Stream of consciousness

*WARNING this post is graphic. This could be very triggering to many people. Please proceed with caution.*

I will try to avoid these kinds of posts, but I reached out to do a stream of consciousness and this is just what came out. Since a big factor of this blog is learning how to find my voice, i think it is imperative that I do not fight these writing urges. Free flow seems to be my best work so I want to open up to it and see where it goes. This is not written in present day. I went ahead and did a second, much more pleasant piece after this. 

The ache in my chest is dull and distracting. It warms me from my core and spreads slowly like molasses. Soon my joints are stiff and my eyes are glazed and I cannot tell if this is some horrible dream. I am struck dumb with this feeling of restraint. I am full and hot and it feels as if my skin is porcelain and I crack under all of these feelings. Feeling. Feeling heavy as if someone gathered up all the anxiety and tied a lead weight on the end. They held up my head as they forced it down my throat in spoonfuls. Face after face whispers, chants, everything is okay. Everything will be fine. But it's a lie and I almost wonder what they would say if they really heard what I was saying. Idly the pen scrape, scrape, scrapes along the paper. The springs in the chair groan with each new line of script and I am raw. My skin is opened in wounds both literal and figurative as they pry. They come upon the deepest pains and they force me to remember. My head is again in their lap and they icy hands are on my throat. Nails rest upon my brow bone, then trail to my cheeks, and they are holding my eyelids. Nails press my eyelids taut against the hollows of my eye sockets and I panic. My breath rushes out of me at such a speed that I feel maybe I am dying. Maybe my heart has finally hit the speed where it gets too tired and finally. just. stops. My eyeballs sting and become bloodshot as they turn my head toward the memories. Their voice hisses at me to look, to think, to recall. I am digging, I am crying, I am shaking and still they push me. The taste is in my mouth and his face is in my view and the carpet has dug into my knees. I am on the bed and my clothes are on the floor and someone's voice trails in from above me but all I hear is groaning. The walls are damp and dark with the things we do. The lights flicker with the aches inside me because no one is around to hear the screams. Or am I? I don't remember and she pushes, she pushes, and I think maybe I never fought back. I think maybe I said okay. I think maybe I laid there and cried but never really said no. Everytime we push, I am in the present day because it would break me to remember me as I was. I think I like to pretend it is current-day me. I like to pretend it is the messed up version of me with dried blood under my nails and rows of pill bottles on my shelves. I have uncovered a new detail and that satisfies the beast. She asks how long its been. How long since I indulged in the sweet pull of the blade. How many sunrises have I seen without a bloodied rag in my hand. I lie to her and she knows, so she repeats the question. I tell her this time it was a burn, or a bruise, or I pulled my hair until the tears came because I needed to. She doesn't understand, but she accepts the truth. No one really can understand the way it feels. Everyone else knows how to feel and how to cry and how to hurt without it breaking them, but not me. All i know it the way I feel when I have become full of unfelt emotions. The only feeling I can connect with is the sting, then the rush, then the moment of relief. One solid moment where I don't have to feel any of those things. There may even be pride there. I might think that I am a damn genius for finding something that frees me of all the pain. I swallow my pills and I go to bed with the knife in my hand because tonight I am weak.



The light of the keys illuminates my shaking hands and all at once I lose the sliver of bravery I had. I am staring at the display as though I can simply will it to happen and it doesn't. I back out of it, then type it back in, and back out once more. I am fidgeting on my bed. I roll onto my side and dial, then twirl onto my back and hit send. Then I hit end over and over until I am certain you didn't hear me try to call. For what feels like the first time in my life, I have no idea what I am going to say. The conversation plays in my head where I sound like a small child and you just laugh at every word I conjure. I imagine an instance where you gave me a fake number and the person on the other end hangs up because the sound of my sobs is the only reply I have. I glance out at the stars and the trees and the lights on the road and I dial, and I hit enter, and I hold my breath. When it rings I know I have made a mistake and I swear I nearly vomit. Then your voice is there. Oh God your voice is there and it's so tender and sweet. I pinch myself-literally pinch myself to make sure the sounds I'm hearing aren't the murmurs of an angel. I speak, I think, or I at least make a noise and I can hear the smile in your voice. You are smiling-at me-for me. We somehow manage to get past all of that and have a conversation. Now I could not tell you any words you said or count the ways I struggled to not make a fool of myself. All I know is the absolute sense of comfort that your voice wrapped me in. I can tell you about my aching stomach after all the laughter I tried to muffle in those late hours. I can recall the exact moment you made my life complete by vocalizing my favorite thing ever. The very second my heart ceased to beat as your tongue released the most harmonic 'I love you'. I have to shake myself. Am I sure that really just happened? My mouth deceives me by releasing a grin instead of a reply. I am so nervous when I finally spit out that I love you too. And my heart sinks because I know it didn't sound like waves lapping at your feet or like butterfly wings on a Spring breeze but you tell me it did. You swear back and forth that it was the most beautiful thing ever-that I am the most beautiful, and my heart rips wide open solely so it can revel in the feeling of you healing it. In the early hours I cannot silence the stirrings in my chest. When my alarm chimes I am breathless; thinking you've called to say you missed me in your sleep. I count the hours until sundown and when you tell me I can call, I am back to square one.