The moving is slow, lined up like ducks at the edge of a lake, hoping for a crumb from the tourists. We watch ourselves and how others watch us. We are weary of the hiding, the stigma, the pushing out of strength and energy.
Meanwhile, even though our predicament comes with isolation and revolving negative thoughts, the rubberneckers just look at the wreckage as they pass by. It must be great to pass judgment without ever having to experience what the road is really like. They never have to drive with the hazard lights on or the panic attacks forcing us to the emergency rest stop.
For anyone who has had to suffer with changing moods, copious weeping, and the energy of a sloth, we know what the road signs look like. Driving dependent on the GPS of medications and trying to bypass the traffic jam of emotions, others speed by us never realizing what caused the morning back up. They just grumble at us moving slowly in front of them waiting for us to get out of the way.
If I ever pass anyone in trouble, I understand the detours on the crooked paths that lead them there. Seeing someone in bad shape on the side of the roadway, I know the tools that they need and the boost of human kindness. They need a hand, just a smile, or someone to help them get moving again. Instead they wait watching the movement of life and activity passing them by, hoping they can get on the path again another day.