Thoughts linger. They evolve. Float away. For a time being, stagnant and unmoving. I wonder and wander. Swimming through all the memories and feelings. I feel some fade, some become clear. They reach out to me and I avoid. I touch them. I find them. I dig and sort. It's a struggle at times, they seem to grow and fade into each other. They relate and come together, magnetized by illusions unclear. I string the space in between. I weave and knit and crotchet. I grow anxious, tired. I give up. I swim. I float on my back and I look up at the sky, watching clouds. I see the stars and the possibilities. I see the comets light up the sky, thoughts bursting into flames before my eyes, a delight in the cruelty. I hear other's words echo clear through all the work I have done. It cuts strings and pools into a thick cloud of mud. It clouds the other beautiful thoughts. I breathe in and out. I find the wonderful memories. The bad ones come in. They seek me immediately. There's been a shift and they find me. Aimed like an arrow, ready to pierce through me. I close my eyes and you find me. You are there, always. In my subconscious. I dream of you, you don't speak to me today. You just watch me. You make small noises of pleasure in your Adam's apple, reverberating sound that sends shivers up my spine. I try to get you to speak. You smile and close your eyes, enjoying my lips softly on your ear lobes. I ask you to follow me and you do. Other's look on and I know their thoughts without them acknowledging you are there. I wonder if they can see you, too? Is it just an illusion of what I once had lost? It's never truly felt the same. To find something that you had been missing all your life. It just felt complete. Even after you left. Because I never felt like you left. Just physically. You linger and I wonder why now?
I wake up in a trance. I want to know why today? I feel glued to my bed. Weighted down by the thoughts swimming around. I gave up my family. I gave up my goals. I gave up my time. I gave up myself. I move without realizing. I have come so far. You can't take me away from me. You can visit. But, you are not here to derail me. If you are, then nice try, bud.
I'm finally awake. I'm in a pose. I realize I have spent at least 20 minutes inside my head and my body has been moving, but it was on auto pilot. I haven't been present. I wonder how long it would have taken me to move if I didn't just do it. I hear it. The voice. The one I tried so hard to squash. The voice that grew like a disease. Thick and gruesome. Nit picky. Hateful. That bitch. That bitchy voice that says, what if they are right? Ya know what? You want to know what thoughts I've kept to myself that don't need to be said? HERE THEY ARE.
Fuck!
I should just never say them, still. It doesn't matter. Fine. You're right. I am growing. I am learning. I try to communicate as best as I can. I keep thinking about all the statistics about people who endure so much trauma and how it leads them to madness and I get that, too. The madness that grows between thoughts, because when you live with evil, it consumes you. Whether you are a kind person or not. It's a bathtub filled to the brim. It invites you in. Don't. Get. In. The. Bathtub. It's not worth the tar. I touch my neck. I remember the silence. The thickening. The lock and key on the beautiful blue light that can come from letting it out. I remember the burst and it was.... It just was.
I look it up. I read about it. I almost send it as a note. But, no. I cannot help if someone else doesn't understand me. I think about Hannah and I realize, not everyone has a Clay by their side. Not everyone has someone who is always in their corner. Who occasionally, says the wrong fucking thing. I've been here before. I just have to meet it with certainty. No other type is more self aware. I get it. I relate. Sometimes, those thoughts should be kept to myself. I should write more, I note. I should spread my thoughts out like peanut butter. Some people are allergic. Or they just hate it. That's fine. I know someone who doesn't mind how thick the layer is-to a point. I found out the point. I really can't decide how horrible I am at shutting up when I don't get enough time to speak. I just let it spill out like a faucet. It dribbles from all corners. I wait and hear the silence. So I spill more and more. IS it my fault that he forgot how to speak up? Is it just a combination of things? I am just speaking too much AND he is afraid to speak? Whos fault can that be in the end? I guess mine. I just let it be mine. I'm not ready I'm not ready I'm not ready I'm not ready...
I shake it out of my head. It's not worth fighting about. It's not worth fighting myself about. I know it. I feel it. I know it and feel it. It's a part of me that I ignored because I just needed to write. And I haven't been. There's threads that need to be sewn using letters of various shapes. I take the needle and thread. I start. I begin. I just start. Over again.
I tell myself. I am open. I tell myself. I am true. I tell myself. It's okay. I speak it. I am not ready for you to say something like that today. I cannot be that for you today. People are so one sided. So single dimensional. It doesn't fit into their narrative that I can be more than one thing. I've lived a thousand lives. I've experienced a thousand lifetimes. I think of all the depictions of my type in films. Books. Music. It is all in how you interpret it. I think about all the ways that I find myself in a box. People put me there and expect me to be there when they come back. No. I am not these things you have established for me. I cannot explain how I am not. I'm just being nice to you. That doesn't mean I am only these things. I'm a thousand boxes. I cannot tell you where you'll find me next. Sometimes you don't.
I told myself. I said I was here. I said you could find me. I said I was okay. I said I learned my lessons. I said I was ready. I wait. But, I refuse to wait in one place. Find me moving or find me dead.
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