To the Personified Sun

When i forget to breathe

the sun reminds me to fill my lungs.

In the moment that grayscale takes over,

 the sun projects brilliant colors across my eyes.

In the midst of the race, my legs weak from running on empty,

the sun carries me to the finish line.

Simple reminders of the blood in my veins-

the sun fills my heart and it regains it’s pulse.

 

 

My soul drained from me,

My world non-existent.

When I forget that I am alive—

this sun,

my sun

reminds me that i exist.

-S. 2016

 

 

 

Blaming the Sun

Hazy summer mornings are brilliant and beautiful.

Dancing between morning clouds,  the sun transcribes our passions and  love to the faded sidewalk that we travel.

The fog lifts off the ground and  we see ourselves in the reflection of the earth.

A glorious reminder that we can live.

-S. 2016

 

I am not this body

     Becoming so deeply infatuated with the world outside your doors–but not being able to muster up the courage to go out into it. That’s the life that you lead when you suffer from the greatest killer of a social life. Building yourself up one minute and then slowly shrinking back into your world of endless work and anime marathons. The outside world is just too fierce and uninviting to actually want to leave the warm safety of your house.

     I lived this way for the past 28 years of my existence. Fearful of the outside world–always in need of someone to help me conquer it. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t live this way forever; but sometimes it’s hard to conquer a fear that runs so deep inside of you. Sometimes it’s difficult to stand up against the demon that rages deep inside every thought in your head. I wanted to stand up to it many times–but each time I did, I found myself in a dizzying array of confusion and unnerving, surreal moments. Going to the grocery store became a series of hazy, difficult quests. There were moments when I thought I was dreaming, not awake and walking amongst the masses of B.C. There were some places that I couldn’t even walk into without having a panic attack. Wal-Mart was the worst. As soon as I pulled into that parking lot the fear and anxiety set in fiercely. Walking up to the doors was just a request for a panic attack two seconds later. The disorganized mass of items on the shelves in the store created chaos in my brain. People pushing and shoving through the aisles like wild animals in search of food in a barren land.

This has pretty much summed up the whole of my social existence.

     It’s funny that someone so involved in the education can be so scared of the world outside. No sideways glance or questioning stare ever gets in my way of being myself when I am in a classroom. There is something about teaching that erases all the fears I’ve had about other humans. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I have an idealistic vision of these kids needing me for support,understanding and a simple smile or because I have a great passion for teaching and believe it’s the most important profession in the entire universe, but my fears never seem to rear their ugly head when I’m in the classroom.

     That’s not to say that I don’t fear things within the four walls of my school. Even though I take on leadership roles and I play nice at the monthly HSA meetings, talking in front of adults and my peers frightens me worse than anything in the world. My heart beats so fast it feels like time slows down because of it’s quick speed. The palpitations come on strong and I have to remind myself that no one cares that much about what I’m going to say. I’m just another annoying person taking up five minutes of their time. Five minutes that they’ll never get back after I rant about mathematics exams and how awesome math is and how I’m a social studies teacher and it probably doesn’t make sense that I like math so much. It’s funny, but I’ve gotten away with giving the same update for 3 HSA meetings. At the end the president always says, “we love hearing from you!” —even though I say the same thing every. single. meeting. People are funny like that—I can’t tell if they are being sincere or if they are lying to me because they can see the fear on my face or they notice the speed in which I talk so that I can sit down faster.

     That ambiguity is what bugs me the most. Not knowing whether people notice that I’m flipping out or if they just think I talk fast and move around a lot. If they do notice—what do they think? Do they care? Or do they just attribute it to the insane amount of social awkwardness already in our building?

     Sometimes you gotta chalk it all up to being unlucky. Unlucky to have contracted this disease in your genetics. Unlucky to let it wreak havoc throughout your entire being. The constant disorder that transpires in your brain on a daily basis is so overwhelming that it physically pains you.  You wake up every. single.  day…hoping for a life less unbearable. A life in which every glance from another human being doesn’t mean criticism, doesn’tmean judgement—it just. means. someone looked at you.

