I sometimes forget how disconnected I felt as a teenager. I listened mostly to my inside voice. My chatty internal dialogue. Questioning. Wondering. Criticizing. It lied to me a lot. And I believed it. I use to wonder – a lot – what a childhood is like with parents who participate. With parents who play. With parents who like to laugh. Parents who laugh with you. None of these images depict a moment of my childhood. I recall silence. Thick air. Thick with fear and tension. And anger. A lot of anger. Multi-directional anger. Every now and then – like today – I feel jilted. Like I stepped onto a different plane than the rest of all the people I see when I got up this morning. The tectonics of me have drifted a part a little bit. But I remember what it feels like to feel whole. What I feel like when I feel sturdy. Stable. Safe. Secure. Sassy. Today, I do not feel sassy.
Don’t talk to me today. I’m wearing a dirty filter. A filter that has the potential to fuck things up. Turn people off. Push people away. Turn off my phone. Turn off my brain. Shut my eyes. Cover my feet in socks and sock and sock and sock. And blankets. Blankets blankets. Blankets. Don’t talk to me today. I won’t listen anyway. My fingers are in my ears. In my nose. In my bellybutton. And if you come any closer I’ll have a finger in yours too. Unless you have an outty. If I say something rude. Or insensitive. Don’t take it seriously. It’s not me. I know it will look like me. She sounds like me. And laughs like me. Her smiles crawl up her cheeks like me. But please don’t listen.
Written Friday, November 1, 2013.