I’ve been thinking about saving people.
More specifically, I’m thinking about the need to hold on to every last bit of someone’s life. The need to feel like I can make a difference, that I can fix the things that have gone wrong and that maybe I could even bring things back to normal.
The reality is, I can’t. I can try (and man, have I tried), but it doesn’t just click into place like that. Sometimes people don’t want help. Sometimes I can’t help. I can’t always fix what’s broken.
And maybe I shouldn’t feel that responsibility. Maybe I should stop trying so hard to save people, because ultimately, even if I help to an extent, I’ll never be able to stop it.
Why do I do it? I guess it’s out of love and perhaps a bit of selfishness too. I don’t want to see someone I care about hurting.
This weekend, I went to get a tattoo. I chose the words ‘another day on earth’ (my favourite song by my favourite band…I know it’s cheesy).
But the reason was two-fold. I was thinking about how I’ve had some difficult times in recent months but that, above all else, I am alive. I’ve spent another day on earth, I’ve survived another day on earth (on those particularly bad days).
I’ve tried to fix myself a thousand times and now I’m realising that it’s both incredibly complicated and astonishingly simple.
I’m alive. I want to see another day on earth. I don’t want people to save me, I don’t need saving. I am not broken. I’m the reason I’m alive.
And for this I’m lucky. Others are not so lucky. But nobody could have made this realisation but myself. Nobody could ‘save’ me, because I had to come to know these things all on my own.
I can’t save everyone. This doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying, but I know this now. And I’m trying to accept it.