Untitled Journal Number Four

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"Do you want to die?" I asked.

"The last time someone asked me that, I ended up in a pool of my own blood apparently." She laughed again.

That wasn't an answer. So, I asked again.

"Do you want to die?"

A long silence stretched between us like a chasm. Neither of us dared to jump across the empty space. Neither of us wanted to remain apart. The paradox hummed in my ears while she remained unspeaking.

She nodded. Then my body did something I hadn't expected–I walked over to her.

Her body began to cower away from me.

I kneeled before her on the floor. Then, I put my hands on her shaking ones. Mom used to hold my hands when I had a hard time breathing.

"Sometimes sounds can be too loud. Smells can be too strong. Visuals can be too fast or too bright. Mom said Dad had the same problem." I looked at the lampshade as it threw light around. "It's like the world is in 3D, but I don't have the glasses. So everything is harder to experience and decode at the same time."

When I was a kid, things always seemed crisper than the world I experienced now. I was grateful but saddened at the same time. I wondered if others had the same response. Likely not. A frown settled on my lips. Things were still overwhelming.

"People say things they don't mean. That's frustrating for me. But then I learned that their body says its own things apart from their words. How is that even possible? It feels like they're lying, but apparently, that's not the case."

Years had gone by where I had needed to roleplay conversations with my therapists and Mom to go over body language and social interactions. It had been like rewiring my brain to adjust to a whole new code of conduct. Oftentimes, I still had to remind myself of what I was perceiving in order to catch up to all the things others were implying.

"There are so many details to pay attention to. Sometimes I feel like I will lose my mind. Sometimes I wish I could turn it off." I took a long breath. My throat hurt with sadness and confusion. So many things made me feel that way.

"Running was suggested by my therapist when I was a kid. We'd tried a bunch of other things, but there was no way to quiet my mind unless my body was moving. It was as if my mind and body had to be set at the same pace for me to feel peace."

Her breathing continued to come in uneven patterns. Her hands still shook.

"Our experiences can be overwhelming. Our life can feel out of control. Sometimes things can be too much."

Tears welled in her eyes again as she watched my face. Then she spoke, "What if they're too much right now? What would you do if things got to be too much for you?"

"I'd escape," I paused. "I'd run away."

"I'm just so tired."

I nodded. She looked tired. It made sense.

"I did something bad tonight. I really wanted to die. I thought I could drink until I just didn't exist anymore."

"You didn't die."

She laughed.

"No, Michael, I did not die obviously."

We both breathed in deep. Cleansing. Purifying.

I didn't think she found it funny. In fact, every time she laughed tonight it didn't seem funny anymore. It was as if she wasn't capable of having fun. There was something eating her happiness before it could reach her mind. Her soul would feel the warmth of joy, but her mind never got the experience. It was what was holding her between life and death. She was suspended between the two like one arm being tugged toward death and sadness, the other by happiness and life.