Let me pen this down quickly, now is not the time for math, it is the chance to be your own scribe.
Remember!
Remember your head in your hands,
Hang on now, it will get rough.
Remember the 9 am mornings, yes, waking up after mommy and daddy left,
yes, greeted by coos and cockle-doodle-doos
then silence, anguish, silent daggers in my heart. Exaggerating yes, but still painful. This residue pain, keeps, keeps creeping back. Oh it is the shame, no, the lack of confidence.
Oh those were days I awoke with absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing to do. Twiddle my thumbs, run my hands through my hair, wash away my pain and my stained cheeks.
Vulnerable,
like a boy.
a boy, so small, so weak, so helpless.
Alienated, isolated. Pushed everyone away, felt safe alone. Did not feel safe outside.
"Momma, I don't wanna go to church today"
"why"
"well.. let me get better first,"
She couldn't see my pain entirely. Saw it as an excuse, made up by a naughty little boy.
Like a dog whose tail was tucked tightly between his hind legs, pathetic, pitiful, demanding sympathy.
Like a dog, I cower before the monster that I fear.
"Don't hurt me," - I do not say this, but my eyes scream futility.
Distractions, games, distraction, food, distractions, naps.
Fourteen - stuck in a cycle, haze, blurry, without distinction.
Sometimes I went back to camp. Those were the worst days. Queue up, write my name, wait in line, watch daytime, all the while seeing sick folk and beaming medics. A nice quiet there. I took naps, hours of naps.
"Doctor, Sir, I don't feel too good, still."
"I... I just can't shake this feeling."
"Hey, you.. still have your parents right?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't do anything like that."
I'm gonna do this for you, I want you to get better. Go on, do whatever it takes.
Give me some time off, I can come back and do it again.
I'm afraid that's not possible.
I need to get out of this place to heal.
I'm afraid that's not possible.
How will this affect me?
I'm afraid it might, even in the future.
Are you still taking your meds?
Yeah, but I stopped taking the ones that make me sleepy. They, all they do is make me sleepy. I don't like em'. They just make me sleepy, then the pain comes back tomorrow, and the haze begins again. The cycle kills me, Sir, it does.
Months on end.
Started on that road, those tessellations. Neat little bricks, lined up together, serving a single purpose.
"Could you sing, for me? I can't do it right now, I just can't."
You alright? I'm fine, I just can't, right now.
"Please help me, I don't..."
Cut off, seized, face swollen, can't speak. Cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot move, body in shock. I do not notice that I am still breathing, only too fast - they call this hyperventilating. I did not know this at the time.
Heart attack! I'm having a heart attack! I'm dying! I'm dying!
I can't, I can't anymore.
Black and white, black and white.
Eyes blurry from the tears, my swollen face. Eyes squinting, heart beating.
"You need to take a deep breath okay? There's is nothing wrong with you, it is just a panic attack.
What is your name?
You are a smart boy.
So listen to me, and follow my instructions.
Breathe.
just
breathe
"All of me, loves all of you"
"that's beautiful, man. Thank you."
"Yeah, that's John Legend."
I laughed. That felt nice.
Like the aunty who sat next to me and told me everything would be alright.
The shaking stopped, eventually. But I was spread out on that mobile bed for a long time. They left me there alone, so I didn't know what to do.
Got up, slipped on my boots, sat down. I wasn't right. I didn't know what I was. Then they told me they were sending me away.
Sat next to me was a contemporary of mine, almost as clueless as I was. We exchanged smiles, but I knew he was so very far away from me. Now the memories start to clump together, I made several trips, grew familiar with places, but not with the demons that plagued me.
Searched the internet, got bits and pieces, came away with the 'lesson' that this would not be permanent if I made conscious work of it. Keep working away at it, they said,
"You a religious man?"
"Yeah."
"So pray to your god."
I did. I shouted into the void. I could've made something up, like before. I could've told myself that I was going to make a miraculous recovery. my god, my god.
But I only heard echoes of my own voice. I lifted my hands, looked out for the words that would make me feel better.
'It's all going to be okay, son.'
Nothing happened, nothing changed.
Still, so very
Alone.
what crippled me the most was the shame. it still does. it still stretches to this day, and mocks me.
"I'm sorry but I can't take it, you're pushing me off the edge. I can't take it, I'm sorry."
Breaking out, broke out,
looked for my pill, my calming sleepy pill. Pushed right off the edge, no more turning back.
so much shame. I tried, i did.
maybe not enough, but i struggle to lay the blame on that boy.
It really was much harder.
Waking up everyday, living on temporary grace. Living by myself. It was all hard. Not as hard as what others face every single day, but it was still painful for me.
Hands cradled my own head, toss and turn, slam my fist down, hopeless and alone.
hopeless and alone.
Remember!
