I walk into my kitchen and look around. Amy had just been in to clean because everything was in order. The home care agency was right that she would work out well. I open a drawer by the sink and pull out a knife. Dragging the blade across my arm would hurt but not as much as the memory I can’t escape. It won’t hurt as much as seeing his face as he wrapped his hands around my neck. Yes, the blade was better than the thoughts. A sound behind me caught my attention and I turned around. Domo stood at the kitchen threshold staring at the knife in my hand. She licks her lips and her tail does a brief wag.
I chuckle at her. She just wants to be fed. Domo thinks I am making a sandwich or something. She doesn’t know what I was thinking. I stared at her as she watched my knife. How would anyone explain to her why I cut myself instead of making a sandwich? What would she think seeing me bleeding on the floor? I felt my heart break for the innocent thing before me and put the knife away. There is no way I could subject her to pain she would never understand. Domo whined in disappointment as I walked out of the kitchen without a sandwich.
You pack your things in a box. Then the box goes into a vehicle and goes to another place. There the box is taken out and ylur things are unpacked. You look around your new place filled with your old stuff amd hope. You hope that this means a new beginning. You hope that things will change.
She dances along the edge of the water, her hands lifted above her head, eyes closed against the sky. Her smile floats between laughter and a song. Music swirls through air, begging you to come and play.
I guess it happened because I was told not to do it. Maybe it happened because you told me it was a bad idea. It could’ve even been the moment you looked at me and I saw the green in your blue eyes. All I know, is that I see that you are lost and it hurts me inside. I’ve seen the precious moment where you show your kids just how much they mean to you. All of these things add up to me loving you. And I am still falling for you every day.
My neighbor is a beautiful man. He was born and raised where surfing was rite of passage. He is the picture book Cali surfer boy Texas girls all dream about. All blonde hair, blue eyes, and abs. The most beautiful thing about this beautiful man is not the shallow picture most girls want to see. No, the most beautiful thing, and this is really unfair, is his beautiful mind. The pretty packaging is nice but man do I want to delve into the mind within.
“What is she doing?” A woman points at a girl moving erratically. The crowd had parted around the girl so she had space to move around.
“She is dancing,” a man replies with awe in his voice. “And it’s beautiful.”
The woman snorts, “You call that beautiful?”
“Yes,” the man almost whispers. “You see, today her cat ran away and her car broke down. Her health insurance called and will no longer cover her. The lease is up on her apartment and she is going to have to move back in with her parents.”
“So?” The woman asks scornfully. “What does that have to do with her dance being beautiful?”
The man looked the woman dead in the eyes and asked, “If all of that happened to you, would you be dancing?”
“You seem perfectly fine to me,” she said kindly. Tisha looked at me with kind eyes full of sympathy. Too bad she didn’t get what I was trying to say so she told me the same thing everyone else does. “You don’t seem mentally ill.”
I understand this reaction. People aren’t comfortable with the idea of mental illness. They can’t see it so they can’t understand it. To them mental illness is to be feared so, out of kindness, they try to convince you that you aren’t mentally ill. It doesn’t stop the words from hurting when they are said though. Every time someone tells me that I seem fine I feel like they don’t believe me. As if I would come up with something like Bipolar or Asperger’s Syndrome to get attention. Why would I want emotional mood swings I don’t understand? Why would I choose to be on the edge of the crowd not understanding what is going on? I am not fine. I am barely okay. I have days where the sun shines bright and things make sense. More often than not it’s thick clouds and strong winds. Nothing makes sense and I seem to be getting in trouble at every turn. If I open up to you that I have a mental illness it is because I trust you. So refuting me doesn’t make me feel better. It makes me feel crazier than I already do.