I’m back. Like a zillion other people who were here when the shit hit the fan last year, I’m here, in Boston.
We all make conversation. We try to decipher how our experience lines up with the person whom we just asked, “how does it feel to be back?”
People talk about how strong we all are, and how the runners will take back Boston Marathon. How they feel determined. Emotional. Ready.
I feel something else. Every time I get near the finish line, I get nauseous. A tightness forms between my chest and my throat. Mental white noise makes it difficult to follow the conversation. My body’s motion feels heavier and thicker, and I have to resist the urge to sit on the curb for a few minutes.
I never even saw the bombs but I heard them. Extrapolated. I can’t imagine what the others feel. All I have are people’s words.
Sometimes it’s hard to know if what people are saying is what they feel, or what they want to feel. Either way, it’s pretty clear I have some things to work out before I can be back on Boylston.