under your bed. You can hear it breathing when you close your eyes, trying to fall asleep. Even though you cannot see it, you know that it’s there. It’s lying in wait, to grab you at any moment. You pull the covers over your head and try to pretend you’re invisible, just like you did when you were a child, thinking that it will eventually give up. It doesn’t work; it never does. Depression is the collection of skeletons in your closet that keep falling out. They wake you up with a loud crash at two in the morning. You get out of bed and pick them up, stuffing them back into the closet, knowing that the closet is just too small to hold them. Using all of your weight, you close the door, acknowledging that they will eventually fall out once again.

Depression is a screaming child. It wants what it wants when it wants it. If you don’t give it your full attention, it will start screaming until you do. You cannot focus on anything else; you cannot have a moment’s peace. It disguises itself as the critical mother, pointing out all of your flaws and telling you that you aren’t good enough. You’re a disappointment and a failure. You listen to her and realize that you will never be good enough, no matter how hard you try. It can act as the clueless father who tells you that “other people have it worse, so suck it up”. You start to feel guilty because you know he is right, and your feelings are instantly invalidated.

Depression can be a million needles piercing your skin at once. Your body is rigid and you’re paralyzed. You start to bleed and no one notices. You are bleeding from every part on your body but no one can see it. You need help, you need a bandage, but you cannot speak. Depression is the duct tape over your mouth, as you scream for help. No one can hear you. You scream until your voice is hoarse, but it’s no good – they can’t hear you. Depression is the blindfold over your eyes that disables you from being able to see things clearly, from being able to see anything at all. All you can see is blackness. There is nothing ahead of you; no hope, no future, just darkness.

Depression is the weight sitting on your chest, making it difficult to breathe. Your breathing becomes shallow as you can feel your ribs breaking one by one. It is the ankle weights that you wear every day, causing your footsteps to be heavy, making it difficult for you to move. You try to run, but they weigh you down, until you eventually collapse from exhaustion. Even walking is something grueling and taxing. Every day routines become fatiguing.

Depression is a hand clenched around your throat, choking you, after feeling the light touch of another human being. Depression is a jealous girlfriend; she does not want you to have any contact with someone else. She wants you all to herself and will stop at nothing to make that happen. Depression can be the abusive husband that hits you and uses verbal and emotional abuse to degrade you, to make you feel like dirt beneath his feet. Then, he turns around and tells you that he only does this because of YOUR actions. If you would just learn to be good, to be worth something, he wouldn’t have to hurt you. After all, he loves you. He’s the only one that does.

Depression is the assortment of black rose petals slowly falling from a bush, as you watch from the window. You can’t understand how something that was once so beautiful, is crumbling right before your eyes and changing into something ugly, something dreadful. Depression can be the curtains being ripped closed, so that no light can seep in. You can no longer see the world, even from your window, and you are left inside an empty, dark room.

Depression is a bully that picks on you for no reason; a bully that is miserable and wants you to be just as, if not more, miserable than he. He will hit you, embarrass you, and take things from you. You are at his mercy because he is twice your size and no one will step in to help you. Depression is the bartender pouring you another drink. “Just one more” he says, enabling your habit. Depression is your security blanket, the one you have had since you were young. You know you have grown out of it, you know that it isn’t good for you, but it makes you feel comfortable. It is the only thing you have ever known, and even though it is debilitating, it is all you have.

Depression is the group of vultures that circle above, smelling the death that is inside of you. They are eagerly waiting for you to finally collapse so that they can swoop down and devour you. It is the black rain cloud that follows you around wherever you go, even when you can see the bright skies and sun above everyone else but you. It is the Grim Reaper that is hovering behind you, following you throughout your day; the dismal reminder that death is right around the corner. You know your soul is dying. You can feel it slipping away. You are slipping away.

