I can recall being on the edge of insanity…. So close that I could see my reflection in the pool of emotion I might drown in. I have always managed to keep it together though, usually by not letting that part of my mind swell so much so that the seams burst. Many times while making the trek home… I fathomed how easy it would be to loose control of the car and how I never did think I’d learn to drive at all. Me in control of even the smallest car seemed to scream incompetence. So while driving extreme distance I acknowledged how close I was to death at any moment. I would start to perspire, gently tap the brake and squeeze the wheel until the moment passed. It never lasted longer than a moment… but the remembrance of pure panic is what was left behind.
Other times I could see the blood that will pour from my palms as I plunge the 6 inch blade I do not own directly in the center of it. I see the blade sticking out and imagine the pain that will come, I wonder if it will compare to the pain I feel inside at this moment. The blade sticks and I see the blood. I never pull it out. My palm is face up against a hard surface and I thrust so deeply the blade gets stuck in the padding my hand is laid on. And I simply … feel.
More than once I have licked the blood of crazy and let out harsh squeals in fears face. More than once I have looked beyond the dead stare I reflected to see black pools of nothingness ready to spill for hate at any moment. I grabbed a shard of my long broken reflection and pressed it to my skin. The prick could not match any fury I had ever felt, this feeling wasn’t deep enough. I dragged the shard along my vein. No blood but I am beginning to feel. Something. something physical. This pain is new, welcomed compared to the old pain that lives and hides inside my head. This pain I have a name for and this pain I can see.
A blue note can send me to tears if played at the right moment and the soft brush of a stranger can either ignite a fury or passion I hadn’t known existed before the accidental touch. I feel the empty air as I grasp to what is not there before remembering there is no hand to reach for mine. Crazed, I have lost what was never there … again.
I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. But what ever thought it was rooted from was desperation. The rage in my fingertips was always white hot once it’s at its peak. I find the fury is far from gone just properly maintained. If my seams should begin crease …. I’m seemed to flow.