What happens to voices inside a closed room with no way out?
You have been quiet for so long you no longer know what you want to say.
But you know that it could only come out in screams.
Maybe you were a writer.
You struggled to write for months and months. Years even. Thinking it was just because your perfectionist self would not let you write anything short of mesmerizing. It occurs to you now that maybe it wasn’t the case. And maybe you couldn’t write because nothing you’d write, or say, or scream, tear out of your skin can make it better for you.
You know you need help but help to do what? come out of what?
You can’t talk. Can’t write.
You struggle to breathe without hurtling back to the ground. Having to scoop up dismembered pieces going “Where should I put these now?” You could do it only so many times until it doesn’t make sense anymore.
You watch and watch and watch from that little fogged up window. Outside looking in at your family, your friends, your love, your enemies. Feeling the low hum and thrum of life just mere inches away from your frozen fingertips and you just yearn for them to turn around and see that you are lying to yourself.
Sleep has worked. Sleep keeps working. And every time you close your eyes in the dark and feel the familiar weight invading your eyes you pray to whoever is listening and make a deal with them: Tomorrow… I will face it all Tomorrow. If you give me temporary peace and oblivion now, I will show up for myself starting Tomorrow.
But it’s been many Tomorrows since, and you feel the guilt creeping in. Because you are a liar. You’re weak. You have no more cards to play. You are already running on borrowed energy, borrowed time, borrowed hope.
And so sleep stops working. The waves continue into the dusk and you feel throughout the night, what you feel throughout the waking hours. Now with closed eyes and your vivid, imaginative dream consciousness. You cannot distract from it. Only torture, wide-eyed stupor.
By now I hope I’ve lost almost all of you and if you made it this far, I hope you’re only reading out of curiosity. I’d rather you not relate to this. But who are we kidding. After all, words remain just words until you give them meaning.
Maybe you are none of these things.
Maybe you’re just here to collect memories. Because who is stupid enough to try and deal with these uncomfortable, complicated feelings that pop up all the time.
It is not ideal to be living this life.
But it only has to work out once. Right?
Maybe you could follow an ant’s path with both your eyes and your mind without thinking about anything else?
Find an ant. Then Stalk.
Example:
The ant is a red leaf-cutter ant. He is slowly making his way.. he? or she? (damn).. they? them? Focus. Just ant. Ant is now approaching a patch of mossy concrete. Nice and steady. Concrete… (enter generic cement brand) I wonder if it’s made of that type of cement. What are my thoughts on that cement? How do I feel about the dying nature. Greta Thunberg. Or Thunburgh? At that age I was out eating sand…I? Me… ME.
Always, me, mine, I. Aren’t you tired?
Try the ant exercise.
Will it help? Will sleeping help? Will anything help at this point?
You don’t know. But you will try.
You will try and you will find out.
You will remember in between bouts of darkness, how that one ice-cream felt on a hot, sweaty day coming home from school, for no reason. How that evening tea Amma makes feel warming up your hands. How the sky is the sky and the sun is the sun. And the dark, the cold, and the heavy is just that. The dark, the cold and the heavy. Will any of it help? Should it?
Maybe you won’t give it too much meaning this time.
Maybe you will let go when you cannot change dark to light, cold to warmth, and heavy to weightless.
Maybe you will set them free. And set yourself free.
…
What a journey.
-TM
