It all became too much. So much it confuses me. I stopped listening- everything began to sound like a big buzz, a hum. I can’t decipher language or make sense of words right now. Coverting them into coherent sentences becomes too much of a task. My head hurts from where I hit it two days ago. My body is angry with me. My mind is ashamed of me: (You hurt us. YOU. Hurt us. You don’t love us. You don’t love you.)
Not now. Please. I can’t deal with you right now. But I am sorry I hit you. I am sorry.
I don’t want to talk. My other senses take over vivaciously making up, almost, for where they now lack. I do more than see- I observe. I not only hear, I listen. I not only touch, but sense. I not only smell but absorb. But, I have fallen, silent. At this moment, I have a need. A great, deep, desperate need FOR quiet.
I am tired of words. Saying. Writing. Messaging. Whispering. Shouting. Typing. Scrawling. They seem to be saying to me, “Stop using me. Stop taking liberties just because you can. Stop playing games just because you know how to manipulate the rules. Stop trying to peel back the layers to try see what’s beneath. Stop separating us from each other in phrases you have heard to try and read between the lines. Stop abusing what is your gift. Stop it. Stop it. Leave me alone. Find another way to communicate, because I am tired. And tired of you. I don’t want to be near you right now.”
I don’t even want to communicate. I just want to close my body down. My mind has already begun to shut me off. Nothing wants anything to do with me right now.
I don’t know what to do. My brain won’t say. My body won’t obey. There is a mutiny rising inside. It might mean having to kill. It might mean having to take a life. Something has got to give. Soon, it will.