i let You
speak for me.
You make
my mouth move.
But it is not
my words
i say.
It is Your words
i say.
And sometimes—
sometimes they
are very
ugly.
You have made
me so
ugly.
Yet i still seem
to smile.
But it is
not my smile.
It is
Yours.
Image source:
http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9xZYzEMQQ1k/S3ucNm07OgI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/_Qt08_10Hhk/s400/westonart.jpg
When we were little, we always to wanted to be big; we always wanted to grow up. But now that we’ve gotten big and now that we’ve grown up, we find ourselves wishing we were little again.
Because there’s no one to tuck us in before bed. No one to tell us night-time stories and fill our heads with pretty things before we fall asleep. No one to scare away the monsters, and we’ve got plenty of monsters that need scaring.
No one to bandage our scraped knees and our cut thumbs. No one to kiss away our fevers. No one to wipe our tear-stained faces. And we’ve cried. A lot. Because growing up means less ignorance and more knowing. Knowing that the world is actually a pretty crappy place.
And we’ve got no one to tell us otherwise anymore. No one to tell us that the things we see on the news are real. Bombings, houses fires, forest fires, ship wrecks, car wrecks. Abused women, abused men. abused children, abused animals and the people that like to do the abusing. Headlines flashing, people starving, ice caps melting.
And all of it is real. And what hurts most is that we can’t do a damn thing about it. When we were little, we thought growing up meant being powerful. On the contrary; growing up means realizing how little power we actually have.
Growing up. Wonderful, isn’t it?
And all you have to do is trade your story books for text books and your text books for cheque books. Trade your stickers for your learner’s permit and your learner’s permit for your driver’s licence and your driver’s licence for a parking ticket. Trade Saturday morning cartoons for R-rated movies and bubble wands for cigarettes.
Because growing up means giving up the sweet things. Maybe that’s why we are all so bitter. Like stale coffee. But we drink it anyways. Because we are just so tired. Because we went to bed late las night, even though we knew we had to get up early for school and work the next morning. Because once you’ve grown up, you don’t get to sleep in anymore.
So many perks, right? So wonderful, right?
Wrong.
So here is a message for all the kiddies out there: Please don’t grow up.
Image source: http://data2.whicdn.com/images/66922422/large.jpg
I wrote the following piece for my ELA class. It was inspired by a student’s photo. If you are interested in viewing this photo, please go to the to this link I have inserted at the bottom of this post.
Illumination.
You fickle thing. You lost thing. Where have you been these frigid, winter months? Incognito, you have hidden from me. Concealed from my sight, somewhere beyond the grey.
The grey.
You left me when you were the only thing that could truly protect me. You left me. Until now.
~
Beams of pale light sift their way down through the clouds. They touch me, and I begin to cry. But I am not despaired; I am alleviated. My limbs, rigid and pained, begin to thaw. My face, ashen and shadowed, begins to warm. And I think can say that I feel okay. That I don’t feel so terrible today. Because something has changed, like it does every spring.
It happens to me every time. Each September. That’s always when I start to get bad. When summer sunshine is replaced by that of early autumn’s—dull. Come September 1, and the illumination begins to fade. It’s quite depressing, though I’m not sure why. And so I become quite depressed, even though there really isn’t a reason to be. And that’s what bothers me the most about it. Not having a reason.
Not having a reason for acting, feeling so strange those six months. From the early days of autumn to the late days of spring, I suffer. And I find myself sad to the point in which my cheeks become marred by my constant deluge of tears. Or monotonous, devoid of feeling, until I find myself wishing for the sadness and the tears again.
And so the grey settles in.
No energy. Lethargy. And it’s hard to get out of bed in the mornings. And It’s not that I don’t want to get up, it’s that I can’t get up. As if something has pinned me to the mattress. Something sinister, malevolent.
She wishes to kill me.
I know it’s a she, because sometimes she talks to me. And she sounds like me. And, well, I guess she is me.
And some mornings she tells me to go and kill myself. And she makes me think of how I could do it too. Like hanging myself from the ceiling fan. Or slitting my wrists and letting myself bleed out. Or drinking Liquid-Draino.
I don’t know why I would want to die. Because I don’t know why I feel and act so strange sometimes. And that is the worst part.
But I’m feeling okay today. I don’t feel so terrible.
No. Today I woke up, and I found that I could move. And I didn’t feel so lethargic. And she wasn’t there to pin me down to the mattress. Or to tell me to go kill myself. Because she can only ever feed on the grey. And I think maybe she is afraid of the illumination, of the light that was peeking its way through my curtains.
And today when I was brushing my teeth, I didn’t feel so sad. Or monotonous. And perhaps I wasn’t overcome with joy, but I was complacent. And I even smiled a little when I looked in the mirror this morning, because my hair was messy and askew from my previous night’s sleep.
And I smile now too, as I stand beneath the illumination. Because I don’t feel so terrible today.
~
Illumination
You fickle thing. Lost but now found. Where have you been these frigid, winter months? Incognito, you have hidden from me. Concealed from my sight, somewhere beyond the grey.
The grey.
You left me when you were the only thing that could truly protect me. You left me. Until now.
Illumination.
You are my escape. My escape from the grey. And I am relieved. But I know that I won’t have you forever. I know I can only escape for so long.
Escape. But only temporary. Only until the grey begins to settle in again. For now it waits, patiently, until it can trap me when the time is right.
The illumination never lasts.
Please don’t leave me alone again, or I think I might really lose myself this time. Please don’t leave like you do every September. Please stay this time.
Please.
For more information on Seasonal Affective Disorder please visit http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/seasonal-affective-disorder/basics/definition/con-20021047
Inspiration: http://ctsphotos2b.edublogs.org/2015/04/10/breath-of-fresh-air/
Image source: http://theodysseyonline.com/suffolk-uni/freshmen-15-turned-30/171181