When I was ten years old, someone I loved gave me a box. The box confused me. It was not a box for children. For one, it was far too heavy. But it was someone I loved so I figured it was meant for me and must be okay. As time when on, I thought maybe I asked for this box. Either ways, it was now mine and I had to learn to carry it.
Growing up, I was embarrassed by the box and annoyed that it got in the way of everything. I always had to keep it hidden and yet it tripped me up if I tried to put it down. It was very tiring to try and play with friends and do normal things while carrying it. It was easier to stay home with the box. As time went on, I learned to pretend that I could carry it just fine. I didn’t want anyone to notice it or try to talk to me about it.
But in truth the box was too heavy to carry. It always had been. It hurt and bruised me constantly. It was hard to see ahead with it constantly in my arms. I had to work so hard to hold and carry it that sometimes it was hard to concentrate on anything else. No one I knew had a box like it so there was no one to help me with it. I knew it was important to keep it closed so I learned the right way to carry it. Sometimes the weight would become unbalanced and I would fall. Its sharp corners could prod and hurt me.
As the years went on, I learned to bear the weight of the box so well that I forgot it was there. There were times when I would become aware of the weight and wonder why I felt so tired or why I hurt so much or why something nameless felt so heavy and dark that I couldn’t see ahead of it. But there was never an answer. I forgot that I was carrying it. When it tipped to one side or prodded me sharply I picked myself up and carried on. If the lid began to open, slamming it shut was an unconscious act.
More years went by and without realising it, carrying the box wore me out. My body had learned to carry the weight and had shaped itself around the constant load. When it hurt, I no longer remembered why. The box had gathered more weight over the years though and my hands and arms constantly slipped while trying to hold on to it. Sometimes the lid would still threaten to open and I would have to hurriedly sit on it for fear of anything spilling out. I was bruised and aching and sore. Holding the box was making my life impossible.
I looked for help and found professionals who pointed out the box to me. At first I dismissed it, thinking that it couldn’t be that causing my problems when I was so used to it. But they pointed out how I had designed my whole life around holding the weight of it. They showed me the scars and bruises it had caused. They told me that carrying it would not always be necessary.
It was scary. I couldn’t imagine not carrying that weight or shaping myself around it. I didn’t like the fact that I would someday have to open the lid of the box and examine the contents. I only knew very vaguely what was inside it and I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to look. I was frightened of it even though I clung so tightly to it.
After a long, long wait, I met a therapist who assured me that opening the box would be a slow and careful process. Her job would first be helping me to balance myself to hold on to it without getting hurt anymore. Then we would take a peek, and another. Rather than opening and letting the contents spill everywhere and overwhelm us, I could look at it, one piece at a time, and close the lid again when I needed to. By doing that, the weight could get lighter and lighter.
I would also not have the fear of the lid springing open at times I was not prepared for it. As it grew lighter, it would no longer become unbalanced and cause me to tip over with it.
My therapist explained to me that the box would never be truly gone but by going through its contents and working on holding it in a different way, a time would come when it would be a barely perceptible weight by my side rather than something huge that I was struggling to hold on to.
At the moment, the lid is still closed but not as firmly as it was. Sometimes with my therapist I take a quick look. She reminds me to close the lid when I have seen enough. The box is still enormous and heavy but I am learning to hold it with the supports that balance me. I am beginning to see the reality of a life where the box is down at my side and I no longer have to peep over the top to see the world. It won’t be in the middle of hugs that I give or close moments that I share. It won’t crush me in bed at night. It won’t creak open and terrify me with contents that I can’t see properly. It won’t hurt me. It won’t prod me and remind me of its presence at inopportune moments. It won’t be a part of me.
It will be something that was given to me that I never wanted. I don’t have to break under its weight. I can look forward to that day.
Help information
If you need help please talk to friends, family, a GP, therapist or one of the free confidential helpline services. For a full list of national mental health services see yourmentalhealth.ie.
- Samaritans 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org
- Pieta House National Suicide Helpline 1800 247 247 or email mary@pieta.ie – (suicide prevention, self-harm, bereavement) or text HELP to 51444 (standard message rates apply)
- Aware 1800 80 48 48 (depression, anxiety)
If living in Ireland you can find accredited therapists in your area here:
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