11th JUNE. 1945hrs.

I could barely walk down the small stretch to get to my room. My chest was heaving to the pounding in my head. Images were getting blurry and I could feel the sweat trickle down my sides. The noises were rising to some sort of never-ending crescendo and there were lights everywhere. Everything was just too loud, too bright or too damn scented. My sinuses were flaring up. I could taste everything and it settled heavily on my back palate. I was getting nauseous and scared and tried to quicken my pace to get away from it all. I felt their eyes on me but that was probably a figment of my imagination. I was drifting then falling...slowly down the speeding up.  couldn't handle it. It was all too much.

As the cold water hit my rigid body I felt a soft release, a sigh escape my tight sealed lips. I slowly opened my eyes and accustomed myself to the four walls I had confined myself in. On a normal  day, I detest the sight of these four walls- situational hazard of sharing amenities, like bathrooms. But tonight, I was grateful for them. Grateful for the quiet solitude. And I stood there as the water drenched my skin, slowly easing up and letting go of the bundled fists on my side. I wanted to cry but my ducts sort of malfunctioned from all the bullshit my life has been through so I just stood there and stared at space and imagined nothingness. a huge void, an empty abyss. A bottomless pit. I wanted to shout, so badly that I clenched my teeth till my gums hurt but again, situational hazards of sharing. so I just started humming. Not to any particular tune but to the sound of the water trickling down my skin.I hummed as to how it flowed from the faucet above my head or how it smacked the four walls, the floor, the pain and fear. I do not know for how long I stood in there and I didn't care either. I stood in that comatose state for so long my limbs felt numb and icy. I was a walking Popsicle. But I was calm, my anxiety had passed and I could breathe again. I could breathe again.

OK. Writing all that, I don't think it makes a whole lotta sense. Heck! Seems like a whole lotta crap to me. I feel psychotic. Like I cannot associate or relate with this person I'm writing about even though I live inside of her, take her rage at three am and spin it into words. I don't understand her even though I smile through her eyes and pick her up every morning to go through yet another day like the warrior princess she is- an atomic bomb that explodes into various shades and scents of lavender and cocoa butter with earthy undertones. Reading through it detaches me from her and I just want to reach across her keyboard, take her fast-paced fingers, lace them with mine and hold on to her. To her person and make her brave. She looks fragile underneath her toned limbs and fighter's physic. She looks pale underneath all the color and red coursing through her veins. She looks tired behind the clear, uppity, full of life eyes of hers, big as saucers and can see way up to the ridges and craters of the moon. She looks cold even as the heat radiates from her soft, supple skin, she looks like the oxymoron she lives every day, only difference tonight being she is the opposite of it. Tonight, she is the moon behind the sun that she is.

At some point, I went dumpster diving in my closet, all the way to the back behind the old jackets and sweaters, further back behind the skeletons and took out my tiny, tiny box where I had stuffed all my feelings and emotions in and felt them for a minute. Couple of minutes actually. I allowed myself the chance to be human. My mind raced out to those three am, two am, midnight owls who type away at their keyboards or let their pens bleed and blue, black or red slashes across their whites as words come to life in paper. Those characters pique my interest and on most nights, I find myself sitting on my window pane with a death wish tucked beneath my belt but fear gripping my limbs, three floors above ground and look across the night on whose lights are still on and if I'll catch a glimpse of a silhouette, hunched over their desks as truth comes face to face with reality.

But not tonight.

Tonight I am just going to curl myself in a tiny ball, stuff all that emotion and feelings in the little box and shove it back in my closet. I am going to close my eyes and will my body to listen to my every command. I will order it to warm up, let out a sigh of faked content, close my eyes and empty my mind. I am going to chant that today and yesterday and the days before last that I felt like a train wreck are only fleeting memories and there was something better to look forward to just hours away. Then I will slowly count the hours till break of dawn when I will be so exhausted and fall asleep.






Published by Faith Msl