Remember your head in your hands,
Hang on now, it will get rough.
Remember the 9 am mornings, yes, waking up after mommy and daddy left,
yes, greeted by coos and cockle-doodle-doos
then silence, anguish, silent daggers in my heart. Exaggerating yes, but still painful. This residue pain, keeps, keeps creeping back. Oh it is the shame, no, the lack of confidence.
Oh those were days I awoke with absolutely nothing, absolutely nothing to do. Twiddle my thumbs, run my hands through my hair, wash away my pain and my stained cheeks.
Vulnerable,
like a boy.
a boy, so small, so weak, so helpless.
Alienated, isolated. Pushed everyone away, felt safe alone. Did not feel safe outside.
"Momma, I don't wanna go to church today"
"why"
"well.. let me get better first,"
She couldn't see my pain entirely. Saw it as an excuse, made up by a naughty little boy.
Like a dog whose tail was tucked tightly between his hind legs, pathetic, pitiful, demanding sympathy.
Like a dog, I cower before the monster that I fear.
"Don't hurt me," - I do not say this, but my eyes scream futility.
Distractions, games, distraction, food, distractions, naps.
Fourteen - stuck in a cycle, haze, blurry, without distinction.
Sometimes I went back to camp. Those were the worst days. Queue up, write my name, wait in line, watch daytime, all the while seeing sick folk and beaming medics. A nice quiet there. I took naps, hours of naps.
"Doctor, Sir, I don't feel too good, still."
"I... I just can't shake this feeling."
"Hey, you.. still have your parents right?"
"Yeah, I wouldn't do anything like that."
I'm gonna do this for you, I want you to get better. Go on, do whatever it takes.
Give me some time off, I can come back and do it again.
I'm afraid that's not possible.
I need to get out of this place to heal.
I'm afraid that's not possible.
How will this affect me?
I'm afraid it might, even in the future.
Are you still taking your meds?
Yeah, but I stopped taking the ones that make me sleepy. They, all they do is make me sleepy. I don't like em'. They just make me sleepy, then the pain comes back tomorrow, and the haze begins again. The cycle kills me, Sir, it does.
Months on end.
Started on that road, those tessellations. Neat little bricks, lined up together, serving a single purpose.
"Could you sing, for me? I can't do it right now, I just can't."
You alright? I'm fine, I just can't, right now.
"Please help me, I don't..."
Cut off, seized, face swollen, can't speak. Cannot breathe, cannot breathe, cannot move, body in shock. I do not notice that I am still breathing, only too fast - they call this hyperventilating. I did not know this at the time.
Heart attack! I'm having a heart attack! I'm dying! I'm dying!
I can't, I can't anymore.
Black and white, black and white.
Eyes blurry from the tears, my swollen face. Eyes squinting, heart beating.
"You need to take a deep breath okay? There's is nothing wrong with you, it is just a panic attack.
What is your name?
You are a smart boy.
So listen to me, and follow my instructions.
Breathe.
just
breathe
"All of me, loves all of you"
"that's beautiful, man. Thank you."
"Yeah, that's John Legend."
I laughed. That felt nice.
Like the aunty who sat next to me and told me everything would be alright.
The shaking stopped, eventually. But I was spread out on that mobile bed for a long time. They left me there alone, so I didn't know what to do.
Got up, slipped on my boots, sat down. I wasn't right. I didn't know what I was. Then they told me they were sending me away.
Sat next to me was a contemporary of mine, almost as clueless as I was. We exchanged smiles, but I knew he was so very far away from me. Now the memories start to clump together, I made several trips, grew familiar with places, but not with the demons that plagued me.
Searched the internet, got bits and pieces, came away with the 'lesson' that this would not be permanent if I made conscious work of it. Keep working away at it, they said,
"You a religious man?"
"Yeah."
"So pray to your god."
I did. I shouted into the void. I could've made something up, like before. I could've told myself that I was going to make a miraculous recovery. my god, my god.
But I only heard echoes of my own voice. I lifted my hands, looked out for the words that would make me feel better.
'It's all going to be okay, son.'
Nothing happened, nothing changed.
Still, so very
Alone.
what crippled me the most was the shame. it still does. it still stretches to this day, and mocks me.
"I'm sorry but I can't take it, you're pushing me off the edge. I can't take it, I'm sorry."
Breaking out, broke out,
looked for my pill, my calming sleepy pill. Pushed right off the edge, no more turning back.
so much shame. I tried, i did.
maybe not enough, but i struggle to lay the blame on that boy.
It really was much harder.
Waking up everyday, living on temporary grace. Living by myself. It was all hard. Not as hard as what others face every single day, but it was still painful for me.
Hands cradled my own head, toss and turn, slam my fist down, hopeless and alone.
hopeless and alone.
Comments
Post a Comment