C'ya On The Other Side

Part 2

God, at least we are in the air now. I hate take off. The rattling of the engine and the vibrations that can be felt through your seat. The constant pressure building up in your ears making the world silent. And then, there is that split second where you're neither part of the earth nor part of the sky. God, I hate it.

I think this relates clearly to my life. I always have this feeling deep down that I'm hovering just above the ground yet I'm not stable enough to be part of the air. I feel as though the air is thin and I'm a bolder. I feel I will fall right through

I remember the times when I would spend the day stuck in the middle. The numbness. The inability to be sad or angry. I'd smile power through, crack jokes, make it seem as though I was fine. I made a day of nothing into something that seemed like an ice cream sandwich on a summer's day. Yet, not everyone was fooled.

I remember the concern on the faces of my mates as I depict the thoughts that race through my mind. The way their frowns would deepen as I told of my inability to feel the effects of any of these thoughts. Then I would stop. I had known it was not of their concern, yet I had been told it was. This constant barrier I'm thrown against like a toddler throws a doll to the floor. I want to share to allow them to know me, but I can't go back to that dark cave in which ghosts taunt me with their laughter.

There is something about sharing myself with others that has frightened me since the ghosts came to haunt. The ghosts weren't always there, they came as I grew; taunting and scaring and cutting. They left scars in which they use to follow me, to stay with me and these scars cover my body. I try to make the scars invisible but when I look away for too long, they come back to cut deeper. Maybe I don't share myself because I fear the ghosts would then haunt others. I don't want them to feel the cuts on their skin, I don't want them to see the scars, I don't want them to hear the ghosts. I don't share.

Sometimes I wonder if I could somehow have avoided them. Maybe if I was strong, I would have been able to build a forcefield in which their knives could not cut through. Maybe things would be different, maybe, I would be able to fly.

Oh God here we go, this part is even worse. The fall.

I say fall but in fact 99.99% of the time we land, we taxi to the exit, and abandon this hunk of metal to whatever lays ahead. Yet, there is always that split second where you think you may fall. It's not until you hear that thud of the wheels and hear the wind rushing around the metal encasement that you know for sure that you're back to the earth. It's not until then that you know you're safe.

I always fell before I returned. I would spiral thoughts swelling and leaving and returning just as quickly. Like waves.

I remember the time I sat helpless on the tiled floor of the bathroom. The ground acting like a freezer upon my body. I remember the tears. They weren't tears of hurt or tears of sadness nor were they tears of anger; they were tears of complete and utter helplessness. At this point the ghosts had climbed their way out of my skin and floated, circling above my head their words never ending. I spiralled, I nearly did it. I had nearly stepped off that cliff, I had nearly joined the stars. A hundred years they say. Pfft.

The only thing I remember after that is an angle reaching down and taking me by the hand. They guided me away from the ghosts, barricading me, protecting me. They showed me I belonged on the earth. Yet, they didn't eradicate the ghosts.

Thud.

Well I guess we are here now. We made it through the teetering space of air and earth, and we are here. My feet are firmly on the ground. I guess I will see how I go, c'ya on the other side my friends.