It’s an external being, one that is hell bent on destroying you. It’s a shapeless monster that hides in the deepest caves, in the darkest of corners. You decide to meet its eyes and to finally confront it, but when you look up, all you see is yourself staring right back at you. Your eyes open wide in horror, as the mirror image’s mouth forms a smile. The realization hits: the monster has been you the entire time.

Loving Someone with Alzheimer's

Some days I just hold her fragile hand

As time creeps across the floor

Some days it almost kills me

Watching her memories slip away a little more.

- Carrie Underwood

I look over at her and see that she is fast asleep with her head hanging slightly off the chair. I slowly and softly walk over to her and slide a pillow under her neck and cover her with a blanket. I sit down next to her and place my hand on hers, watching her chest rise and fall. My mind begins to wander, thinking about how peaceful she looks now, especially compared to the frazzled and angry look she had just an hour prior. I wonder if she’s dreaming, and if so, what she is dreaming about. Is she seeing her late husband? Are they back in the year 1980, playing music together in a room full of people who look at them in awe and wonder? Is she a little girl, running across the land on the farm that she grew up on? Is she holding one of her newborn babies, swelling with pride? I hope that her dreams are full of light and love and bliss; her waking moments have so much apathy, depression, and sometimes, anger. I look down at the ground as a tear slowly rolls down my cheek.

My grandmother was officially diagnosed with dementia and the early stages of Alzheimer’s last year. Prior to that, we could see the signs for quite some time. It started with little things. She would call and say that she was pulled over to the side of the road because all of a sudden, she didn’t know how to get to her nail salon, even though she had been going there for years. One day, she called me in a panic because she couldn’t find her car keys and couldn’t go to work; spoiler alert: they had been sitting on the table by the door the entire time. When I showed them to her, she swore up and down they weren’t hers. She would sometimes call people, even me, by the wrong name. It was those little occurrences that foretold that the disease had already started hijacking the brain of my vibrant, wonderful grandmother.

The day we found out that she did, in fact, have Alzheimer’s, I spent that night, into the early hours of the morning, researching the disease. The only knowledge I really had was a mixture from various TV shows, movies, and my pre-med studies. I scavenged the internet, reading and taking notes, adding books about Alzheimer’s to my shopping cart. I was ready. I was prepared. I had all this knowledge, therefore this will be easy. Sure, she will progressively get worse and we will deal with that when the time comes, but overall, I am armed with all my resources and weapons and we can therefore take this disease to battle, and win.

It doesn’t matter how many books you read, how many support groups you go to, or how many times you meditate and reflect; you will slowly crumble. The thing that not many people understand about people with Alzheimer’s and their caregivers is that it takes a toll on the trifecta of your health: physically, mentally, and emotionally. Your body will be exhausted from running around all day, helping your loved one do all the things that they can no longer do on their own, i.e. bathe, cook, clean, go to the bathroom, etc. Your mind will be fatigued from dealing with the bills, the phone calls, the appointments, etc. It will be exhausted from the repetition of simple words and phrases, i.e. “Today is Thursday”, “Please, you have to eat”, and “No, you have to take your medication”. Your emotions will be drained from loving them so much, but hating this disease that is essentially taking them away from you.

My grandmother calls me her best friend. She tells me that she feels so close to me and knows that she can talk to me about anything. She always tells me how proud of me she is, telling me that she’s my biggest fan (rivaling my mother, who is an expert bragger when it comes to her daughter). She tells me all the time how pretty I am, even when I haven’t showered in two days and am wearing old yoga pants and a t-shirt from high school. I call her my kindred spirit. My mom, my grandmother, and I are the self-proclaimed “Three Musketeers”. I have been through some traumatic events in my life, especially for a twenty-something, but I cannot bear the thought of my “best friend” not only turning into someone else, but someone who is angry and sad and mean. I can feel my heart breaking every time that thought appears in my mind. Watching my mother (my other best friend) hurt is just as hard. Alzheimer’s is not just a disease that kills the host; it kills their loved ones, on the inside. And if that weren’t bad enough, it completes this process at an agonizingly slow rate, making the goodbye, a long one. Alzheimer’s is a killer and a thief. It steals your loved one’s mind, taking memories, positive emotions, and their recognition of family and friends along with it. In summary, Alzheimer’s is a cold-hearted bitch.

