wave

And then I get this feeling and it rolls over me like a gigantic wave… my feet are pulled away from under my body; I slam hard on the shore, sand scorches my skin, then the water pulls back and washes me away like a piece of flotsam. I am drifting, floating out to sea; the further out it goes, the calmer the waters grow until I’m merely bobbing up and down up and down like some misled yellow plastic duck. This feeling.

And when it washes over me, it urges me to leave everything behind, to lash out at someone, cut my ties, social, factual, imagined, real. And then there is something inside of me which I do not know and yet it is there; undeniably some kind of second self. And it rages and screams and despairs over the orderliness, the squareness of this life I lead, over the pointlessness, the passionless get-up-go-out-come-back-go-to-bed. And then…

I used to lash out; bloody hell! at least try to free yourself, for fuck’s sake. And when there was no one and nothing there, I would cut away the things inside me that tied me down. The ties itself I could never reach, but the something inside me was appeased.

Now, the medication straps me to an off-shore pole only yards from the saving, stinging sands. My hands are bound. No cutting away those ties. The wave washes over me, I feel its brutal force, but I am tied down and all it does is fill my lungs with water until I want to either swim or drown, but it never lasts long enough…