My life—the one I know, the one people perceive—was developed in the four walls of my home—one wall for each person inside. The four walls were white—a dirty white—that was never painted over. The lights inside were always dim and ugly. They were the kind of lights that did not shine very brightly, the kind you see in a poorly built, sad, lifeless corporate office, and no matter how many times you changed them, they stayed that way. The carpet was fairly beige and tan when we moved in, except as the years progressed, it got worn down—like the people inside. No matter how many times we passed over it, though, there was no newness, no life left in it.
The first wall in our apartment was made of anger. Everyone was angry—angry at life, at their choices; angry at each other, at the possibilities missed—the “could’ve’s;” most of all though, angry at those who caused the anger—the aftermath of all the hurt. This was my Dad’s wall, mostly, but we were all angry.
Then there was the second wall; it was made of frustration. Frustration is different from anger—it is calmer, more intricate; it is what anger manifests from—but they are parallel. Frustrated. Frustrated that we were still in this dump of a place; frustrated that no one would change for everyone else’s greater -good; frustrated that we could not seem to be better versions of ourselves—emotionally or even physically; frustrated that our lives were stagnant. This wall was shared equally, I would say.
The third wall was made up of sadness. This wall was more than sadness though; it was depression, an unmotivated weariness that kept us sluggish and undetermined. This wall cannot be explained; it just is; it was there, and it was loud.
The final wall was faith. This wall was less seen than the others; it was leaned on less, and so the paint was brighter, newer. This wall had joy, peace, hope; it made living within the other three tolerable. There was faith that we—my family—would be okay; faith that one day the other walls would be broken down and rebuilt into something beautiful, something lighter; faith that God was bigger than it all. This was my Mom’s wall, mostly.