Still Human

I've been here before. Many times.

I know how to handle this. It’s not a real physical fight. It's just me and a punching bag.

The fight is real, but the fight is in my mind.

Everything that's gone on, the emotions that have been invoked are brewing, bubbling, just at the surface.

punch.

punch.

punch.

The bag swings, chains holding it rattle.

I stop the bag. My gloves come off.

My handwraps get shed to the corner.

I square up with the bag again, bare-fisted...and then I let go.

Over and over and over.

Jab. Cross. Uppercut. Hook. Jab. Jab. Jab. Hook. Jab.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The events play like a broken record.

finding him, diagnosis, concussion, losing her.

Over and over. Over some more.

My swings get more wild, but still connect.

Over and over.

I repeat. Until it needs to stop.

I look down at my knuckles. They're red, already beginning to show they'll be bruised over the next few days. They're borderline bloody, but not broken though. thankfully.

“you’re my hero. you know that?” her words echo in my head as my focus turns from my knuckles to the bag that’s just settled down. “i’m so proud of you.”

I take one more swing.

I connect with the edge of the sewing of the canvas.

My knuckle skins. I pull my hand back, pick at it a moment.

It bleeds.

My sigh is satisfactory.

I'm not superman.

I'm not invincible.

I'm still human.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.As dumb as it is, this is a good one.