Lost in Transit

My whole life I’ve lived in silence. I have spoken more silent words to a those around me than I can count. Compared to the words that have actually made it out of my mouth these are far more important. Do you know what it’s like to say a thousand words in your head when not one can make it out your mouth? How painful and frustrating it is to have a million thoughts but not one word? How hard it is to speak one word, any word when you most want to but nothing will come out? Your throat gets tight, your mouth gets dry and you keep thinking, over and over and over “Just say it, one word, please…I’m begging you.” Then your whole body gets so tense and you can feel the tears of your frustration and inadequacy begin to seep through and you’d rather bite your tongue off than let a single tear stain your cheek.Your mouth opens, closes, opens, closes, open and shuts. But you’ve experienced this feeling your entire life so you know the routine well. She begins to ask you questions and your “I always have an opinion and something to say” mind goes blank. You begin to grind your teeth and clench your fists or dig your nails into you skin. However, this time is different, you bit all your nails down to nothing last week so there is no physical pain and you can’t find the numbness to stop the tears. The first tear slithers its way through the inner canal of your eye and slides down the side of your nose and you casually scratch it away but you know she knows it’s already there. And you loath yourself for being here again and feeling this way and letting these aged feelings take hold, leaving you helpless again. Why can’t I say one word to you? I hate myself every time I’m unable to but you wouldn’t know that would you? You wouldn’t know how much I HATE being like this, or how small I feel every time we’re in this situation? The second tear slips out, quick and painlessly onto your jumper and you quickly start to breathe deeply; taking in everything and letting out nothing. Your teeth hurt from grinding them so hard and you wonder if the force could break them so you slow down, little by little until you eventually stop all together. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Deep in through your nose, into your stomach and out the same way because now your mouth won’t even open. She doesn’t understand. You feel lower than the floor and you wish you could just fade away but the universe isn’t that kind. She knows the routine well too, so she asks if you need to gather your thoughts and get back to her at a later date. You shake your head, defeated…again. She leaves and you slip under your bed, sobbing, the feeling of worthlessness ripping through you yet again and you understand why an alcoholic drinks or why a junkie can’t exist without drugs. But you could never conceal the pain with such measures because you know you deserve to bleed. It’s funny how you chose to hide under the bed when you’ve always been afraid of the monsters, but only now do you realize that the monster has always been you. The only difference between the idea of the monster and you being the monster is that no matter how fast you run or how far you hide, you can’t get away from yourself. Feeling so ridiculously sleepy all of a sudden, like you could sleep forever.

Sleepy Sorrows,

The Girl Dressed in Gray Clouds.

Rootless Anger

Tonight feels really strange for some reason, hell it’s been a weird day in and of itself. I woke up pretty late but I still felt tired, which is pretty normal for me. Then I spent the whole day watching T.V and losing my temper way too easy for someone trying to keep their anger in check. I laid down on the couch most the day because my body felt weak and achy, plus I just wanted to relax. Ate shit I shouldn’t be indulging in since I’m trying to eat healthy and shed a few pounds (I’m, sick of buying new jeans to fit my thunder thighs and my flat ass that refuses to get bigger with it). Towards the end of the night I showered and decided to get to bed early but of course the day wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t have a verbal scuffle with the 46 chromosomes who bestowed upon me the 23 little monsters that came out victorious making me the whopping recipient of the XX sex-chromosome. Like every other daughter who has a complex relationship with their mother, I try not to entertain conflict so I give my annoyed face and left. Thinking that this was the end of my night, I watched a few funny videos and was about to go to bed when I suddenly felt so fucking angry! Now, I know what you’re thinking “Bitch please, you basically just admitted to having an anger problem!.” I won’t deny having a hard time keeping my temper in check when I’m stressed. However this time was weird because I had just laughed my ass off at some kid’s Granny whooping his ass for sagging his pants when all of a sudden I felt so cross I wanted to punch someone or something. Now here I am, listening to reggae and trying to figure out what in the hell is going on. Of course I can’t figure out what the fuck my mind is going through so lets talk about random shit instead.

I recently did some research on a novel I had to read and I came across the term “Florence Nightingale Effect/Syndrome”. Now this little puppy involves a situation where a caregiver develops romantic and/or sexual feelings for their patient. This was named after a nurse from the 19th century who is said to have pioneered modern nursing care because of her dedication of making rounds at night. It’s most popular affiliation is noted in the movie Back to the Future. Now with all my knowledge of fictional characters from books and movies that featured caregivers falling for their patients I had never heard them make reference to this and I just found it exceptionally fascinating (says a lot about how exciting my daily life is, I know). With all the articles that I read and videos I watched, I’ve come to realize that this is one hardcore lady. During the Crimean War she reduced the death rate of soldiers by two-thirds by improving sanitation; I mean this chick gathered a bunch of people together in the middle of a war and had them scrub the hospital from top to bottom with scrub brushes. She spent all her time caring for her patients, even walking through the dark hallways to check on her patients only carrying a lamp, hence the nickname “The Lady with the Lamp”. She was so driven to help that after the war she went back to Britain and began her own Nursing school where she trained some of the best nurses of her era. It might all sound like endless babbling but can you just imagine, a woman in the 1800’s entering a war zone where men would probably die than take orders from a woman. She not only reduced the death-rate of soldiers but was the genius who established the foundation for modern nursing and as amazed as I am by this woman it troubles me that maybe I was one of the millions who had no idea who she was. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe that we are meant to know everything but it makes me sad that I know more about men in history than I do women. Historical hazard I guess. Well, now you know so that’s one more person.

Now I’m not sure where this tangent fits into my earlier ramblings but I must say this is a pretty fucking decent way to thaw uninvited anger. The more you know.

Sleep well.

Exhausted Babbler.