Still

It’s back.

Somebody hand me a quick fix. Something. Anything. Something I can put under my tongue, close my eyes, and open them to find that everything is perfectly fine.

Or maybe just a quick fix that comes with a trigger. Maybe I don’t have to open my eyes ex-post-facto.

WHY ARE YOU BACK? WHY? I DON’T WANT YOU HERE. I DON’T WANT YOU BACK.

It won’t respond to me.

It just worsens. Like a snake wrapping itself around my neck, and slithering its way up my back and up my neck. Tightening its grip, slowly, but surely.

I can’t breathe.

And my heart is racing. A hummingbird’s wings would have nothing on my heart. It’s past the point of no return. It’s just going to thump-thump-thump its way out of the vessels that hold it in place, and hold it back. And it’s going to thump-thump-thump right out of their grasp and, suddenly greeted by gravity, fall down into the pit of my stomach. Maybe a part of it has already fallen off, and is already in my stomach. Because I can feel the palpitations. I can feel the something fluttering there. But it’s not butterflies. This has weight. This has conscious weight. It’s there. I can feel it. Like a bit of my heart broke off, in all its messy fleshy nature, and is now writhing in my stomach, like a lizard’s tail after it’s been chopped off.

Oh. You think that’s disgusting? You’re revolted by it?

How about trying to sleep and waking up but an hour later to find yourself heaving and panting and covered in sweat–your shirt so wet you literally have to get up and go wring the water out of it–waking up in the morning to find salt stains against the navy blue background?

How about standing in front of people you know — people you’re familiar with — and not being able to say anything? Standing there. Silent. Mute. Seemingly still. But you’re not still. You might be frozen stiff on the outside, but everything inside of you is screaming. It’s chaotic. It’s everywhere. It’s all over the place.

EVERYTHING INSIDE OF YOU IS SCREAMING!

EVERYTHING IS SCREAMING. But you stand there.

Still.

How you wish your heart would be right now.

So you plug your ears and you put on one song, just one, on repeat, on loop, continuously playing, over and over and over again. Because you need that familiarity. Because you need that sense of knowing what’s going to happen. Because you need that predictability. And because everything on the outside is scary. And dangerous. Even the birds chirping can set you off.

They’re always so damned happy.

And if you talk to someone about this, they’re going to dismiss it. Oh they’re going to dismiss it.

And they’re going to tell you it’s all in your head.

And they’re going to tell you you’re being stupid.

But you know it’s real.

‘IT’S REAL!’ you try screaming out; but nothing rises above your insides already screaming inside of you.

Your soul is shaking. You’re not sure how you know this, but you do. It’s quivering, in fear. It’s cowering, and so are you. In your mind, you are already in fetal position, and you are awaiting the blow — the blow that never comes. 

You lie down. But you can hear your damned heart. You can hear it yelping, like an over-active dog, over the sound of the music playing in your ears. You can hear it so loud.

You just wish it would stop.

PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

And this is why you did not want it back.

Why did you come back?

WHY DID YOU COME BACK?

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

I have nothing more to give to you. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m spent.

And I have nothing more to give to you.

I have nothing more to give to you.

I have nothing more to give.