While the road I’m on has just begun, and I don’t presume to know everything there is to know about Alzheimer’s whatsoever, I have learned some things so far.

- Expect the unexpected. You don’t know how the disease will present itself today. Or tomorrow. Or even five minutes from now. One minute, you could be laughing hysterically, and the next, you could be trying to calm her down because she doesn’t realize where she is. You have to learn to be flexible and “just go with it”.

- Don’t argue. Perception is reality and if she perceives something to be true, that’s her reality. Telling her that she’s wrong does not help the situation. It only pits me against her and she will start to resent me for it. In time, she will feel as though I’m the enemy and she won’t trust me. It’s more important to make her happy, than to be right.

- Be a keen observer. Study her patterns. Learn what she does right before she starts to get angry or upset. See the signs. That way, you can try to contain it, or at the very least, you can hunker down and get ready for the storm.

- Use the “process of elimination” method of learning. Don’t be afraid to try new approaches with her until you learn what works. You might go through many different options until you find one that works. And then, expect that to change. Eventually, that tactic will not work anymore. When that happens, get frustrated, cry, and then get over it so that you can try something else.

-Allow yourself to be angry at times. I’m not a saint, and I don’t pretend to be. I get angry. I get angry at the disease, at the pain it causes, at the time we both have lost, at my inability to be a “normal” twenty-something, at myself. Get angry, do what you need to do, then release it. You can’t harbor it. Feel it, but then let it go.

- Develop a thick skin and a very big reservoir of patience. There will be times that she says things that cut you, deep. Learn to take these things with a grain of salt and let it roll off your back. Be patient with her as you repeat the same sentence for the fifteenth time in the last hour. And try not to act like you’ve said it before; to her, this is the first time she has heard it. Treat it that way.

- Forgive. Forgive her for the things that aren’t her fault, as ludicrous as that may sound. Forgive yourself for the things you get wrong, realizing that this is new for you as well. You’re still learning how to handle these situations and you’re going to get some things wrong. It’s okay.

- Celebrate the small victories. Being a caregiver for a loved one, especially one with a neurodegenerative disease comes with a lot of hurdles and obstacles. I remember the first night she finally slept through the entire night, without waking up (she usually wakes up every half hour or so), it was as if she just won the Nobel Prize. When she was able to dress herself for the first time in a while, we were ecstatic and appreciated this small feat. Alzheimer’s doesn’t give you much to rejoice about, so appreciate those small accomplishments.

- Get used to watching the same old shows, multiple times, even in one day. They are what she finds familiar and what she can relate to. New things can confuse her and then cause her to become upset. Find ways to make it fun. See if you can remember who the killer was on this episode of Diagnosis Murder. Try to guess how many times Rose will say something dumb, Blanche will do something slutty, and Dorothy will say something sarcastic on Golden Girls. Count how many times Barney Fife does something crazy.

-Allow yourself to cry. As someone who doesn't cry very often, especially as a female, I have shed my fair share of tears since her diagnosis. However, I bottle it up and try to put on a “strong” front, until I explode with waterworks. Allow yourself to cry as often and as hard as you need to. Cry until there’s nothing left, splash some cold water on your eyes, and “just keep swimming”.

-Love. Love her, despite the times when you feel like you might lose your mind too. Remember that it isn’t her fault and she is hurting just as much, maybe even more, than you.  Love yourself, remembering to take care of yourself just as much as you take care of her. If you allow yourself to deteriorate, how will you continue to care for her?

