By: Kambria Whittaker
They ask me what I fear the most, and I say “heights”. It’s the only thing that sounds normal. Yes, heights and falling. I am terrified of falling from the high that I have built myself and slamming my head on concrete that’s going to send a rush of truth to every nerve in my body; A rush that will remind myself that the person I have made myself to be isn’t me. I’m not who anyone thinks I am and I hate that. Panic forms a bubble in my throat when I think of losing everyone I love because that same bubble stopped me from saying all the words I should have been able to say; all the words they deserved to hear. I am fearful of being voiceless, but having a voice never did me any good.
I’ve turned my bedroom into an empty void, and I allow all the tragedies, all the smiles that were as fragile as glass, to trap me and lock my door. How am I supposed to stop it? I can’t leave and when I do, I look calm and collected- almost like a doll. My eyes are lifeless, and I’ve become an inanimate object. I operate from muscle memory while my brain is getting pulled further and further into the abyss; a place where my thoughts dance around my head and I drown in memories I tried so hard to forget. Hands of everything I fear pull me into my head. I always knew my mind was a maze, but I never thought I’d get so lost I can’t get out.
As I sink into my mattress and let my fear hold me like I’ve never been held before, I get pulled in further. Hands wrap around me and pull me closer as I begin to suffocate. Every time I think it can’t get darker, it does. How do I stop getting pulled in further? I am paralyzed by the concept of never being able to escape. The word “calm” is whispered to me like a command, and my brain wants to fight or run on instinct, but I’ve lost myself. All I can do is ponder on the thoughts that take me back to the good times, but I am walking proof it takes five good memories to replace one bad.
I have these ideas strung together like the Christmas lights in my room. I stare. From my point of view everything looks like an impossible dream I made in my head; the word “peaceful” seems unattainable. I sink further. I wonder where I’m supposed to be right now. Further. I question why I’m alive. Further. I think about the fact that for years I’ve been a shell of a person. Further. Will anyone notice when I am just a shadow? Further. I am gone.
Art Piece by Jupiter Hamilton