Inside Words ... aka Going off my Antidepressants

Dig your way out with words. Lift one up and put it down. Keep digging, we’re not even close yet. Totally trapped in this cave of insanity. Everything is coming at me, covered in a heavy layer of dusty madness. Try to brush it off but that just gets it under the skin. I can’t get it off in here. There is no clean air, there is no cleansing water. It is stale and hot and I can’t breathe. Why would my mind put me here? How did I even get here? Am I so weak to change? Something is different and everything falls through these cracks. I can’t remember it all! I have too much to remember. Sneakers, music, pass, food, kid’s clothes, so much. Routine keeps it all together. Change it and I get locked in this cave.

How the hell do I get out of here? I’m so lost and broken. So broken. Covered in cracks that the dust get in to. How can I get out? Lift another word, maybe? Look, you won’t get out just by sitting in here and wishing for a way out, wishing and lamenting on how broken you are. Another layer of dust. Screams to get it off. Want to squirm and cry out, writhe on the ground to get it off but that won’t help. It won’t help! So deal with it. Screaming WON’T HELP! Deal with it, Empress. Get past this. Why does it feel like I can’t?

Find a way. Find a way and we’ll get out of here. Just want to get out of here. Please… crying won’t help, either. The rage, the sadness, the anxiety – none of that will free you. I can hear it raining on the other side of the rock wall. If I could just get to it. . . just get out of this cave that I can never seem to escape from.

Lift another word. They are so heavy and there are too many. I’m a tornado in a cave. I can spin all I want and cause intense destruction, but I will still be stuck here when I burn out. I can scratch at the rocks but that will just leave me sore and bloody. It won’t change. Then how do I get out? Physical prowess doesn’t matter here.

Everything that makes up this wall is small and awkward. There are no short cuts. No way to lift more than one at a time. So, there must be only one way, then. Persistence. If I just keep doing it, I’ll get out of here. Just keep breathing. Even though you’re covered with the dust. If feels thick and heavy, it feels suffocating, but there will never be enough to seize you into immobility as long as you keep moving. Keep moving, keep digging. If you stop, if you use your energy in the bursts of frustration you will get no further and only lose precious strength and time.

Focus, come with me. Keep lifting. Go through it, and the pile becomes larger behind you than in front of you. The rocks are now damp with that rain you so desire. If you just keep going, keep things going slowly, you will get there.

Don’t let a quick fix seduce you. Don’t give into the anger. The anger is so raw. It is not a normal anger. It is a ferocious rage. Can’t stress enough how powerful this anger is to someone who has never know it. And how seductive. That release that comes when you give in. When you finally explode and let free the destruction. It is tempting, even more so in this cave. Keeping it back, forcing yourself to keep digging slowly and carefully, is a battle so few experience, and even fewer understand.

Frustration. That’s a heavy one to lift. It’s the root of all of this, isn’t it? All of me, all of this madness. What a horrible thought, to think that your core is nothing but a knotted ball of twisted metal. No, there must be more to me than that. Pick up that word and move it away. So close now. But it falls, it’s so heavy and wet, and crushes part of me as it lands. But that’s okay. It marks me up on the outside, bruises and scars, makes me bleed tears of blood and water, but it does not penetrate. It’s an outside word. And that’s what I’m digging through. The outside words. The words that try to hurt and keep you buried in this horrible place.

Keep digging. Cry if you must, but keep digging. The rocks are smaller now. But the rain from outside is making them slippery. It’s hard to get a grip. The dark rain is what you seek, but remember that bit of Sunny you once had in your life. The last 5% is often the hardest, and most important.

A small tumble of stones. You have moved so many big ones, the little ones are tumbling down on their own now. Falling around your feet as you walk over them. And you are walking over them. We’re not going that deep into this cave EVER AGAIN! We’re going to get out of here for good. We’re going to focus on the inside words. Strength, compassion, joy and love.

The hole is now big enough to squirm through. There are a few words that dig in, leaving scratches that will take a while to heal, but they will heal. You’ve made it out. The air is fresh and cool. The rain washes all the dust away. It melts off your skin, pooling on the ground below. You are shining in this clean water. The dust from the misery is gone. Some got under the skin and will be there for more than a day, more than a week and even more than a month, but it will be pushed out. My body will cleanse itself of the murky madness. The inside words will purge all that is left of the outside ones. The ones I had to dig through to get clean again. To get back to me.