     I don’t know if there has ever been a time in my life where I felt safe around other people.  Even in my most outgoing moments, the thoughts of self-doubt and loathing come withering out like a snake ready to snap up its prey. They consume me and I let them consume me. I suppose there is comfort in that feeling now. It’s become so normal and so peaceful to let the self-doubt overtake my consciousness. Why fight it when it’s become the safety that I desire? As long as I fear others and avoid them, they can’t break down my defenses.

My entire life has been dictated by these fears.

-S. (2013)

Freedom in Ethereal

I stood in place of my dreams—

backing away

realizing it was my idealism that broke me.
Within this shattered moment,

my sense of clarity,

often skewed by the blinding light of hope

became dark and muddled.
My mind wanders to an oblivion known only to myself.

 

The synaptic gaps of my temporal existence stop—

rendered into shade by my own hand.

Floating along a serene coastline of faith—

my spiritless form careens down mountainsides and glides through valleys.

I brave new worlds with thoughtless abandon

A sense of peace and tranquility awash my vacant form.

 

I am free.

-S.

Letters in Electronic

To B,

“I’m not trying to save you.” she wrote, “I’m not trying to change your life or to be someone I’m not, just to make you happy.”

“I’m writing this letter, knowing that it might find you in unhappiness. Knowing it might find you in confusion. Knowing it might disorient you, make you feel conflicted and worried. But I write it because I am not trying to fix you, I’m not trying to take your problems away–at times, I might even be the problem, but sometimes that too, can be okay.”

“I just want to scream out to the world that these feelings exist, but I quietly keep them to myself. When I tell them to you, it becomes a burden, a conflict, an entity that keeps you farther from me. The distance is not counted in miles but rather in the mental and emotional bond that once existed. Instead of speaking these words, I write them in my private oasis of daydreams and wishes. At 11:11 every day, twice a day, I wish I could just say them without ramification. Without consequence and without worry.”

“When the light is yellow and about to turn red, I release my thoughts into the electric air. They sit there for a moment or two, heavy and impactful, but before the light turns green I wash them away with a sweep of my hand. They are lost in the oblivion of this 2D world. I am not regretful, but wishful that one day all my thoughts can be shared without yellows, reds or greens dictating when I can and cannot speak. What I can and cannot say.”

“At times I know my thoughts and wonderings bring great discomfort. They are cumbersome and overwhelming. I pull back from my own head, my own thoughts. I try to hold back on thinking, feeling and sharing. The only thing that I allow is intellectualized synaptic firings in my brain. Emotionless and objective, straightforward and precise. I calculate what I am going to say and how often to write. It is a tiresome process, but I force myself into these motions to save you from the frustration of a one-sided confession.”

“When I write these letters, it is because I wish to release the burden in my mind.”

“I write these letters because one day I wish to show you that I am not going to fix your world.  I can’t change situations or push continents aside. I am not wishing or wanting to do any of that.”

“My only wish is that these situations do not dissipate what existed before the reality of the world became apparent. And that this reality does not need to be separate from what existed before.”

She wrote sincerely,  and signed her name.

-S.

 

Filth

I am the filth.

The grinding of my teeth;
the carnal and the filth;
Naked and sweaty;
no better than an animal.

Right fist tightly clenched;
grinding into my teeth.
Finger mounted on a chuck;
Drilling into a shameless trunk.

Canines crushing down hard,
but I do not reform.
Cursed; a pinprick,
tearing a fresh flower apart.

Hooks tearing into flesh;
Meats pounding red;
Hammers pounding in my head
A bloody celebration.

In that moment, I become the anger of plebeian filth.
I cross my boundary — my safety circle.
Painless; shameless;
Like a bloodied tree trunk.

I become the filth,
An odorous armpit
on the night train.
A social cat; a fiscal fuck.

— B.