Sounds get stuck on my tongue
A few words waiting to be said
Waiting for some truth
As the stress mounts
Real sets in
Unsexiest of worries
About money reel and hopeful
What was can seldom be
Unless perfect storm and
All boats rise with prosperity
But so do they in calamity
And mindless ramblings for wars of desire combat against what’s possible
Until emergency depletes and scramble for purchase on dirt
Hard packed with indifference
Easy to live without the cost of living
Scramble for a place makes mock of all
Until only the memories stand sentinel
Around broken forms
After the fall
Kiss me sleeping
Heat and blinking
Insomnia and anxiety team up
Hope watching you sleep isn’t creepy
Too tired to close my eyes
Dreading the coming day
Freight train approaches
Standing on the tracks
No certainty but uncertainty
Looking towards that future
Wondering what’s next
A fish out of water
In a new pond
But too much
Becomes toxic shock
And no one notices until you’re gone
Seeing what happens
When the air gets thin
If a new lake will make things better
And sitting here awake
Too tired for dreaming
Hoping to see
To real-ize a future
Where being stuck won’t pass for
No one mourns the spider
Trapped by its own prison
Each change a shiver
Waking for maybes
For might haves
The next and the next
Waking from dreams
To find new responsibilities
Drowning bit by bit
Give me a minute to think
Just a minute to breathe
This thought that a minute to think will sort things
While my mind stays empty
Except for the algorithmic upward trend of my heartbeat
Feeling the fight or flight response filling my limbs
Washing in like a tide of seaweed
Choking off access
The walls falling into place
Locked behind the steel
While outside adrenaline rages and barely held in check
I wait out the anxiety
This rising blood tide instead settles to this new normal
Fighting to tread water
Glimpsing the seabed
And the shore
And knowing how to reach neither
Only the sure knowledge of of how to drown
And the sure knowledge
… It’s coming
And then, all hopes die
I take false breathes
Each one declaring itself to be perfect
treacherous heart beats loudly
Screaming to be set free
snap lightning synapse
Flashfire to eyes
Buried in tears
Hopes drown in a sea of tomorrow
Sitting awake meaning to sleep
But I just sit here eyes closed
Thinking about tomorrow
But mostly I can’t sleep when I have things to say
It all pents up
Flowing out in this nervous energy
Keeps me awake
Keeps my mind churning
Over and over
Not exactly the best trait
To sometimes feel like you’re walking on spiky rocks
Needing to talk
And all that comes out is
“hey, 😁, good morning!”
Serious and happy
This is what I mean when I say
“I’m too much”
Too many things
Stupid things like
“I like you.” said too much
Words bubble out of my effervescent heart
It’s no wonder nothing lasts
Who could stand up to the onslaught of my feelings
And now we reach the heart of it
An anxiety attack that builds slowly
Reading, games, TV, kitties
Anything to not think
To not word vomit my heart out
That’s all that works
Other than being held
I woke from a nightmare.
I was in my childhood home. In it, there was a man who lived with his parents. He was both me and not me. Like I was riding in his head and knew what he was going to say but I couldn’t make any decisions.
He lived in the house and it was just him living his life. The whole time there was a vague unease. Like everything and everyone was subtley off. It seemed that this man’s parents flinched from him. Everyone he met seemed to interact kindly to him but all with a vague air of fear almost. And I feel it too. This vague pressing sense of dread fills every action, look or words.
He took his parents out for a drive. And he told them he wanted to show them a house he was going to buy. The father was in real estate and he knew there were no houses in the area up for sale and their fear ratcheted up. He told them not to worry, that he knows of a house about to be available.
He turns a corner in a street in my childhood neighborhood. And points out a large grey house. 2 stories with a covered carport. There are a couple of cars out front and a woman gets out of one. She is crying and has a bundle of red roses in her hand.
Someone from the house meets her on the driveway and they hold each other and cry. There are no ‘for sale’ signs on the house or any indication that it is or will be up for sale. It hits me and the parents at the same time. The only way to know that this house will be for sale soon is to arrange it. This guy who is me and not me has killed whomever is in the house. I’m shocked and incredulous. The parents are scared and less shocked. More resigned. Like this was something that they were hoping wouldn’t happen Again. Like they have been living with this secret monster for years. They drive home.
Then there is one of those jump cuts and the man who is me and not me is talking to someone on his porch. The parents are there but they seem like caricatures. I am no longer in the guys head. I’m watching in the third person and also feel trapped.
The guy who looks like me invites the guy in. He feeds him and paralyzes him. Informing him that his meal was his last guest and did he enjoy it. The parents seem to waver then like they aren’t there. Like I’m in this me/not me’s mind and he sees the parents but they aren’t really there.
He invites in people and kills over and over again. And I’m trapped watching him. I can’t wake up. One of his victims gets away. I, somehow, am then seeing through the victims eyes. I nudge the person to certain places in the house. Places he can barricade. Me/not me hunts him. And victim/me starts to panic. We close a door but it won’t latch and we put a small metal step ladder in front of a door, under the handle but the serial killer hits the door in such a way that it pops it open. We slam the door shut on his hand and he howls in agony. The victim opens the door and pulls the killer halfway in. He pounds the killers skull in with the door pinching the skull like semi hard candy until a part of it breaks away and there is a little boy version of me/not me. There is also a apparition of this person’s mother who talks to the boy. Telling him what to do.
I/victim run and we get away. As we run I, but not the victim, hear the ghost mother telling the boy to eat up. That he needs to heal and eating this brain (his adult brain) will heal him. Like he’s some kind of immortal monster trapped in some pocket dimension reliving his life and death over and over again.
The victim gets far enough away and I wake. Heart pounding. Full blown panic attack. From a nightmare.
Sometimes everything I’ve ever lost comes crashing down and I’m left with this hard physical pain in my heart. It’s not a heart attack. My heart is literally breaking. I wake up from a dead sleep crying with this overwhelming feeling that someone I love is gone and I frantically check to make sure that they are alive and then I realize that it’s her. Morgan. My Morrigan. She’s who is gone. It’s like losing her all over again, but there’s a calming effect too. One that I think I should feel guilty about but only because I don’t. Because, if the feeling is my Morgan being dead, that means it’s not some awful premonition of someone I love, who was just alive, now being dead.
It’s possible it’s an anxiety attack. I tend to only get them when I sleep. The trigger is generally some feeling I’ve been dealing with in the waking world come spilling out past all my defenses.
This happens all the time. I get to the point where I find hope to be pointless. Something gives me my hope back only to shortly thereafter crush it like a bug on a windshield. Like the universe is one massive simulation and I drew the short straw. I don’t know why the moment that I am free and happy something beautiful happens, something beautiful that always falters and leaves me broken in its wake.
I heal faster these days. I learn. I progress. But, I still wish someone would stay. Would embrace me as I embrace them.
So much seems to hinge on circumstance. The turn of a phrase or an action. A misplaced step or a perfectly balanced step. More and more I see the limits of what may be possible as the disadvantage of not being impulsive or not being secure enough financially to take an action or not have enough faith in my abilities to land on my feet. Because, if I did, I would have flown to her when she got hurt. It might not have made a difference but we would know.
Or I would have moved to Texas where, it seems, there is a nexus of my tribe. And that could be a miracle or a folly. But I can’t know at this distance.
Or maybe that’s all delusion and I’m just wonderful words on a screen and in person it would be disaster. But I don’t know, because I can’t think to take any kind of step to bring me to them. Is it prudence or cowardice? Am I so bound in secondary rules that I can’t even go without a strong reason or a invitation?
Or are they just dreams that on seeing we’d all wake up from. I wish I could tell you.