Once upon a midnight eerie…

I found myself at wits end.  Every bone in my body ached.  My soul felt crushed by an anvil.  I was having an anxiety attack.  I was having a meltdown within.

But I couldn’t talk about it.

I couldn’t write about it.

For… fear.

I didn’t want to hurt you by writing it.  In recourse, I didn’t want it to hurt me any longer.

The tales of could be-s.  Of wants to be-s. Of never was, but who knows if ever will be.

They are but a memory.  At least for this moment.  Until I pen them down as I know now that I must.

I write feverishly.  The keys click in perfect synchronicity as my dear friend sleeps in my bed… bidding me to join, but I shan’t tonight.  I’m emblazoned to write.  Filled with both levity and fervor.

Such is love though right?

I was feeling blue.  A litany of things going on in my head.  My passions became tainted and blurred.  I became a bitter ball of mess.  Ah perhaps that really is the moment when I should have known not to give up on it.

How deep they fall into the shadows that they can no longer see the light.

The words of a dear friend echoed in my mind.

I’ve gotten into ruts like this before.  Oh how I pity those who’ve I encountered while going through a bout of it. Many an apology hath been written afterward. Lest I not have a pen nearby to scrawl with for release.

When I lived in Illinois I had a system for dealing with it.  The details are all hush hush, except for a few hints and the end result.

Lost in many a move, there were dozens and dozens of pez dispensers in my possession.  At Christmas I would always find them in my stockings.  Memories of my grandfather dressing up as Santa and pretending we didn’t know. Of snap bracelets and Nintendo games wrapped securely in packages of sweet sweet ribboned consumerism.

They were a thing of simplicity. Of nostalgia and childhood.  Of a life when everything could be solved with a hug and kiss to mommy or daddy, or a picture drawn in crayons with five words easier spoken then

“I love you”


“I’m sorry.”

In my later years, I would trek to a drugstore and purchase one each time I felt that feeling coming.  It was one of the first things I did.  For a moment I would be that little girl in pigtails with missing teeth.  I could close my eyes and just feel that fuzzy feeling in my heart.

And afterwards, sometimes I would drive and disappear for hours.  My friends would find me later, covered in mud and scattered leaves through my hair- like blobs of paint on a messy canvas.

My friends back home then, and still are the most genuine and beloved souls that I have come across. We have this unwavering compassion for one another that is rare to come by, so treasured so when it’s found.

They didn’t question me.  They need not know where I’ve been, having found me better at the end of the tunnel. It was like I’d died many deaths, but there was never a fear I would not return.

Ah the light of a tunnel… and a city of lights as I was lost coming home from Long Beach last weekend.  It brought me back to that road.  The one of solace and serenity. I wanted to drift away and sail there for awhile. Perhaps I will again soon. Alone or with another passenger. The vessel. I shall become at the same time I become whole again.

Until one morning after my dismal dive down the depths of myself, I found the light again. A message with such perfect timing that it helped ease that pain again.

“You are dangerous…most likely intentionally lexiphanic…which I love. Your words are so perfectly composed, the fate of many could rest on the point of your pen.”

Who was this stranger? Why did he stumble into my existence? I am one that believes there is a reason for everything. Some say I think too much sometimes. Nay, I say I don’t think enough. The lines on my face will be from smiles and tales of conversations held over warm cups of chai… of dances on the beach in the moonlight… of that drink at happy hour with my dearest friends.

Moments worth living.

Moments- that I feel I must document more than ever… regardless of what prevails in the end. My heart will take it all in and let it all go.

Thus is the path of the artist indeed.

All it took were a few sentences on a page: simple and complex enough to ring just the proper cord to awaken me.

It perked me up to write again. Slapped in the face, it was a sign. I became pushed as if I were a sail- into a sea of blue. I shall oblige & return to my beloved sea of words. naught forgotten, but once tainted with disdain.

I write feverishly.  The keys click in perfect synchronicity as my dear friend sleeps in my bed… bidding me to join, but I shan’t tonight.  I’m emblazoned to write.  Filled with both levity and fervor.

The day that my passions became tainted and blurred…

The day I could feel every bit of pain and heart-of each bit of air ringing through my lungs with pain and zest.

Ah perhaps that really is the moment

when I realized that
I should have known better than to give up on it.

One thought on “Awakening

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