Written in recovery: I never believed in ghosts until I lived with one Until I nearly became one. For years after I let that dead version of myself follow me around. I dragged the carcass everywhere. Took my dead body off to college, propped her up in class. Everything felt heavy but nothing heavier than the dead weight of another body. It may have been manageable, if the ghost would have moved on. Instead, it came with me, taunting me. Constantly reminding me I should be dead. Cold fingers traced the vertical scars Symetrical, severing my forearms. The ghost fed on me until I began to fade. Nights I found myself on the edge of an overpass, luggin a body. The echoes of "Jump" hanging in the air. I woke up in bed, a small slice of sanity missing from my head. I stayed awake begging my ghost to tell me what she needed. That morning I swung my feet over the bed lighter. I left my carcass in bed, covers tucked under her chin. The whispers faded out. "Let go" echoing heavy in my chest.
Written: May 23, 2015 I am working on reclaiming my spaces. Starting with baby steps, I gather a journal and headphones. My feet lead a distracted mind to the local park. I am not carrying monsters with me. A pen in my pocket replacing shiny pieces of hungry steel. I place myself at the edge… Continue reading Reclaiming Spaces
It is late at night. You are sitting next to me. Every guard is lowered by the lack of eye contact. My eyes stay on the winding double yellow. Your pupils dance in the ghost reflections on the windows You’re watching the world rush past as you listen. I feel like I can breathe, even… Continue reading Friendship
The week before November this year was spent laying in a recliner. It was the only place I was comfortable. Out of work, unable to walk because of a hip injury, I had to find something to do with myself before my brain melted. Because my brain was melting. Two days before Nov.1,2016 I remembered… Continue reading I’m Writing a Book?