The clock strikes two, and my mind paces, although my body remains motionless. This is the hour where, when left unattended, disaster often strikes me. Or at least, it did so in the past.
Years ago, this time was the time of heartache, of misery. It was when most went to sleep while I remained taut with frenetic energy, counting the hours (and often minutes) until daylight’s return. Like the child terrified of a monster in the closet, I somehow was convinced that in the light, I was safe. I could be okay.
I was wrong. How can you be safe from yourself when your self never goes away?
New ways to hurt, new ways to feel something more than an anesthestized ache. My mind began a game of Chicken with my body, and the score remains unsettled to this day. The war is never over; it’s never over for any of us who have marched to this sinister drum. There are days, weeks, months even, where we climb back behind the wheel and floor it, daring the oncoming traffic to not yield.
Bodies are meant to yield; they soften under the gentle touch of a lover, relax when stretched out upon a comfortable bed. Skin yields, too, giving way to blood and sinew. Flesh is weak; one way or another, the determined find a way to shape it as they wish, destroy and sometimes rebuild. But to yield is to exert caution, and there is nothing cautious in this twisted funhouse.
One more trick of the mirrors? Perhaps. I only know that when confronted with them, I smash them, shards clutched in bleeding hands as I wonder how much longer I will have to play this game – and if anyone ever wins.
Day 167: Otherside – Red Hot Chili Peppers