When this first happened, I thought I was armed with all of the right materials and knowledge to be able to handle this war. I was wrong. I am now armed in a different way. My weapons are the pictures and videos of the good times, the tangible reminders of the amazing lady that she has and, in my mind, always will be. My bunker is all of her sweet words, spoken at random moments when I least expect them. I will hold these words in my heart forever, to take comfort in and to keep me safe when the storm is above me. My armor is the many memories of us, that I hope to never forget, keeping me protected from any vicious things she might say during an episode. This armor, which includes the sound of her laughter that resounds in my head, will be impenetrable to any harsh words or actions that I may see from her in the future. You have to remember the good, hold onto it with a death grip, or the disease will chip away at you, slowly and painfully, until you are nothing but an empty shell. These are my only weapons, and I will use them confidently as I march into battle. While the end of the war approaches each minute, and no one can change the final outcome that will ultimately devastate me, I’ll be damned if I don’t put up one hell of a fight.

Forgiveness Isn't For Them

Forgiveness. It’s a word commonly heard, commonly said. But, if you’re like me, putting it into practice? Well, that’s an entirely different story. For me, it’s hard to forgive someone because I’m afraid that if I forgive them, it’s the same thing as saying “it’s okay that you did that”; thus, potentially leaving the door wide open for them to do it again. It’s as if me forgiving you is equivalent to me dismissing your wrongdoing s as if they were no big deal. And, as we all know, there are some things that break us into a million pieces and are essentially “unforgivable”. How do you forget that a person lied, cheated, abused, and/or wronged you? How do you listen to the voices from those insensitive people that say ”just get over it already”? How do you just move on, past the devastating suffering and anguish that shook you to your core, molded you, changed who you are as a person, for better or for worse?

The simple truth is, you don’t. You never have to be okay with it. You never have to sit there and tell yourself, or someone else, that what happened to you was okay. To me, that’s as if making it seem as though you were in the wrong and that it’s something about yourself that you have to apologize for. To put it mildly, that is not the case. You have every right to be angry, to be hurt. You’re allowed to grieve, to cry, to scream, to throw things (just not at someone; that may cause bigger issues that you’ll have to deal with in the aftermath).

However, after you’ve gone through all of the necessary emotions and dealt with the new reality in your own, individual way, you must allow yourself to move on. The most important thing to remember about moving on is that you in no way are saying that the transgression was acceptable and that you would allow it to happen again. To forgive is to allow the weight (whether it’s 2 ounces or 85 pounds) to be lifted off of your shoulders, your mind, and your heart. To forgive someone is to take away the power that person still has over you. Yes, you read that right. When you can’t muster up the strength to forgive someone, they possess a power over you. And unfortunately, some people, some heartless and sadistic people, see that as a victory. They see it as you being weaker, less resilient than they are. This also makes you look like vulnerable and more susceptible prey for them to do it again. When you forgive someone, you take that power away from them and disable them from hurting you in the future.

When you forgive someone, you are not doing it for them. You aren’t doing it for their peace of mind or for them to be able to sleep at night. In fact, you are doing it for you. Once you forgive someone, you will notice the absence of that weight that has been residing on top of your heart. It’s similar to being in a dark room and not being able to see five feet in front of you. All you can see is the darkness, the emptiness. That dark abyss can be crippling and can prevent you from being able to do normal, everyday activities especially ones that you used to do flawlessly before you had these horrible acts committed against you. To resolve that dark room and to allow yourself to see what is in front of you, you have to open up that curtain. It might be hard and you may want to stay in bed, under the covers where it is safe.  Maybe you don’t have the energy, or the strength. Maybe you’re scared of what the light will bring because you have been stuck in the dark for far too long. You fear the unknown. Maybe you’re scared of getting burned from the sun again. But you’ll never know until you rip open those curtains and let the light stream in.

Forgiveness is that one step, that one gesture that lets the light seep back in. And I promise you, it’s better than the darkness. You will finally remember what it feels like to bask in the radiance of the sun and to feel its rays on your bare skin.

Now, I’m not saying that forgiveness is as easy as just pulling open some curtains. It’s hard; probably one of the hardest things a person may ever learn to do. It’s also not something you can do in one fell swoop. Just as you have to get up and open those curtains every day, you have to decide to offer forgiveness every day. Some days will prove to be more difficult than others. Some days, you’re going to feel like you’ve taken three steps back. But no matter what happens, you must pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and march onward.

