(song lyrics from “Hercules” by Sara Barielles)
My brain swims.
My favorite pajama pants are gray with tiny white owls covering them. My favorite sweatshirt has my school logo on it. My favorite blanket is teal and fuzzy amazingly soft. My favorite pillow is shaped like a panda. I hide in these things, in my bed. Night time, my old friend. My iPod plays.
I miss the days my mind would just rest quiet. My imagination hadn’t turned on me yet. I used to let my words wax poetic, but it melted a puddle at my feet now. It is a calcifying crime, it’s tragic. I’ve turned to petrified past life baggage. I want to disappear and just start over. So here we are.
My skin is crawling. I can feel it on every inch of me, the cold touch. I can feel the weight of it. I don’t know how to let go. Not completely. It follows me, in my thoughts, in my dreams. And when I do let go, when I forget, or when I realize I’ve forgotten, it bowls me over. Sometimes I don’t sleep. I write, I read, I hide under the covers. I sit in the dark and ponder how it matches my heart. Dark. Because something is missing. They’re missing. I can’t have them back. What I’ve lost, I can’t replace.
I need clarity.
I’ve lost a grip on where I started from. I wish I’d thought ahead and left a few crumbs. I’m on the hunt for who I’ve not yet become, but I’d settle for a little equilibrium.
I’m losing my grip; I’m tired of having to hide. I wouldn’t change my decisions. Not one of them. I did what needed to be done. But that doesn’t mean it feels good. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck and feel crappy. I’ve heard that it’s okay to feel crappy. It doesn’t feel okay. Not at all. Not one bit. There is no guidebook. There is no one magical answer that will make it better. I want to be a person that I can’t be. A person untouched. Unruined. I’m tired of having someone to hash this through with. I’m tired of isolation, but I can’t escape it.
There is a war inside my heart gone silent; both sides dissatisfied and somewhat violent. The issue I have now begun to see, I am the only lonely casualty.
I feel like I’m ripping myself in two. Like the rational part of me is duking it out with the emotional part of me for who will control the spoils. Because I’m too quick to jump to emotion. I’m too quick to knock myself. I’m too quick to forget the good things. That I agreed to do a group project. That I made a new friend. That I realized I was too strong to be used. That I didn’t totally fall apart. These things aren’t important. What’s important is that I cried. That I broke. That I let it all get to be too much. That I wasn’t strong, in that moment, in that moment when it hurt. That I let it hurt.
This is not the end though, ‘cause I have sent for a warrior from on my knees, make me a Hercules. I was meant to be a warrior, please, make me a Hercules.
What I want, more than anything, is to be a warrior. To be strong. I don’t want to quit. Don’t let me quit. Please. God. Don’t let me quit. I have worked too hard for that. Too hard to not be strong. Too hard to let this go.
Give me clarity.