The Widening Room

Love lost to a whisper in the Cosmic Winds. Patience learned by the spinning of a pizza oven. Realizing that derealization is just part of it. None of it original, Just well-intentioned mimickery.

It was a chilled night, Late December. The grass, frosted over, Crunching under the shadows of our feet. Our flashlights providing momentary glimpses Of our future.

It wasn't much. Just a small plot, But the worlds held within it, They numbered infinite. I saw them in your star-speckled eyes When you asked me, "Where do we start?"

Fifty-three years gone. I can't see & you can't hear, But those stars in your eyes sing to me, While you watch me tell you stories, Making our own rules again. It was a chilled night.

Y’know, I never liked coffee? Not until after you, anyways. Now? It drives my existence. Reminding me of those Tuesday mornings When I’d wake up just before you. Sneak to our too small kitchen, Trying not to disturb your last moments In the blissful & fantastically crafted dreamscape With the clattering & clanging of cabinets

And yet, you were never more beautiful Than when you drowsily shuffled out, Rubbing that dreamscape away with the few bits of eye boogies. You would leer at me, Ready to irritably remark on “all that damn noise;” But then, the aroma would assault your senses As you floated to that beat up Mr. Coffee.

You see those Tuesday’s weren’t just Tuesday. No. No they were the reason I got up the rest of the week. Just so we would always have Tuesday Morning.

Snow falls over the horizon. It makes me envision the days, The days we talked about futures, Futures real as the snowflakes we watched Never thinking of what we would do Once we reached the ground; Choosing, instead, to live, Live within that Perpetual                                         Free                                              Fall.

Galactic Traveler, why do you run? Trying to escape those dangerous banditos? Is it something more haunting? That feeling of stagnation Of never being able to outrun who you were?

And who were you? A child in his father’s space suit, Perhaps. Dressing the part for a life imagined. Knowing deep down it was all a farce. But maybe you could still pretend, Long enough to convince yourself.

Pretending only lasts as long as you dream, Though. So maybe you wanted to dream again. Like you did in your room, watching. Watching from behind closed eyes As those space ships floated on without you.

Well dream no more, Traveler. For those ships you once desired so much? They carry you onward, The wayward son Finally floating.

Walking in Downtown Chattanooga Sun sparkling through golden ale. Wind chimes ringing in the park While families reminisce in newfound memories, And all he can bring to mind Is this cold emptiness.

Maybe it’s the lack of endorphins. That is certainly the logical take. Then again, maybe not.

He drove hoping to be driven When all he feels is drifting Along the river No paddle or direction. Just aimless floating, An impostor in his own skin.

An impostor who fools no one. No one except those that want to be fooled So that they can say “he seems fine.” And who can blame them? They have to fool themselves too, After all.

To not be fooled, is to be aware. Aware that none of us control anything. It’s all random chaos, So cheers to disregarding our fears! All they do is make us realize we will fail.

Ah! There lies that impostor! Confidently spewing declarations About the uselessness of it all, As if it’s some profound realization. Deflecting from the root of it all: This never ending loneliness.

You see, he can’t allow the loneliness, Allow it to open his eyes To how pathetically typical he really is. That he’s not some revolutionary, Above the most basic of motives.

The impostor is an impostor Because he thinks he is not. Not the common sense anyways. No, he’s “different” Different as apple pie.

When rain drops turn to teardrops, Sad songs to bad poems & tattoos, I am engulfed by that smell. Your shampoo & candle warmer. It Must Be Fall.

Needing it to be Your Fault; Knowing it’s more of My Nothing. I threw in the towel at the top of the 9th. It Must Be Fall.

Disappointment has become Dissociation Or maybe it’s Disillusion. Pursuit is burned away in the cold; And You are still my spark. It Must Be Fall.

*Trigger Warning* This post/piece contains references to Suicidal Thoughts, Depression/Anxiety Symptoms. If you do not feel comfortable with these subjects, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS POST. 

If you or someone you know/care about are feeling suicidal thoughts & want someone to talk to, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is  1-800-273-8255. The official website is suicidepreventionlifeline.org

I wrote this in the middle of a spiral the other day while in the process of switching medications. I truly did not intend on ever letting this be seen by any other set of eyes except my own. For reasons I cannot adequately express, I felt it needed to be put out there so that... someone who may be feeling similar, or has recently learned that one of their loved ones suffers from similar mental health issues and wants to get a better understanding of what’s happening, can feel like they are not alone. I know I certainly feel like this is only my way of spiraling, but that’s just statistically impossible. 

So, here is me, unedited (minus the redacted parts for privacy reasons), and with far too many run-ons. 

With love, T.W.R.

Sunday, August 9, 2020

I keep wanting to create, but then I’m hit with either overwhelming exhaustion, depression so intense I started making an actual fucking plan on how to end it (part of me still is), or, worst of all, writer’s block so powerful it’s as if I’ve completely forgotten how to even write letters in that moment. After being let go from [redacted], once it finally hit me, I lost any real sense of purpose. Brooke at [redacted] was kind enough to give me part time work doing their landscaping, and I return the favor by being in legitimately crippling back/leg pains, or so depressed I can barely move away from the bed/couch, except to unsuccessfully take a shit or limp downstairs for a glass of water.

I know mental health is a critically important thing, and issues with it (depression, anxiety, bipolar, etc.) should be taken with extreme seriousness and care from those around the individual struggling. I’ll be the first to tell someone in the middle of a crisis, episode, whatever, they need to step back and address it before anything else. I believe mental health days, weeks, months are crucial to helping with these moments. They are legitimate reasons to miss work, school, family gatherings, etc. Help from professionals is crucial as well as any medication that works.

Knowing all of this, however, does not ever keep me from excluding myself from the same standards. Even when I know I’m in the middle of an episode, I repeatedly find myself shutting people out, making up reasons for not working instead of being honest, and then convincing myself the whole time that I’m “making it up” while actively feeling everything about it. That, consequently, is all I feel. All of which continually compounds everything into even more anxiety, and the vicious cycle continues. Even my medicine just makes it to where I still feel, but I can’t express it effectively. The other day, while actively feeling deep sadness over a true crime victim’s story (something I’d normally be inconsolably crying over), I just blankly stared. Outward expression all but gone. So, I just stay at home because it’s the only constant anymore.

I truly don’t know what to do anymore. My best days are good. But they’re so few and far between these days, I end up just waiting to return to the normalcy of depressed Nihilism. So sad that I want to end it all, genuinely, because of the “epiphany” that, ultimately, none of “it” matters (how wonderfully original I know). The only things that keep me from this are my mom and maybe two friends. Terrible, I know. Flippantly dismissive of others you could say, and you wouldn’t be wrong. When wholeheartedly you find it nearly impossible to believe anyone gives a shit about you, however nonsensical that assessment may be, it becomes more difficult to justify sticking around.