I’ve been staring at the ceiling and scratching my head. Weighing options of whose number to dial…who I can I lean on that won’t make me feel so spent? I scroll through old conversations, picking out the ones which may be self serving in my current condition.
Repeatedly, each person I linger on falls short even in my imagination. Worse even, the conversations which upheave too much. The rawness of my thoughts sticking in my own throat as I try to digest them. I lie (e)motionless on my back.
Memories populate stirring the pot. An internal debate festers at the surface forcing my mind into blankness in order to recalibrate. I’ve been here so many times before, immediately shutting out and shutting down. No matter how many ways I shape it, I draw the same conclusions. Each time I find myself here I wonder does it ever shift internally? Am I moving the needle or will I always have to step back from the ledge?
I forget to breathe and get distracted. Tangents curve the tracks for my train of thought. My body manifesting a physical reaction to such weakness, heightening some senses by removing others. The darkness and the light inside of me doing their best to dance together, but snuffing each other out.
I realize nothing has changed around me as I drown in my own thoughts. Chaos I’m creating within as the rest of my environment stays quite the same. I question if the problem is that I watch my thoughts too closely, or that I forget to watch them all together.
It Christmas Eve and I’m laying in bed with Matthew and haven’t heard a word from anyone in the family (other than grandma and grandpa) for weeks. I’m a force fit into a kind group of people who empathize with the reality I’m facing. Basically, I’m a stray dog who found a bed to sleep in.
I think back to all of the holidays over my lifetime that I’ve been separated from my family. Ever since I was a teenager I’ve been gleefully smiling and buying gifts for people who aren’t my kin. Sharing cheap jokes at other people’s holiday tables while a part of me stays locked up, distant and removed. It seems I’ve always been willing to take the route of escape.
I tell myself I’m not letting my pride get the best of me with this current standoff. An icy battle between mom and I, both too stubborn and hard shelled to soften – even for a heart to heart. I just can’t bring myself to offer any gestures of reconciliation towards her. My disappointment in her detachment from reality too severe to waive the white flag. Every time I relive that night, the darkness overwhelms me. When I think about the sparse conversation we had following the event, I feel my vision darken and my lips purse. A bitter venom seep into my veins coercing a poisonous storyline to unravel.
Sometimes, when I settle into the reality, it is such an overwhelming sadness that I have to turn completely off. The immense instability which has stemmed from the abuse removing every positive cell in my body like a cancer. Even as I write it out, think about it, talk about it – I feel like some sort of self pitying martyr. It’s another punishment in itself.
I turn inward and ask myself how I can begin to heal. I’ve become an expert at shutting emotions off to maintain a functional life, something I’ve picked up from mother without a doubt. My passion to be warmer towards myself and others pushes me to share my feelings, but listening ears tend to turn away once they’ve expressed their moment of sympathy.
I’m stuck in this dark room by myself. A fortress of anxiety at every corner and I’m too paralyzed with sadness to find my way to the exit. Time heals all wounds, but it seems to me that beneath the healed skin, their infection continues to fester.
Time bends and twists blurring the lines of reality and dreams. The violence, the vibrancy, the visceral explosion like a stormy tide. Your tenderness my only solace, a bright light at the end of a thin line.
How is it that I again find myself lost? Please stay by my side until my mind returns. The darkness that comes for me, it never stops to burn.
Task after task I bury it deep. My thoughts stall like an engine, going nowhere fast no matter how many times you turn the key.
When I’m with you it’s the only time I can see me. How can you bear that burden? A cloak of shame I hide behind pretty little things.
My bleeding heart drags, daggers that dig at you as hard as they dig at me. I’ll try my best not to hide when they dig in two times too deep.
Loving me is no easy feat. Please keep my tender soul under your safe keep.
Cheap thrills akin to the bite of your first bump of snuff – rip through you in an instant, but always leaves you empty. Always leaves you wondering when it will ever be enough. The lingering discontent is dense, nearly tangible. A cloak worn proudly by everyone in the room, like some kind of trophy hand crafted by wrenching hearts pasts. A pseudo pride of nonchalance to hide behind, broken hearts and drifty eyes knit brows together painfully – when will this madness end?
