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102523
It lurks, in the back of my head—it does not matter where I am, or what I am doing, it has given me such a lack of shock on the chaotic reality of my surroundings. It is partially a conscious act, doing my best to will it away when it comes knocking at the world around me’s inconvenience. I do suppose it shows I’m listening, as the mundane sends vibrations throughout my body with the process of LAUGHTER. What a blessing it is to be easily amused, periods of anhedonia from pharmaceuticals & general substance abuse took vitality away, without oil to lather the cogwheels that kept my mind thinking.
A life without thought—the embodiment of a draught to an organism’s vessel. When all was collapsing in on itself, even while I desperately grasped at any task in a desperate act of trying to organize my fragmented & abused mind… I had never stopped thinking. All the scenarios in my head were worse than anything that could be said. A childhood of isolation & neglect, I wonder if my Mother is aware of the darkness she had allowed in with every strange individual who came through the front door…
It’s lurking. Fear tingles through my traps & down my throbbing rhomboids, wrapping around my ribcage, saying a soft hello to my lats. Could nobody see how my wings have been clipped? Would nobody even care? Wouldn’t that be absolutely lovely?
I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It has been ran through, misunderstood, discombobulated into nonsensical new worlds—it barely makes sense to me, why would I ever wish another human being to attempt to try? I would not even trust a doctor with what has found refuge in my mind, it is an astronomical feat to request one to enter the war zone that I am burdened with while we are already living in a period of immense civil unrest as it is.
—It could always be worse, that is the motto, isn’t it? How else could I hold my head up high with the knowledge of what I have done? They still see it in my eyes, but God I am lucky to be alive, to have who I am intact. They cannot take that away from me, even if they tried, even as they had tried. I won’t let them in through the front door again.
The fearful ache goes back up from the bottom of my lats, toward my rhomboids to find itself back to my trapezoids. The stagnation of unprocessed emotion is blood clots beneath the flesh, a constant reminder to never slump over for I am alive. Left hand behind me, caressing the canal of my spine sculpted by back muscle, to remember that I am not the dead. I will not be a ghoul getting up in the morning for the rat race. I keep my spine straight to reduce the chance of being a target—a victim is the greatest victim-blamer, we cannot help believing we got abuse that was due.
As I feel the blood in my veins run cold from the sleeping that I don’t do, the lack of eating that I choose, & the psychoactive drugs that I constantly consume—it lurks. The future creeping up behind my eyes, flickers of deception encoding the truth to reality.
What does it mean if one could see the inside of things? Inside of a human being? All of this power we possess, does the price tag match what we get? All of this pain I carry compartmentalized to the parts of my brain that have been locked away for rainy days, was it all some kind of fever dream? What did the gaslighting do to my will?
The chills of fall carry the energy of the fallen. It lurks. The leaves falling before me, all have a meaning. Their stories are encoded, just as ours is. In my mind’s eye, I put the tips of my thumb & index finger together to unzip myself from my thorax up to the top of my head, to turn myself inside out to read the transcripts hiding within my flesh and blood.