2 Minutes. Go!

There are places you can find where their is no noise. No light. These dark spaces allow you to catch your breath. Imagine the sensory stimulus you are constantly bombarded with...it's a miracle that any of our brains work at all. Mine works hard, so sometimes I have to find that dark, quiet place. 

Sometimes I can find the place fishing. It was easy to find it at the bottom of a bottle. Fishing doesn't make you wake up sad and paranoid and anxious. So, I stick to fishing, but it doesn't work as well as whiskey. 

Fishing doesn't have the same power, but it doesn't leave me broken.

It sometimes seems like life is a test. Are you able to find the dark places you need? If not, you will be a failure. And no one likes a failure. 

Sleep is nice if you can't remember your dreams. Sometimes, I get that break. Sometimes, I don't. 

At the end of the day, we are only the safety we feel. We are the subconscious cocoon we create for ourselves. If you don't have one, make one. Try to avoid whiskey. It pays dividends you don't want. 

Trust me.

2 Minutes. Go!

The sounds from the wall are becoming more frequent. More intense. It is a scraping sound. A desperate sound. You thought it was the drugs, but now the drugs are gone, and the noise is not. This is unsettling. This is awful. This is par for the course.

Maybe it's animals. That's what you tell yourself, but you know that you deserve something more than animals in the walls. You deserve to be haunted, tortured; you are begging for it. 

You turn the lights on. Turn them off. Hope that it will make the noise stop, but, if anything, it just gets louder. More insistent. You start attributing emotions to the sound. The sound is getting angry. 

The police will find a scene they can't begin to explain. The cops will call the station and say, "no, not just dead....torn apart! The whole place is covered in blood." The younger cops feel frightened. They shake and it rattles the guns and batons and tasers they wear. There is nothing worse than a cowardly cop.

They will eventually give up. The house will be torn down. 

There are walls everywhere, though. This is just a temporary lull. 

Can you hear it?

2 Minutes. Go!

You can smile through the pain, but the smile is only on the outside. Inside, you are anything but smiling. You are scared. They were right. You are living your life of quiet desperation. It's not something to be ashamed of. It is all too common. 

When you're small, they shame you for crying. They shame you for showing too much emotion. Too happy is almost as bad as too sad. They set these expectations and give you fucked up ways to look at yourself. 

As you age, they talk about authenticity, but they don't mean it. They don't want to know your sorrows...they just want to see that smile. How are you? Me? I'm fine. Short and sweet. No one has to think too much about it. No empathy required.

The thing they don't tell you is that you are giving up a lot in living for other people. You are taking shots you shouldn't take. You're the one that feels bad. That makes you right. 

I don't know, honestly. I'm just a bag of bones and shit like you. Sometimes, I feel superior, but most of the time I try not to feel at all.

2 Minutes. Go!

There is a woman who sits on the park bench every day, speaking softly to herself. She makes herself smile. Sometimes, she makes herself laugh. 

They say that schizophrenics in agrarian communities have voices that are kind, whereas in the West, the voices are harsh, angry, mocking. I don't know if this is true, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was.

We're mean to ourselves, and we are mean to each other. This is why it makes me so happy to watch the woman amuse herself. There is wisdom and strength in it. 

Me? I'm up in my apartment, berating myself. Listing all my faults. But I can appreciate that there is a better way even if I can't achieve it. 

So, I watch. And try to learn.

2 Minutes. Go!

It was all too much. Too loud, too bright. There were too many whisps of regret and paranoia. The air was thick with self-condemnation. I'm used to this. This is the way my circuits are wired. I eat regret and paranoia for breakfast. It was too much for you. You don't have the stomach for it. I have stomach for days, and my history is riddled with aggravations so severe that they nest in the corner of my room.

I am the spider making the web. My web is strong, and I am patient. Patience is the key, you see. I don't track time the same way that you do. I can turn inward for a thousand years and never be bored. I can live inside of my head and let my body do what it wants. I can go on autopilot. I am like one of those fish that appear dead until you get them wet. 

I spring up miraculously. 

And once I am up? I am the inflatable clown, weighted at the bottom with sand. You can knock me down, punch me, kick me, I will bounce right back. This will drive you mad. It is a special kind of torture. 

Close your eyes and breathe deeply. Try to hide in the dark hallways of sleep. Keep your wits about you. Soon enough, they will be mine, and I will use your wits as I please. 

Sleep tight. It's gonna be a loooooong night. 

2 Minutes. Go!

I heard the last, twinkling drops as they fell on the surface of the water. The warmth of the day was just beginning. I could feel my muscles coming back to life in the rays of the sun. My brain was and old jalopy, trying to turn over, and, with a few sputters, it caught. 

Fuck. I was in a tight spot. Tighter than I had ever been in before. I could feel the walls closing in, and I didn't like it one bit. 

My right ankle was broken, twisted at a horrible angle. The shock and adrenaline were wearing off, and I could feel a bright red ache that threatened to blot out the world. I forced myself to take long, slow, deep breaths. This was going to be hard, but it was either going to be hard or I'd die in the middle of nowhere right beside all the trout I didn't catch.

The sun rose and sank, and night came on, and I had only managed to crawl about a mile. It wasn't enough. My strength was gone. I was alone. Scared. I could hear the first stirrings of the night creatures, on their way to score an easy meal. 

I could only hope they killed me quickly.

2 Minutes. Go!

She told me to be quiet so I locked my lips and threw away the key. I didn't even swallow it because that would be a cheat. You have to open your lips to swallow, and I wasn't a cheater then like I'm not a cheater now. I did what I was told to do is the thing. What Papa always said, do what you're told. I was told to lock my lips, and I did. 

It's hard to keep your lips closed when you are in pain. The burning feeling made me feel scared and angry and worried. But I didn't say anything about it. I bit my cheek to keep from yelling. I knew I was supposed to be silent, and I was. 

The hospital room was bright white. So clean. It was cleaner than anything I had ever seen before. It had shine. There were nurses and doctors in the hospital. A police came by. I didn't tell any of them nothing because I was still doing what I was told. 

I cut my tongue out with a scalpel when they weren't looking. They shouldn't have left it there. They were scared - I could see in their eyes. They thought their jobs were long gone. They thought they were going to jail. But I kept my mouth shut and held the blood inside with my words. 

I've been quiet for years now, and I don't miss talking. I said everything I needed to say with that scalpel. If you didn't listen, that's not my fault.