Release me from your fall. Push me away. Push me all.
In an instant, these feelings overwhelm me and tug at my sensibilities. Tug at my reality and distort it. I’m not pulled up to great heights and let go to fall freely. I’m not pulled down flat against the surfaces. I’m pulled sideways. It distorts things in a way that unnerves me. I question what is good for me versus what is bad for me but don’t know the answer. I can’t tell the difference. I question if this is all that there is in my life. Is this enough and if there is more–what and where is it? It’s an impatient feeling–this sideways feeling. The skin on my face tugs sideways and my lips drag across my face like ice cream dripping sideways on a cone. My long hair moves upward and forms into licorice spirals then fans out and goes sideways along with the direction of my face. My clothes flutter and pull on me, tug me, tug at my skin that is oozing along sideways outside of its boundaries and wrapped in clothes, sweat and body heat. Sideways to no particular place just moving there and won’t stop going. My skeleton creaks and tugs sideways following its attachments. My mind is well on its way going sideways and leading this distasteful delicacy. Sideways is a place my mind is always unfamiliar with but has no fear to go. It goes there and stays awhile in this unfamiliar, sideways place putting thoughts in my mind that make no nevermind sense. Senses aflutter and thoughts aclutter going to a place called ‘sideways’. Where all thoughts become skewed and unmatched in their perplexity. Not even my meds can stop this sideways complexity. Hope keeps me afloat as I tip toe above it and watch helplessly from above and then crawl down to observe it from below. Sideways is a middle kind of place. A lonely kind of place. Tryin’ to make it stop or change direction to a more familiar perception instead of sideways which is an undesirable confection.
It had been a long day in the office and my morning started off fair enough until it ended with my colleague’s forgetfulness about a meeting. The meeting was very important, and I had left on time for it. I walked for 20 minutes down the street to the location and entered the modern building. It had a grey, spacious interior that made you feel physically small amidst the soaring walls. I checked in with the receptionist and stated the name of the meeting I was attending. She looked through her list and informed me that my meeting wasn’t on the list and asked if I would like to walk through the meeting rooms and check. Against the loud “NO” in my mind, I entered anyway because I’m trying to not be isolated and live outside my comfort zone. One thing that triggers anxiety for me is being lost. It becomes a tidal wave of discomfort and panic if I’m not careful. I entered the hallway feeling lost but keeping it under control by telling myself that I was ok and taking deep easy breathes. I cleared my mind as I walked aimlessly down the hallway checking in on rooms where meetings were starting to take place. After not finding my meeting, I left. Relief filled me up as I left that hallway and then quickly escaped the building. I was outside in the fresh air and relaxed as I headed back to my office. Another 20 minute walk which was quite ok because I was outside and free.
I returned to my office and asked my colleague about the meeting and he casually said, “oh, that was cancelled. Didn’t I tell you? I guess I forgot to forward you the email.” I pushed my irritation down and tried not to dwell on it. I casually responded, “oh, that’s ok.” But it wasn’t ok. The anxiety that I had to experience due to his laziness was almost unforgivable. Oh, the work place – a functioning mental ward of the uninspired.
I met my boyfriend after work, and we walked out of work together and there was still a chill in the air. I was wearing my favorite faux fur coat and walking with the man I love. It was a wonderful. It always wonderful to be with him, and I have to pinch myself everyctime we are together. Our chit chat, as we walked to the car, masked the fact that I was irritated by my colleagues oversight. People passed by and the sound of traffic grew louder as we got closer to the intersection. The loudness of the traffic triggered me to be more irritable at the thought of the cancelled meeting. My chatter continued about my work day all the way to the car. Comfortably enclosed in our space, I explained exactly how I walked to the building only to find out that it had been cancelled. Then I explained that my colleague “That MotherFucker forgot to tell me. My boyfriend is opposite of the more fiery me. He does not curse and uses a tamer language to express himself. “That MotherFucker forgot to tell me the meeting was cancelled,” I blurted out as we drove down the freeway. He said, “Well…. that doesn’t make him a “motherfucker.” I mean that word is used for a more serious situation.” “No!” I declared. The word completely describes my colleague “He’s, a motherfucker.” My boyfriend said, “You use that word if someone attacks you and you pull out a knife and stab him in the face and then you yell “You motherfucker!”” I said, “If I were to wait to use Motherfucker like that then I would never get to use it, and it’s a great word. It describes my colleague – that Motherfucker!”
The alarm clock sounds off like reveille across a field. It calls for me to wake up and start my day. Through groggy eyes, I look for my alarm and shut if off. A sigh escapes my lips and my head returns gently to my pillow. It sinks into the comfort and warmth. I am awake and become aware of my warm body under the warm sheets I stretch like a cat and roll onto my side. I look at my clock in frustration as if its the clock’s fault that I have to wake up. Why can I not wake up perky and bouncy like I use to, but the answer is always there — my med. Fortunately, my med does not effect my libido in the morning. Through the sleepy leepies I still want to play. To feel.