Here’s a short list of examples of the forgiveness I have to muster up every day, in order for me to have a clear mind and a light heart:

- I forgive the friends that have broken promises or spoke empty words that were inevitably contradicted by their actions. I forgive the ones who sometimes make my heart hurt when I think about how much I’ve needed them in the past and they were nowhere to be found.

- I forgive the “friends” who conveniently dropped off my grid when I was going through troubled times and could no longer go out and party and be a good time. I forgive them for the “fair-weather” nature of their friendship and accept that my idea of friendship is much different than theirs.

- I forgive the people (i.e. douchebags) who cut me off in traffic, tailgate me even when I’m going above the posted speed limit, and seemingly have no knowledge of what a turn signal is.

- I forgive the man who was supposed to be the main guy I counted on, the one to teach me how a man should treat me, should love me. I forgive him for not teaching me these things and, in turn, being the first man to break my heart. I forgive him for choosing the bottle over me countless times, even though I begged and pleaded and did my best to be the “perfect little girl” in hopes that I would finally be the first choice; I never once was his first choice, though, not once. I forgive him for playing a huge role in me becoming a young woman with trust and commitment issues a mile long, with walls 80,000 feet high. I forgive him for diminishing most of my innocence and not allowing me to really be a kid.

- I forgive the people who, just now, walked by me, while I sit here in (almost) total peace and quiet, trying to write this, as they hoot and holler, curse and make derogatory remarks. But seriously, SHUT UP. I forgive you, though.

- I forgive the woman who is suffering from a very horrible and all-encompassing disease that essentially turns her into a different person. I forgive the anger and the meanness; I try to keep in mind that when this side comes out, it isn’t her, it’s the disease. I forgive the pain and heartache that is felt by not only me, but also the most significant and treasured person in my life; someone who I cannot bear to see hurting in any way.

- I forgive the man (for lack of a better term) who put me through two years of hell. The pain and torture inflicted upon me mentally, physically, and emotionally, is something that no one should ever have to go through, but I forgive him. I also forgive him for the one thing that he did, which broke me, beyond comprehension. I forgive him for this horrible, disgusting act of vengeance and hatred that drained me of the rest of my innocence and somewhat rose-colored view of the world. I will never be the same again. It’s not okay, and it will never be “okay”, but I forgive him. It is he who has to live with his actions, not me.

- I forgive the boy who sat behind me in first grade who endlessly teased and picked on me, and, on a handful of occasions, sent me into the girl’s bathroom crying my little eyes out. At the time, it felt like it was pure torment, but I realize now it was because that’s how little boys acted when they had a crush on someone. Hell, there are still some grown men who use that method to express their attraction to someone. I guess some things never change.

- I forgive the first (and only) boy I ever loved for finally giving up on me after I hurt him one too many times. I also forgive him for the pain that he caused me once I saw how far down the wrong road he had gone. I forgive him for the unnecessary guilt I felt from thinking that I was the sole cause for his drug abuse and subsequent troubles.

- But most of all, I forgive myself. I forgive myself for the countless mistakes I have made throughout my 23 years on Earth. I forgive myself for the pain I might have caused the various people whose paths crossed mine at some point in time. I forgive myself for turning to the wrong vices when I was hurting. I forgive myself for not being perfect. I forgive myself for getting too intoxicated at times and ultimately saying things I don’t mean, to the people I love the most. I forgive myself for making clearly bad judgment calls in the disaster known as my “love life”. I forgive myself for flipping people off or calling them a not-so-flattering name when, as previously mentioned, they anger me while I’m driving. I forgive myself for being a rebellious teenage brat when I was younger and therefore being the cause of a few gray hairs on my mom’s head. I forgive myself for staying in the aforementioned abusive relationship for far too long. I forgive myself for procrastinating way too often. I forgive myself for getting angry and annoyed at things that should just roll off of my back. I forgive myself for breaking my first love’s heart. I forgive myself for having days where all I can do is cry and feel sorry for myself. I forgive myself for not having it all figured out. I forgive my future self for probably never having it all figured out. I I forgive myself for not being the best daughter, friend, sister, and person that I can be. I forgive myself for being a perfectly imperfect twenty-something.

