˚₊‧꒰აwords ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Prelude from my week Alone

Two days after my birthday, my boyfriend leaves for a trip to California for one week. One week. One week. One weak girl is afraid. Afraid that the silence she bought with barely saved berries will break her. And within I am a bear that has refused to hibernate. And this winter is cold.Two people don’t make enough noise to push back against the echoes of silence within a cave. And in that silence I am 6. And I am turned on my side shaking with fear, knowing when I turn around a monster could be there. A clown could be there. The darkness of the room would meet me. And that darkness, and the silence,. And the monsters and the clowns all live in the cave with my anxiety. And they taunt her endlessly.I learned young to drown out the fear that came with a quiet room. A silent house, an innocuous street off a main road in Rhode Island where a killer could kill me. Play a video before bed ignore the static in your bones., music while brushing your teeth while stumbling on a shifting deck, read a book in the bathroom to defy the uncertainty outside those four walls. Every moment is a battle where I fight raging against the fears that won’t allow my bear to rest. Every moment is a battle and if he leaves I will lose ground. Because I have forgotten what it’s like to fight with my fists. So what do I do? In the eyes of the silence he is a sound, an instrument, a weapon. And I am a fool waving a sword. I am a demon banging a drum. I am a dog who is turned away from the shouts of my master to see a squirrel in a tree begging me to come outside. I am so close to being outside, my tail is out the door, my foot is out the door but my eyes, my ears, my mind is still staring as I am helplessly harangued with hatred. Hatred for me. But also hatred for itself. What kind of man yells at a dog who doesn’t understand…? A weak one. I don’t understand why now I am being forced to face my master. How will I not be sucked back into the house, a lock on the door, a dog in the crate, a salmon in the jaws of a grizzly. What will my weapon be? A phone in my hand? the work in my office? My lover on call? Or will I wait for the morning. Give my bear a Melatonin. Stand toe to toe with the clown and put on the red nose. I guess I don’t know yet. 

Prelude to my week alone.