It weighs on me, the heavy coat I can’t seem to shed.
It’s invisible, you know. Unseen by the naked eye, by the stranger I pass in the grocery store, by my neighbor who waves at me as I stop to check my mailbox, by anyone who sees me no matter where I may be.
I’ve worn lots of visible coats in my lifetime. Some to stay warm, some to look cool, some by habit. Some heavier than others – furs are both heavy and warm, and also beautiful – but none can hold a candle to the all-pervasive, ever-present, weight of the invisible one.
This invisible yet horrendously heavy coat is like Tinker Bell’s shadow. It’s attached to me. I go to sleep hoping it will somehow slip off during the night, but no. That never happens. If I am awakened in the night, in a matter of a mere split-second I realize the coat is still wrapped around my entire body. It’s a frigging maxi-coat, even though those went out of style in the 70’s. When I wake in the morning, the weight of its suffocating presence reminds me of its existence before my feet it the floor. There is no escape.
Recently I was able to shed the coat, albeit very briefly. In all honesty, I couldn’t shed it completely, but I had both arms out, it was off my shoulders, and for most of those fleeting days it was merely an attached shadow. So, while I was not able to fully discard the coat, I was able to leave it locked up in a hotel closet for three and a half 24-hour periods.
I hate this heavy coat. I hate why it clings to me. I fight not to hate the person whose circumstances have placed the coat on my body. I hate the fact that I am compelled to be honorable. I want to be free of the coat, to send it to the Goodwill bin, to pawn it off on someone else, to let someone else assume its weight. But I know that is not going to happen. At least not today.