A culmination of instant gratification burning the map of developed bonds, raw connection. Swimming in the shallow end, but forcing ourselves to drown. They all reach out, spindling fingers greedy for validation. Gracing themselves with just enough, but retracting violently should our hands begin to knit together. Recoil before you’re lost, cheap thrills come at too high a cost.
Dripping in venom, my own cloak drags weighted behind me. Sickly, I slither between the cracks undetected a silent threat in your flower bed. The rosebuds are drying, the rodents are crying, meanwhile you’re slowly dying. My jaw is unhinged, these cheap thrills continue to untie me.
The Metro idles, humming as it stalls waiting out the clock. Five minutes until we depart. The sun bakes down on me through the window making my underarms ripen. I’m sitting window seat directly in line of the sun. I’m a bit uncomfortable. There are plenty of other seats I can move to, but I stay put. I have that strange lingering headache of a strong coffee from this morning. I wish I had smoked a bowl.
Looking out the window, I think of all the ruckus I’ve caused at this station. This little, coastal paradise of trash dipped in gold. The grime hangs on me like a Christmas ornament that’s been glued back together after shattering into semi-redeemable scraps. A cheap earring whose counterpart is long gone, but you just can’t let go of.
The train is moving now. Earbuds in, I kick back. Solitude and movement, a magic concoction for solving any internal turmoil. I wait for the attendant to check my ticket before kicking my feet up – enough practice to know it’s not worth the conversation of jumping the gun too early. I’m listing to some offbeat synthy indie music that has a lick of jazz.
I’m ready to groove, maybe to find a little trouble. It seems it takes a lot to let my hair down these days, to stimulate any sensation. My search for intensity having desensitized me from so many of the small pleasures. Oddities attracting more texture than predictable outcomes. A maze with no end that I willing meander through knowing I’ll surely find another dead end at the next turn. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
I take a work call. It’s bullshit and I roll my eyes as I talk. A shit song comes on when they hang up. I listen to it anyway. It’s still too hot in the sun and I’m sure I stink by now. I switch the cross of my feet and pull my sunglasses over my eyes. Five more stops to LA. See you at The Greek.
It’s like a game of Russian Roulette. I’m holding the gun to my own head, the back of my neck drips with sweat. The adrenaline boils my blood, generating a similar charge to the one that haunts me…that I will never forget. Click, click, click – is there even a bullet in this gun? My pseudo confidence rising with the boldness of the game. With no repercussions, it feels entirely flat.
I sit in my car animating my reality with this internal debate. A large sigh still not enough to relieve the tension in my chest. My teeth are stained purple from the wine. Generally, the numbness is familiar. I bait whatever comes within reach and agitate it repetitively until I get some kind of response. Until I can feel something. The response, whether good or bad, still never enough to satiate whatever desire is rooted within. I am not sure I can even delineate what it is I am looking for at this point. The efforts of navigating to a better understanding completely depleted, long gone. Instead, I pick and scratch, poke and drag. Let it bleed.
I almost call. I call three others in an effort to stanch the internal plea. Every effort falling short, a third degree burn scarred into my psyche, a unnerving piece of me. I silently scheme, knowing it is nothing but some delusional dream.
Mundane monotony will continue to drown me and I will continue to scream. The water suffocating the sound, the breeze running away with what is left of it. My throat bloody and hoarse, its efforts unnoticed, without doubt. So, the days will blend and time will slip away. My voice two octaves too high, eyes with no light overlooked by every passerby. Flat-lining through this life, knowing all too well that it will all be over soon.
I wade in my own syrupy pool of misery and magic. Internal crises externally exposed, a wolf howling a painful, charged moan. The full moon charges her and there she goes – off the edge of the world and yet, somehow she floats. Careful not to let her drag you in, deep and drowning away you’ll go…
Soul seeking, pulsing and seething – where the desire stems, you’ll likely never know. Raw and uncut, most will claim a selfish intent. However, as her wild heart unravels they will relent. Exposed and flailing, a sight to be seen. How they’ll all talk as if they were so keen.
Dancing and swaying, free as can be. Your eyes may watch, but the film between our lenses diminishes the scene. Distorted beneath my own moonlight, I’ll twirl away the sight. Unburdened, unbridled and wild as can be. Honey, you better run while you can, before I sink in my teeth.