Actually, I think the restless energy is trying to escape something else

Written 9/24/21

I'm here in a city now, in my little bedroom with my laptop, wearing my partner's hoodie, and the city didn't fix me. The music didn't fix me, what almost freed me held my lungs too tight and now I am coughing, dizzy-head-spinning and realizing that's the only thing I have left to escape.

i don't know how I got here 

i don't know how to get back

I speak evenly, I turn my head when I cry, the red on my cheeks is
just the acne medication but inside

I am shaking and my hands are shaking and
my eyes unfocus and why can I see my glasses I
usually don't see my glasses but my brain is seeing and
my skin is feeling and there are things
touching me and I want them
gone I want them to stop and I
shut my eyes and cover my ears and I
breathe and I cry and maybe 

it passes
I open my teary eyes
The sandcastle of my body is crumbling but
The sand is still there
I have some water and patch it back together

You're invited

You're invited to a hibernation party! 

December 1st, 2020 at my place. Everyone is invited. No RSVP necessary. Wear pajamas.

It's dark out. I'm wearing a sweater and jeans and listening to music that I stopped paying attention to a few ad breaks ago. I put my hands under my shirt and press my fingers against my bare stomach to warm them.

I look at my reflection in the darkened window. My idle thoughts ask why I'm here. 

I don't get a break from the worry, or the dread, or the fear of the days to come. I hold my breath for a second; my reflection blurs as I stare at it. 

My hands are cold. 

I take a breath.

That's what it was like: weeks of holding my breath until I remembered that I still needed oxygen, and staring while the world around me blurred, and trying not to feel the numbness spreading inward from my cold fingertips. 

My thoughts ask again: What are you doing here? 

I have an answer that I can't put into words. I pretend I don't hear when they tell me it isn't good enough. I am here whether they like it or not, whether I like it or not, because I don't know where I stop and they begin. Can I draw a line? 

Bring a snack if you can, nonperishable. We'll want them when we wake up. 

When? 

When I have feeling back in my hands again.

Nothing is real, but I think it's a Sunday

Written 10/9/20

It rained today. 

The world gets quieter and emptier when it rains. I drove myself to class in silence this morning. I thought about the rain instead of listening to music. Everything feels shifted, and I blame that on the fact that I'm the only person as far as I can see. I feel a little bit transparent. 

I step out onto the wet pavement and see no one on the sidewalks. The calendar says I'm supposed to be here, but my head is telling me I'm wrong. It's too empty here.

Isn't it Sunday? Isn't it the weekend? 

I had classes yesterday. It can't be. 

I am at the right school. I parked in the same place I always do. There's no other building I could be walking to. I feel lost.

I ask myself if I'm forgetting something. I'm not.

I lock my car anyway, swing my backpack onto my shoulders. I cut through the grass instead of taking the sidewalk and feel the wet grass soak into my shoes. While I'm walking, I have to check the date again, just to make sure that I'm not in the wrong place.

I sit through my class. We finish the movie we've been watching, and my professor lets us out fifteen minutes early. The world is just as empty as I walk back through the drizzle.

Isn't it Sunday?

I check my phone. It isn't Sunday. That changes exactly nothing.

No Stars

Written 9/3/20

How do your nights go?

Do you spend them staring at the darkness between your eyes and the ceiling like me?

I can't say I recommend it. It's one of those things: if you've never tried it, don't start. Think in the light instead.

Some people think you're never alone in the dark, but if you can't see it, is it there? Are you always alone in the dark until proven otherwise? In my bedroom there are no stars, and I am the only person in the universe.

Clap your hands if you believe in Lanie, the one behind the pen, always alone in the dark. She'll sleep. But Tinker Bell nearly died when children forgot her. I wonder if that would be me someday.

(P.S. I'm alright. I just get existential at night.)

Reality is Never So Peaceful

previous part

We've finished imagining. Stay in my head long enough, and you'll encounter worse than blackberry thorns. I say that as though I'm not about to look into my head again and write about thorny things with no fruit.

I'd like to cancel my subscription to life, thanks. I've given it a good shot, but I feel like it's not quite worth it. I was doing just fine without life in my— wait.

That's metaphor of course, because life isn't a subscription service and you can't just uncheck the little box so they'll stop sending so many damn emails and leave you alone. You're getting the messages whether you like them or not.

The world sucks! This year is especially bad, but 2020 is only a number that we can't blame for anything. I think this was just the next step that we were going to have to take eventually. I think that somewhere under the fire good things are happening, but I'm very afraid that we'll emerge from the flames unchanged, bandage the burns and brush away the ashes and tape it all into a box with "2020 - do not open" written on the side. The number isn't the problem; we are.

Things are bad, and I hear from every direction that I have power to fix them. I do not know what to do. But do I? I might. What am I waiting for? Fear makes me hesitant, and hesitance makes me feel guilty, and guilt makes me hate the world even more. I cannot, in good conscience, ignore current events because the people who aren't dying are being stupid and Black lives matter and queer people deserve rights and the Earth is suffering. This world isn’t very good for anyone, when you get down to it.

I am overwhelmed and tired! I want the easy solution that doesn't exist. Until we come up with the next best thing, we all get varying degrees of suffering. As far as suffering goes, mine isn't so bad. I can handle being alive and upset in my own home. It's not about me, but I am human and selfish, so the story can't be about anyone else.

"Are you sure you want to unsubscribe from all future communications?"

I am almost sure. Then I hesitate and decide that I am not.

I keep my subscription to society. I keep watching for the thorns to bloom and grow berries.

Morning

previous part

You can decide how the weather shifts overnight. In the morning, you find a blackberry vine.

You could wake up chilled. The clouds have thinned, but they still conceal the sun behind them. The air is warming, but you shiver. You pick a blackberry, cool and wet with last night's rain. It's mostly ripened except for a patch of purple one one side. You put it into your mouth, and tart berry juice mixes with rainwater and runs down your throat. It stings a bit, but it tastes good. The next one is sweeter.

You might wake up warm. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. The heat and humidity are nearly unbearable, but you discover the blackberry vine growing in the sun before you retreat into the forest. You choose a berry that falls off in your hand. It is soft and warm, and you think for a second that it tastes like sunshine, before you remember the real sun beating down on your face.

You pick berries until you can't find any ripe ones. The vines don't let their fruit go easily. They catch your hands and arms with thorns, leaving behind stinging scratches as a warning that you choose to ignore. You stop, finally, take a breath and absentmindedly pull a blackberry thorn from your hand.

The pain startles you. A trickle of blood starts to flow down your hand, and as you move your other hand to stop it, you forget where you are. You open your eyes.

The thorn is still there. The blackberries aren't.

part 3

Close your eyes

Imagine for a second:

It's a summer evening. You find yourself in a forest clearing. The air is still, warm, and heavy with humidity. Thick clouds cover the sky, and if you stand still enough, you might notice a raindrop on your face.

Close your eyes. The last hint of sunset has disappeared from the sky. It's dark in the shadow of the trees, but here there will be enough light to see for a while longer.

You step into the wet grass, and it sticks to your feet. You reach for a green leaf laden with water droplets that roll down onto your hand when you touch it.

You breathe in the smell of the rain, listen to the rhythm it makes on the leaves. No other sound interrupts it. The world is quiet.

Now stay there. Drink rainwater from your cupped hands; sleep in the grass until the sun rises. Don't open your eyes again, because when you do, you'll remember that reality is never so peaceful.

Part 2