I haven’t had a bite since dinner last night. And that meal wasn’t much. But I do know it isn’t the food that wakes me up every morning. Neither do I walk away from the darkness because of what churns in my stomach. These are the thoughts I have when I justify my averseness to eating on my bad days.
On my way, I see a man by the algae-ridden canal. The waters are frothing. Twigs and sprigs caught in some wild weeds. Yet the man seems content watching the scene from behind the bushes. He has a straw hat to go with his mismatched t-shirt and shorts. He has thick rimmed glasses on his calm face and a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck. I pause in my tracks trying to make sense of this guy.
What does he feel? Is there a peacefulness in hysteria?
Nevertheless, I remind myself that not everyone has the luxury of going crazy. Some of us must hold onto our marbles. Regardless of how slippery they might turn out to be. So instead, for reasons we apparently do not understand, we turn the madness into ourselves.
Opening the door, I tread into the lab. Quietly. As if I’m scared for my life like a rabbit in a strange meadow. I step out of my shoes and put on the slippers reserved for indoors. And I wonder whether this practice is really what it seems.
There are plenty of artefacts out there, destructive and burdensome. Sticking onto my dear companion on this journey, who tread on every stone and dirt on my way. I gotta leave them outside. Never let them enter the sanctuary of my soul. That’s why I must wear my comfortable moccasins at home. Because I want to be just me.
I shuffle my feet like a child and realise that I could be wrong about this. Maybe it’s a hint to protect myself. Just like you can’t be barefoot on a mile-long trek into a desert, you can’t weather out the storm without a pat on your back and a calm hand that reaches out to steady you.
I look around and have a glimpse of family. I don’t know what I have today, that I didn’t yesterday. I never knew I needed it, until now – when I fit in with this assortment of oddballs with divergent streaks.
The truth is,
It is hard to help.
However, it is harder to ask for help.
When the world is deaf to me, I let the dark heavy ink speak. I know I must wait.
When I need you to help me crawl out of this mess, I must understand that you might be having a bad day too. You live in your hell and I live in mine.
There is never a word the same as another. And I believe in mine when I ask you to save me.