And the list goes on. I challenge you to empower yourself; take the control away from the person who wronged you and place it back into your own hands. They do not deserve your time, energy, or power. You on the other hand? You deserve it all, and more.

Tuesday Night

As I was walking down the cobblestone street, I drew a long breath and slowly let it out. It was so cold that my breath was visible; I shivered and scampered across the street. As I passed the various bars, I peered inside each one, assessing the atmosphere. My plans for the night had already been foiled; I had planned on staying at my hotel and grabbing dinner and a couple of drinks at their bar. However, it had closed early due to it being their off-season. “Story of my life”, I thought to myself and emitted a soft giggle. Now that I had to resort to Plan B, I wanted to make sure that I chose a good place to sit down and have a drink. I was in a strange town, by myself, and wanted to make the most of it. I stopped in front of a local brewery and evaluated their menu. It looked like a laid-back kind of place; just the kind of place I had been looking for. I walked inside and grabbed a seat at the bar.

The pretty bartender gave me an assortment of their different homemade beers to try and once I finally decided on one, I glanced up at the TV and happily saw that the SEC game was on. Within ten minutes, I became engrossed in the game, the beer, and my chips and salsa, tuning the rest of the world out. A guy would occasionally take the seat next to me and I would politely engage them in conversation, but once they realized that I was more interested in the game than them, they strutted back to their table with their group of friends. It wasn’t until a commercial break that I darted my eyes away from the screen and saw a tall, handsome man walking RIGHT TOWARDS ME. He was wearing a red, button-up shirt and jeans. He had the light trace of a five-o-clock shadow and he had the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen. In fact, my first thought when I saw him was that he reminded me of Luke Bryan (which is one of my ultimate mancrushes, just figured I would put that out there). We locked eyes and I nervously smiled. But once he was within a foot of my seat, he turned to look over his shoulder, turned back, and then kept walking right past me. I turned to the left and watched him walk into the restroom. Feeling slightly stupid and disappointed, I resumed watching the game.

“My friend has been trying to get the balls to come and talk to you for over an hour.”

I snapped my head around, locating the man whose voice I had just heard, and laughed. Not the cute, girly laugh that a female is supposed to master when talking to a guy, but an ugly, uncontrollable fit of laughter. My laughing caused him to start laughing hysterically and before you knew it, we were both bent over laughing our heads off with the entire bar staring at us curiously. Once we composed ourselves, I looked around trying to figure out who his friend was. Understanding what I was doing, he laughed and said “he’s right there”. My eyes followed the direction that his finger was pointing and I was once again looking at the guy who had passed me just a few minutes prior. The look on his face was of either pure shock or horror, I couldn’t really figure out which. At that, I started laughing uncontrollably again and his friend joined in. The guy sat down next to his friend and gaped at the two of us, who hadn’t so much as said three sentences to one another, snickering like the best of friends.

“I missed the punch line. What’s so funny?”

His friend turned to me, looked me up and down, turned back to his friend and says “you’re welcome”. He then gets up and goes back to where they had been sitting, at the other end of the bar.

“I’m Luke. And I think you’re beautiful.” He extended his hand out to me and smiled. (Yes, that beautiful man’s name was, in fact, Luke).

After the few initial awkward moments, we immediately descended into conversation. He had a deep, southern voice that could melt even the most guarded of hearts. Pretty soon, we were laughing and drinking as if we had known each other for ten years. I really found it almost shocking that he thought I was funny and that I could make him genuinely laugh. One of my fatal flaws is that no matter how many times someone tells me that I’m pretty, funny, smart, etc., I’m genuinely surprised when someone agrees. I usually just chalk up one or two compliments to the kindness of people, but when multiple people start to agree with them, it baffles me.

