What I Learned From A Lack Of Closure

Osman Rana

Closure was something of a myth to me; something I only heard about from those who actively sought it out, avidly asked around for it, and perhaps experienced it once or twice. I basked in their glory. How they could go about their days without wondering where it all went wrong. Those people were the types that, upon glancing at my darkened eyes and sluggish demeanor, patted my back and told me “You’re okay.” In their mind, full of finished thoughts and settled situations, I was okay.

I hope that their idea of “okay” contradicted mine. I sobbed in the car while listening to Norah Jones’s hits. I replayed thoughts in my head while trying my best to fall asleep in sheets that were much too rough to be deemed cotton. I prayed to God that someday it- not fully knowing what “it” was- would end. This was okay for me. I grew accustomed to this kind of pain because it was safer. I figured I couldn’t hurt much more by standing still in my own little pool of misery.

Some days I did want to call, to understand why my mind was making me the human embodiment of Eeyore. Though I feared that if I did call, you wouldn’t have the answer to whatever it was I so desperately needed. I feared that you wouldn’t answer at all. I grew afraid that what happened was all my fault; continuously wondering whether or not I had mindlessly done something because I knew how reckless I could be. I would pick up my phone, think too much, and put it down. This infinite spiral continued daily, taking with it every little sense of self-worth I had left.

So I did what my self-worth had done during those dark times and eventually I left. After months, I finally realized that I didn’t want to be dragged down by a lack of closure. There came a time in my life where I figured that, in my case, I truly didn’t need it. I wanted my confidence and independence back, and so I strove for it. I stopped embracing everything that made me sob. I began focusing less on what I couldn’t understand, and more on what I knew for certain.

Closure was something of a myth to me, but they say myths are present to teach you lessons. That I know for certain. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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