Spinning.

The sky was once blue

The water was once clean

The rain…well…it didn’t burn

And there was grass, green grass.

I remember a thing called tree,

And wishing the summer days would last.

I remember the outdoor smell

Before the scent of grime.

I remember fish that swam,

Before the layer of oil.

I remember a world of light.

Before the world lost the fight.

Shed a tear

The end is near.

 

 

 

In silence

I sit in silence

let my eyes wander in reverence

across the sky looking for guidance

blue and cloud creating its own magnificence

My eyes wander again in silence

across the meadow of grass and violets

breeze on my face and nature’s incense

the world so immense

I sit in silence

in a sweet benevolence

I show my deference

smiling more than once

In silence.

 

and this is but a small part of me…

I was never one for long goodbyes. I think I was more a “pull the band-aid off” kinda guy. It was in my nature to quit when things went bad and forget. I was good at erasing things from my head, squashing feelings of love and fondness. It was how I dealt with the hard moments, the tears and the sadness in life. Better to forget than to actually deal with emotion.

This led to a slow fall into a confused and pained existence, where my own memory became stunted and broken. You see play with your own memories long enough and you actually start believing the lies you have told yourself and losing the reality of oneself. I forgot so much pain, but also lost the core person I was. In essence I chose to forget me.

Yes, it seems a bit impossible, but I began this talent at a very early age. I guess you could say it is spawned from my own mental illness. Leave the bad things somewhere else and pretend to be someone else. When you begin young, you have so many years to hone. As circumstances went, I was given lots of opportunity to force forget. I never said my life was a good one, but in truth, most of the bad I just let go…poof!

The only draw back to this wondrous talent of mine is that the memories do not actually go. They more hide, fester and gain power. They wait for something to set them free. They know that eventually a personality like mine will have the ultimate emotional test and with it…crack. I do not blame the forgotten for wanting to be free. I think any memory wants to be remembered, put them together and you have a mob wanting to be heard. This is how I define my breakdown, a mob wanting to be heard.

The trigger was the end of a marriage, or rather the end of my family. I am not here to discuss it, I merely  mention it in passing. This emotionally charged event allowed the mob to escape. The rush of memory was painful. I do not mean mentally, I mean really physically painful. It hit me right in the chest, like a thousand pounds of pressure crushing me. I screamed in pain, wanting it to just go. I wanted to die and I tried so hard to.

Glimmers saved me.The faces of my children, their laughs, their voices and their love. For the briefest of moments I heard and saw them in the mob. It pushed me back, out of the frozen lake I had walked into. Made me crawl in agony back to the living and made me seek help to quiet all the voices. I will always be grateful  to my children, they will never know, but they saved their dad’s life.

When the voices quieted, I also realized that I did not know who I was. I had lived so long forgetting and pretending that the person I was….wasn’t. I was just a lost boy, without dust to fly, without a happy thought. I was nothing, truly just shell. I breathed, I lived and I breathed some more. I was only happy when I was with my kids. This time fed my heart, but when they were gone, I starved.

This was not a good existence, but it was all I had. I never said it was a good life, but sometimes there were glimmers. Give me a bit, and I will ramble some more…

Running.

The hill was as a mountain, with the heat of the sun flaming down on his bald head. The afternoon was as an army, letting loose fiery arrows of summer heat. he followed the well-worn path, his new runners pinching and blistering his feet. He wasn’t sure why he decided a heat wave was the best time to revisit his health.

He ran in staggered bursts, convincing himself that walking was as good as running. he would have been correct if the walking was a bit more enthusiastic. He stank, he hurt and he was quickly realizing that health meant death.

The path was quiet and the trees gave sporadic shade as he moved away from the clearing and in to the wooded hillside. He felt the temperature dip a bit and literally thank whatever gods were around. He wasn’t a religious man, but he did appreciate the thought of something being responsible for the insanity he was putting himself through.

The heel of his right shoe was rubbing. He felt the painful blister that was forming with every step. Why anyone would consider running a fun past time was beyond him. Nothing about the pain and sweat dripping into his eyes felt like fun. The way his shorts were sticking to him, the way they were riding up to fight with his asshole, the way his thighs burned like to dry sticks being rubbed together….fuck running.

He stopped half way up the hill. His hands on his hips he gasped for breath, feeling a stitch in his side and a pain in his gut. He was going to puke, he felt the bile coming from the depths of his stomach. He moved off the path and bent over retching up the two coffees and breakfast sandwich he had earlier. As he stared at the mess he considered how bad a move that had been.

The birds sang in the trees, but to him they sounded like evil monkeys making fun of him. The branches swayed in a slight breeze, but that sound was like a buzz saw wanting to cut off his feet. The sky was blue above the trees, but all that made him realize was how blue his face must be from the lack of oxygen. All in all running was death.

He heard movement coming from behind him and tried to fix his appearance as best he could. He was embarrassed by how out of shape he was. It had been years since he had run this path and back then he was fit and fast. Now he was middle-aged and completely out of his league. The two joggers seemed to pick up on that vibe.

“You okay?” the young man said in his tight Lycra running shorts and tank. He didn’t seem as uncomfortable as he did.

“Yeah mister, you don’t look so good,” the smiling face of his young girlfriend, with a look that said, hey old guy we think you are dying.

he took a raspy breath and felt an odd feeling in his chest. He sat down in the brush just missing his own puddle of puke. The world seemed a bit fuzzy as the joggers came to him.

“Oh jeez man, you are definitely not ok,” he bent close to the man.

“Davey, I think he needs help,” she said bending over him, touching his sweaty forehead like some bitch of a mom doting on some insolent child.

He moved quicker than he thought he could. The knife sliding out of his pocket and up into the soft under-jaw of the man. In a fluid motion he swung into the eye of his bitch. Both collapsed around him as he stood. He seemed a bit less pained and a lot less sweaty. The smile returning to face, along with the colour he remembered from his youth.

“Ah, that’s better. Running is death after all.”

He started up the path, with a bit more spring in his step. Running was much easier when he was running away.