 Our topics of conversation were all over the place; one minute we were talking about where I’m from and the next, we were talking about what animal we would want to be if we could be anything.

“I see you as a bird. You just seem…free.”

I looked down and a light smile formed on my face. My entire life, I had always felt like a bird that people were constantly trying to cage, no matter how many times I escaped. How could this man whom I had just met not even an hour ago, in a strange town, in a strange bar, see right through me? We continued to talk about our lives, our families, our adventures. I found out that he was a good ol’ country boy and seemed to have it all together.

“They don’t make ‘em like you around here. They really don’t.”

I peered up into his eyes and assessed the amount of bullshit he was trying to feed me; I mean, here we were, in a bar, obviously he was just a sweet talker who was trying to use his charm to get what he wanted. But somehow, his kind eyes told a different story. At midnight, the bar we were at was getting ready to close and he turned to me and said “I’m not ready for this night to end just yet. There’s another place right around the corner. Will you come with us?”

I looked at my phone to check the time, looked up at him, then glanced to his friend who was now standing by the door, eagerly waiting for us to follow him. I released a sigh and said “okay, but if you turn out to be a serial killer, there won’t be a second date.” His mouth contorted into a huge smile and he said, through broken laughter, “I think that’s fair enough” and stuck his arm out, prompting me to link mine underneath. That was the first physical contact between the two of us; and it was electric. It seemed as though he felt it too because the second it happened, he gazed down at me, with a look of amazement and trepidation in his eyes. His friend was ahead of us, obnoxiously talking to everyone that passed and Luke just looked down at me and mouthed “I’m sorry”. At that, I let go of his arm and started mimicking his friend, talking and dancing with random strangers as we slowly made our way to the next bar. When we got to the door, I turned around and gave him a “what’re you gonna do?” look. He shook his head and just smiled at me, gawking at my lack of embarrassment and general craziness.  He clutched my hand and I felt whatever was left of my “apathetic and nonchalant act” had gone out the window.

We walked into the country bar and I immediately fell in love with the atmosphere. The lights were low and the music was loud. The song playing when we first walked in cemented the irony we had been experiencing the entire night:  Luke Bryan’s “I Don’t Want This Night To End”. Luke turned to me and whispered “See, it’s meant to be. This is exactly where we’re supposed to be, in this moment”. He let go of my hand and went to order a couple of beers and water for me. We grabbed a table and the three of us talked and laughed and became lost in the music. This is what it felt like to be young, to be invincible. We felt infinite. Luke and I danced, fast and slow, moving along with the beat and sweeping across the dance floor like we were on clouds.

“I’m telling you, I have never seen him like this. It’s like you flipped a switch inside of him or something”.

His friend said this to me in a dumbfounded manner, as if he didn’t understand how this entire night had turned into this. I have to say, I felt the same way. I never dreamed that I would meet a couple of amazing guys in this sleepy town who would make me question so much about everything, the most prominent of those things: life. The bartender announced that the next song would be the last and you should “grab your lover and make it last”. Luke looked down at me and gave a half-smile, but I couldn’t help but notice the light trace of sorrow on his face. As quickly as it had come, the look had been replaced by a wide, white-toothed smile.

“One last dance?”

I took his hand as he led me out to the middle of the floor. Lo and behold, another Luke Bryan song had just begun. At first my eyes became wide with surprise but once I saw his goofy smile, I realized.

“Did you?...”

“Yes, I begged them to play this one. I just wanted it to be perfect.”

I stood there in awe, with my arms around his neck, peering up at him. I have walked this road a long time, alone, with no complaints. Dating has not really been a priority to me, therefore, having this man standing in front of me, tenderly gazing down at me was an amazing and petrifying experience. He had requested “Drunk On You” because he wanted our last moments together to be perfect; he knew it was a favorite song of mine, sung by none other than the country hunk that he reminded me of. I suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed. I rested my head on his chest and took a few breaths, trying to compose myself.

