Blunted. Silent. No chance of reaching the outside, nor the inside. I sit and freeze and bide my time. The old familiar spaces, those empty, wasted places, all the similar faces. They slip in and out.
To live alone and not hear your own voice for days is a strange thing. You forget how it sounds; you forget that one part of you and then begin forgetting all other parts of you as well. Identity Quicksand. A phone rings to allow you to begin remembering who you are but you don’t answer. You would rather go on forgetting yourself.
A later day. On this day you are forced to speak and out of you comes some strange anomaly. Have you been recognized? Was I? Was I? You were told that you were. However, you can not be sure yourself. For it is the first time you have heard your own voice for so long.
A mirror. Having lain in bed for all of those days as well, you have not seen yourself, either. There is a vague feeling to your skin. It is numb and you can almost imagine that it sags all around you. Even though you have managed to leave your prone position to only urinate, you have not looked at anything but the floor and toilet paper.
Until.
A later day. You do take a look. Is this me? Is it? Is it? Hair disheveled, pale skin, eyes encircled dark–nearly black. A mouth from where no words have been spoken again. One single, straight line; identical to the one you follow back to your bed, preferentially, continuing to forget yourself.
Should you wish to speak, would you? Surely there have been times. I remember? I remember? But no one was there. And that’s when I wouldn’t speak. Even though I could use my voice. Hello? Hello?
Just like right now. I have a voice but there’s a Dropped Connection. I’ve been trying all night but it’s not working. No one is picking up. It keeps happening all the time these days. Is it me? Is it me?
Silencio.
Posted in ADD, Asperger's, Bipolar Disorder, BPD, Health, Literary, PTSD, Therapy, You Decide
Blunted. Silent. No chance of reaching the outside, nor the inside. I sit and freeze and bide my time. The old familiar spaces, those empty, wasted places, all the similar faces. They slip in and out.
To live alone and not hear your own voice for days is a strange thing. You forget how it sounds; you forget that one part of you and then begin forgetting all other parts of you as well. Identity Quicksand. A phone rings to allow you to begin remembering who you are but you don’t answer. You would rather go on forgetting yourself.
A later day. On this day you are forced to speak and out of you comes some strange anomaly. Have you been recognized? Was I? Was I? You were told that you were. However, you can not be sure yourself. For it is the first time you have heard your own voice for so long.
A mirror. Having lain in bed for all of those days as well, you have not seen yourself, either. There is a vague feeling to your skin. It is numb and you can almost imagine that it sags all around you. Even though you have managed to leave your prone position to only urinate, you have not looked at anything but the floor and toilet paper.
Until.
A later day. You do take a look. Is this me? Is it? Is it? Hair disheveled, pale skin, eyes encircled dark–nearly black. A mouth from where no words have been spoken again. One single, straight line; identical to the one you follow back to your bed, preferentially, continuing to forget yourself.
Should you wish to speak, would you? Surely there have been times. I remember? I remember? But no one was there. And that’s when I wouldn’t speak. Even though I could use my voice. Hello? Hello?
Just like right now. I have a voice but there’s a Dropped Connection. I’ve been trying all night but it’s not working. No one is picking up. It keeps happening all the time these days. Is it me? Is it me?
Silencio.
Posted in ADD, Asperger's, Bipolar Disorder, BPD, Health, Literary, PTSD, Therapy, You Decide