Muted Madness

I recently competed in a writing contest. We were given the first and last line and had to fill in a 1000 word story within 24 hours. This is what I came up with:

 Muted Madness

They laid the train tracks back to front and this caused a great deal of confusion – you’d think you were on the train to New York and arrived in Kinshasa, or to Shanghai and found yourself lost in Istanbul. But the journey was supposed to be half the fun, she thought, looking around at her fellow passengers. More like half the terror.

          Elenora rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes, coaxing her mind to relax, to allow her some peace, to let the sound of the rain calm her. Focusing her energy on breathing, she slowly brought her heart rate to something normal. But a sudden jolt of the carriage made her cringe. Her slender fingers gripped the plastic arms of her seat, her knuckles turning white with pressure.

          Around her the carriage on the small train held less than a dozen others. Canadian trains were more of a relic now. Those who still travelled them either enjoyed the notion of being on a train or found the cheaper fair between two fairly close locations appealing.

          And then there are people like me. People who could, if they lost control, be easily kicked off in the middle of the journey without too much disruption. There were no stations every so many kilometres in the air. An emergency landing would inconvenience hundreds of people and make headlines. Best not to let that happen.

          Why don’t you want anyone to know about me? The voice in the darkness whispered. Her body tensed. Her arms shook from the force of her muscles straining against the fear. Please, no, please. . . she begged her rational self. Keep the madness at bay. I’m not crazy! The voice screamed. Oh, but you are.

          The insanity that had started so slowly, started as nothing more than a phrase she thought she heard, a passing remark that caused her to ask “what?” to the people around her, had taken on a true form over the past few months. By now it had developed into a demon lurking inside her mind.

          Without warning her arm twitched and she gasped. How much longer until she arrived? Not long enough! The menacing laughter followed. She bitterly hated the manic laughter. It mocked her efforts at sanity, mocked her attempts to fight the demon, and mocked her hope that there would ever be a time when she could feel normal again.

          She looked around at her fellow passengers. Though they were scattered throughout the seats and facing front, she couldn’t help but feel exposed in her dark jeans and navy shirt. The dark colours were chosen in the hope of blending in, and her brown hair was pulled into a lose bun at the nape of her neck for the same reason. But despite these efforts, she was certain everyone had looked at her with questions in their eyes. You can’t mute the madness, the voice taunted.

          Leave me alone, she pleaded. With shaking fingers she turned her watch to see it was so close to the time of arrival. If anything happens to these people… she agonised, feeling a fresh wave of guilt for leaving it this late to do something about the madness. She had known it so well; studied the signs, been tested on them, and even diagnosed others with what was eating away at her saneness. But her vanity had kept her from accepting the truth. What was the saying? “Pride cometh before the fall.”

          Exhausted, Elenora lowered the tray table and rested her head in her hands. With eyes closed, she felt a loud bang, as though someone had been thrown against a wall. Her head titled to the side from the force. Franticly she opened her eyes, searching for signs of disaster. Her rational mind told her there was nothing wrong with the train, but then she felt the brutal clash again, this time with more force.

          No, it’s not the train, she realised with horror. “God no!” She cried, aware that the demon was finally breaking free. She had given it too much time, allowed it to fester, and now, when she was so close to her friend and colleague waiting for her at the Halifax train station to take her directly to the Abbie Lane psychiatric facility, it was too late.

          An overwhelming sadness came over her and she moaned, catching the attention of the other passengers. As the moan transformed into a cruel laugh, people started to shift from their seats to the front of the cab.

          “Ma’am, are you all right?” Someone was coming towards her. A large woman with a serious face. “I’m a nurse, I can help . . .”

          She’s not here to help. She’ll hurt you. Hurt you, hurt you. Don’t let her. Hurt her! “I can’t let you hurt me!” The voice screamed. Elenora’s body flung at the woman, jumping on top of her and scratching at her face, but her mind took no part in the attack. She didn’t acknowledge the panic cries of the others, or the screech of the brakes as the train arrived at its destination. Too obsessed with the task of ensuring this woman never hurt her, Elenora’s body struggled against the other passengers who tried to aid the helpful nurse by tearing the assailant off her. She fought them with the fear of a trapped animal and howled like a wounded one.

          In the chaos, a familiar voice shouted her name, a familiar face floated before her eyes, but she only gnashed her teeth at his attempts to have her recognize him. And then a prick in her shoulder.

          Slowly the demon coiled into a dormant darkness. As Elenora retreated into unconsciousness, she gave into a profound despair that she may never be herself again. Before closing her eyes against the turmoil, she looked out the train window. Rain dripping from the rusty gutters made a curtain between the platform and the tracks.