And we danced. With the glow of the candles flickering, our faces lit up just enough for us to see the concoction of emotions in our eyes. It felt as if we were the only ones in the bar, in the world. And all that mattered was this moment, there was nothing else. When the song finally ended, we awkwardly stood there, my hands around his neck, his hands around my waist. After what seemed like an hour, he sighed.

“I guess we better go before they kick us out.”

His friend was standing outside the door, looking at us with a huge grin on his face.

“So when’s the wedding? Are you gonna have it here or in Florida?”

Luke and I laughed nervously, not sure what to say or what to do at this point. I felt as though I was coming down off of a high and suddenly, my whole body felt heavy and my feet felt rooted to the spot.

“Can I give you a ride back to your hotel?”

I looked down at the ground and mumbled, but Luke didn’t pressure me. He said “oh, of course. You’re not from around here, and here you get a creepy guy trying to give you a ride. Smart girl. Can I at least call you a cab?”

My mouth was half-open as I stared at him. I had never experienced this kind of chivalry. Many people might read this and think “that’s not even a big deal”. But to me, as a girl who has drawn the short end of the stick with almost every guy she’s ever dated, it was a huge deal. This man was wanting to call and pay for a cab for me, with nothing in return. I hadn’t slept with him, let alone even KISSED him. At that moment, with all of my emotions swimming around, fear seemed to override all the others. This is what I do. I get close to attaining something good and I run, as fast as I can. I imagined myself suddenly bolting, running down the street like a madwoman, without so much as another word.

Instead, I lightly placed my hand on his cheek and said “Thank you. But no, I’m okay to drive. But seriously…thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

I giggled. “I didn’t do anything”, I said.

“You did. You are an incredible woman. I’m really happy I met you tonight. Can I see you again tomorrow night? Take you on a real date?”

I hesitated. As much as I would have loved to run away with this man at this very moment and never look back, I knew that the timing just wasn’t right. I also wanted to remember tonight just as it was, without anything polluting it thereafter. Also, I feared that if he did see me again, he would finally realize that I’m not all that great, I’m an imposter, and he would tell me that I wasn’t good enough.

“How about this: I might come back out this way tomorrow night. If we happen to run into one another, then maybe it’s fate. Fate has been pretty good to us tonight.”

Luke took a minute to think all of this over. I stood there, anxiously waiting, as though I was waiting for the grade on a big test that I had to take home to my parents. Finally, he smiled.

“I hate that and I love that at the same time. You’re something else, Maureen. I don’t even think there’s a word for it.”

I smiled a toothy grin and turned to his friend and gave him a big hug. I said “if we do have the wedding in the distant future, I want you to officiate”. His friend laughed and picked me up and squeezed me tight. I turned back to Luke and the sorrow on his face was back once again.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again, Luke. You never know in this crazy world.”

“I really hope we do.”

He brushed the hair out of my eyes and leaned down. His lips softly fell on mine as he gave me a sweet, innocent goodbye kiss. Without another word, I smile and turn around. As I’m walking to my car, I can’t contain my excitement and I touch my lips just to be sure that it was real. Before I turn the corner, I take one last glance. He’s standing there, gazing at me with an emotion I’m not quite sure I could figure out. I held my hand up and softly waved to him. And with that, I was gone.

Sitting here now, I can still smell his cologne and hear his booming laughter. Every time I think of him, I can’t help but sit back and smile. What’s he doing at this very moment? Is he thinking of me? Have I already become a distant memory to this man? It’s okay if I have; I’ll carry the memory of that night with me forever. It was the night that my hope in love was reignited. And who knows, maybe one day, years from now, I’ll run into a café to get out of the rain and he’ll be there. Our eyes will meet, a Luke Bryan song will start playing, and we will live happily ever after.

But, until then, we will always have that Tuesday night.