a dimension of mayhem

fearing for your life isn’t that common in a college environment or an average workplace. worries about performance results and multiple choice bubbles are a more likely scenario. that is, if you aren’t linked to misguided anxiety.

with anxiety, it’s difficult to level the mind into an accepting state. dread floods receptors to scream bloody murder over a five-minute task or the same shift that’s been worked hundreds of times in the past. in one mystified instant, ingrained habits are no longer helpful. each individual movement begs the question, “can i get through this?”

i woke up this morning tired. showered and got ready like a young adult zombie. scraped ice off the windshield and drove in late to work. settled into the dependable pattern of voicemails and emails. but as i reclined in one of several generic office chairs, my environment cranked to unbearable, shoving me into a tumble of fear, doubt, grogginess, irritability, and clipped quotes. the slim stack of paperwork loomed over my motivation, scolding any attempt at rational reasoning. text messages hid unread under the instant commitment of a reply. dialing to telephonic receivers poured concrete on top of my knuckles and grounded clarity to a filthy, twisted path of decision-making. even in motion, the weight of the world hampered its revolutions and chose me as bearer of the consequences. to talk, to stand, to breathe — these muscle movements substituted involuntary for manual labor at the hand of some wicked plant manager sabotaging their own company just to see the fire burn.

and in the midst of blackmail, so too did writing become a victim. i can barely gather the meaning to care about this post. it’s therapeutic, but i’m not scouting for a medic. i’m longing for an escape. i’m begging for a mattress, not for the comfort, but for the descendance into unconsciousness. only there can i dance without ankle weights, speak without a cement tongue, and simply exist in a dream untethered to the chains of mental illness.

this fretful locomotive of mine stutters on a depleted ration of coal. it reminds me of how far i still have to go. cognitive education is a high-torque tool that’s wrenched me out of a busted loop in multiple instances over the past few years. but what do you do when the screw is stripped and the basic technique to inhale deep and exhale aloud fails? how am i supposed to stop the gravity of panic from pressing down on my chest when i’m too exhausted to squeeze through?

there’s no applause for being my own hero. the villainous grapples of instability don’t die at my hands, they escape. i stumble toward my cave, collapse in the atrium, then awake before dawn, returning to a dimension of mayhem in the midst of yesterday’s aches. do these concussive injuries strengthen my resolve, or do they chip away at the cartilage between my soul and its ghouls? 

it’s quite a shock to relearn the fragility of human spirit. no matter the physicality of running, lifting, and stretching, i am nothing without peace of mind. and to reach that armistice, it’ll require more than stark character combinations. i just don’t know what.

–  D K T


life ends. why pretend

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