There’s a breathless sort of feeling encompassing me that smacks of changes coming. Cryptic phone messages, correspondence sitting long overdue, phone calls I should have made. Lists and lists of things I should have done already, lying all about. The walls are closing in, the days where I just don’t care, where the tenacious clawing that is a staple of the living is absent, are coming one after the other. And I’m struggling not to turn to outside means to escape. I sit in the dark and turn the music up and smile when the beat takes up residence in my sternum, shaking each rib one by one. Where I can count on the music to take over for my heart that should be beating, but finds itself reluctant to continue such a monotonous rhythm.
I’m taking advantage of a small space of time where I have no one looking at me. Carefully cataloguing my every move. Expecting things of me that I am convinced I can never give. And I waste it sitting here, writing this. And over and above the chaos of whatever is coming, over the deafening music, over the roaring white noise that is my consciousness, over the vigilant solitude are thoughts of people. Nagging emotional ties, that pull and stretch and consume.
I’m finding myself learning the other side of emotions I had never thought to know. Because each emotion has always had two sides to me:
My brain is a prism and each occurrence just another refracted frequency of light. The music is no longer loud enough.