OYM Day 29: Tell Me I’m Not Crazy

Do you ever close the blinds and then that beautiful, tangerine sunset isn’t real or happening?

Do you ever reach for things that aren’t there, but you can somehow feel it take shape in your hand? Feel the plastic, the sweater, the fur?

Do you ever say a lie out loud and consider it true?

Can’t everything be real if we want it to be? Or not exist if we choose?

I didn’t mean for that to rhyme.

For most of my life, I made it a habit to run from my problems. I’d draw the curtains and pretend not to hear the heavy breathing of my demons behind them. I am really, really good at forgetting memories, moments, even years of my life when I’ve made the decision to do so. I don’t remember the age I was when something happened, or how old I was in 5th grade, or what I looked like when I spotted the small tears in the illusion of a perfect life…all I can remember are images of how things made me feel. I don’t remember how old I was when my Grandpa died. But I remember the way my thumb went numb and my ear started ringing when they told me. I don’t remember what I was wearing the morning my parents said they were splitting. But I remember the smell of hot sun on concrete. I don’t remember what I threw up after my father said to never call him again. But I do remember the image of a bucket falling, falling, falling and never meeting the bottom of the well. For big events in my life, I have completely forgotten the reality and instead created my own. I’ve danced in a sea of mouse traps, the metal clicking and snapping at my heels. I’ve seen a small child unzip their chest and deflate like a balloon.

Do you do this, too? It would make me feel better if you said yes. Tell me. What does your mind show you that hasn’t actually happened?

Some of the pictures in my head are so vivid that it’s getting hard to tell if I’ve actually seen them in real life or not. This is usually where I start to get nervous that I may be losing my mind. It starts to feel like I’m living in a space split between my physical body and whatever else is up there. Not heaven…but somewhere out there with the rest of space and matter.

If I’m being honest, I have always felt crazy. It’s exhausting to think so much. I think this is why people tell me I’m hard to read. It’s because I am in a constant round table discussion with versions of myself in my head. That, or it must be my face…something about my face. Maybe people can see my eyes tremor as they talk to me. Maybe they can see my mind working to put together the strange things I see. The cars melting like ice cream. A receipt that’s being printed in live time, of every word I’ve ever said. A hammer and a pile of ants in the sand. It doesn’t always make sense. Or does it? Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.

These are usually things I hide about myself, but as you may have figured out, I’m really letting it all hang out lately. I’ll still close the shutters and ignore the sunset tonight. In fact, it’s already set. And instead of picturing a sky of creamy oranges and pinks, my mind shows me a small mouse that is jumping up and down, saying he thought I forgot about him. Honestly, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.