60 days of thoughts. Of actions. Of fears halting actions. Of actions moving past fears. Nothing grand. Small movements. Profound movements. Of facing my Form. This Form into which I was born. This Form which on days I caress and on other days I strike. With my eyes. 60 days of feeling my Heart. Break. Instantly desirous to regenerate. Filling up with Love. So much of it. The walls of my thoracic cavity remain sore. 60 days of twists and knots. Now visible. Untangling. Unraveling. In phases.
Phase One: Others.
I’m seeing myself in others too much lately.
He walked onto the train. He was mad at God. He saw his reflection. He spat at it. I trembled when his spit landed on my cheek.
He sat inside the train. He was clothed. He was wounded. Open flesh around his ankles. But he was sedated. Alcohol, maybe? Crumbs all over him. People stared. I stared.
In her I see all of that I Fear is true about me. Forced myself to talk to her. To face IT yesterday. Today. Avoided her. Hid.
He sang. Didn’t ask for money. He said, “Love; It’s what saves.” I had a $1.
He speaks. And I want to run. I’m fighting him.I’m fighting Me.
There is this tension in my jaw. The headache is coming on. This talking about Me. This someone wanting to know. Waiting for a response. It unnerves me. These thoughts about my misfit-ness bombarding my head lately. Getting bolder.
The honeymoon stage is over. The rose colored glasses broke. I see Them. The Others I share the sidewalks with. The Others I share the trains with. Some are Zombies. The rest are running away from the Zombie bite. I want to believe I’m immune.
Phase Two: Feeling Raw
Is this really Me? Something’s changing. I see it. I feel it. It’s slipping away from my skin. From my eyes. Innocence?
Slice my skin off. Peel it like a mango. Is it ripe? I’ve fallen several times. How many bruises does it have?
There is this absence of emotion. I need to feel. Something. Quick.
Passed up. Heart sinks into my stomach. My stomach starts to digest it. “REJECT!!!” These thoughts of rejection. It’s all in my head, right? I tap my heels. “It’s not 7th grade anymore. It’s not 7th grade anymore.”
Running thoughts. Sister. Daughter. Friend? Girlfriend? Bad? Good? What if. What if! What if!!!!! Cravings. Fear. Desiring. Gluten. Sugar. Control. Alone. I. I like myself, I think. Do I? Overwhelmingly imperfect. Can I change more? Do I need to change anymore? Have I changed? Breaking boundaries. How do I break them? In my head. In my body. Breathe. Self-acceptance.
I could die tonight. It would be the perfect timing.
Phase Three: Home
On the plane. Flying home. Home. Looking for the words to express on paper that I can’t wait for home. But what is home? And why the confusion? And the restlessness. Not even the Queen, Lady O, can help me find my zone.
The Austin Skyline. Once upon a time, my younger Self’s necessary landscape to question. Once upon a time, the inspiration for growth. Once upon a time, my comfort on those many days alone.
It’s graduation. He came. I see him. He sees me. His eyes. Those eyes through which I can always see my heart. I contain my tears. So many tears. A stream-after-a-storm of tears. I hold them back.
In procession for a diploma. My parents are so proud. They’ve been waiting for this. Wait until they learn of my award. I’m happy they’re happy. And I’m happy I’ve given them this moment like way back when in 7th grade. 7th grade. So much happened that year.
300 Miles South. My unconditional home. Where I’m fully loved. Protected. Safe. Above all, Safe.
Another year of Life. Thank You for my Mother.
In the car, we talk. “How do you love someone and leave? How do you love someone and take back your yes?” He’s not ready. He may not love me anymore. He’s not sure. But, for once, I’m sure. Love is a choice. And I finally understand what that means. And now that I do, is not Love enough to guide us back?
I lay in bed. I miss him. I want to hold him and hide my face in his neck. Smell the scent of his skin. He IS Home. My Rochester.
Phase Four: Walking my Heart
On a balcony, the Steeple of a Catholic Church captures my gaze. Yes, God. I know you’re here. Right here.
I had one drink. One. Two. The Migraine started at the Two. Lasted 24 hours. But it was worth witnessing their Spirits. The laughter lived. The connection made.
I fought the bed and decided to take my Heart out for a walk. She’s worked overtime for the last two months. I walked Her to get some sun by the water. The Sun rejoiced at Her sight.
She’s rested. My Heart. She’s starting to play again. Today she spotted all these messages. While en route, our routine route. On walls. On people’s shirts.
“I don’t wish for it, I work for it.”
“What is your superpower?”
“It is what it is. Everything will be fine, always!”
“I believe in New Yorkers. Whether they’ve ever questioned the dream in which they live, I wouldn’t know because I wouldn’t ever dare to ask that question.”
I found two pennies. I found a dime. I got to the train right on time. Coincidence? I say, Life is on my side.
A call from the past. Her name is Delia. And she suffers. Once upon a time, we helped her. We took in her birds. Pumpkin and Daisy. They had a home with us. And then they died. The cage ate them. I hate cages. All kinds.
An opportunity found me. The Heart is cheerleading me on. She’s ready.
A friend reached out. And I allowed myself to receive her Love. Revolutionary.
Phase Five: Here.
Content. Moment 2 Moment. I belong.