Writing

The Inner Workings of a Placeholder

Tumult. Tears. Tribulation.

Can I make it to see 22? Burden buried deep in the chest, please just give me a moment to rest. Love in the cosmos, twirling in the starry universe. Kissing, and a fluttering heart. I have felt love, and what magnificence! Do you know how it feels to feel euphoria in your fingers? It feels quite euphoric, I suppose. The kind of euphoria that packs up its belongings and drives away. Through the mountains, through the valleys of green, drives away to curl up. I did not think about why I shouldn’t drive away, but rather how I couldn’t stay in this place.

Grandeur turns into vile disgust when a person tries to get in your way, and they might as well have gotten in my way when they couldn’t feel my euphoria. What a drag, people with stable moods. Wide-eyed and gawking, they shout “get down from there, you’ll hurt yourself,” and don’t listen when you tell them you’re fine. I was not fine. Lying in the bedroom closet of my shabby Portland abode, I was not fine, and I was seeing footprints move across the ceiling.  Jot down the suicide hotline for safekeeping, I wonder if I could call them just to talk? No, that would be silly, and they would most certainly not understand. Understand what? Understand what it feels like to FEEL. FEEL the beauty of the ice cubes in a glass of water, evaporated drops sliding slowly down the glass. FEEL the suffering of a silent old woman sitting cross-legged on the subway with an invisible tragedy on her face. FEEL the song of the mountain range, singing to me that the moment is fading, nothing is forever. FEEL the fear of the madness taking over my brain, a madness that does not delude, but let’s me witness what pain a delusion can cause. I am sane. I am not fine.

Ambition. Aptitude. Ardor.

A world of uncertainty can be replaced by the illusionary construct of a direction. I know where I am going. To school I am going, with a spot on the Dean’s list,  a to-do list, a list for how-to study, a list for how-to-do everything. Lists are a paper trail on a road that was never built, never traveled, never conceptualized. Books! Books! BOOKS! 15 hours a day, 18 hours a day! Books lay next to my moleskin, patiently waiting for me to finish transcribing its contents by pen. Eagle-eyes with intention, devouring words to satiate the brain. What nonsense, I do not have enough time in the day! My body is feeble from so much time in the midst of insomnia. How can I sleep when there’s so much that needs to be done! It will never be done. No amount of books could keep my emptiness at bay. This I have realized. this I have begun to accept.

2012 has showed me that I have ADHD. 2012 has showed me that I share an IQ with the top one percent. 2012 has showed me that I have nightmares, and I am sometimes afraid of the dark. 2012 has showed me what it feels like to succeed and not feel anything at all about that success. Ceaseless striving for a spot on the horizon, what a trick. 2012 has showed me what it feels like to be grateful to afford a cup of coffee at Starbucks, and what it feels like to eat food that does not excite the appetite. This year, I’ve cried as I brush through my hair as it falling out en masse. I did not eat enough protein, I’m afraid. 2012 has showed me that the world and I have irreconcilable differences, and we must agree to disagree.

“I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and then I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.”  -Virginia Woolf

 

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