Micro Ramble: Til Tuesday

by pronounced "ahhh" like a sigh

This was written about 6 months ago. I’ve meant to share and work on new writing but the rush around of the last few days have made it impossible. My show is in a few days so I can’t make promises for new work then either.

I will post archived things just to keep Mental Health Awareness Month at the forefront of my mind. And I will document micro-journey on Twitter (@basseyworld).

Love someone and mean it. Even when it’s not easy; especially then.

B.

 You should know that my brain is sometimes broken. Days like today, the words are rushing around in my head, I’m struggling for a coherent sentence, a clear thought, a word that doesn’t sit on the tip of my tongue plotting escape. You should know that sometimes morning is difficult. Sometimes night stays too long. There are times when I sit and hold and wait for the alphabet to stop creating sentences I can’t catch. Or the nights, when I’m fitful sleep and bolt awake at 4:30 in the morning to send an email or text that could have waited, about a subject that shouldn’t be brought up but I can’t stop thinking about it.  I think that if I tell her, if he knows, then sleep will come. It is a ball of rolling anxiety that takes over your entire body. It is a shaking and shivering. It is a slow and precise tremble.

This thing makes you selfish. This thing wraps you up inside yourself so you see nothing and feel too much. This thing wants to break you. It tells you that “they” don’t understand you. That “they” only want to hurt you. that “they” can’t be trusted but you know better. So you fight and you call and you text and tweet and you make sure that no one is upset. That everyone still loves you. That you are good enough to go on. Maybe then you will deserve sleep. Maybe then you can coax food into your mouth. Just promise that you’re good enough. That they will love you despite the body that won’t settle down. And the brain that says, “Ask him again. Maybe the answer has changed.” And you know it’s irrational. And you know that maybe you should stop talking but you can’t because the words need somewhere to go. And the voice needs something other than it’s own echo to feel normal. And that’s all you ever really wanted– to be normal. And they say that “normal” is overrated but if you ever felt anything but ordinary and unremarkably “normal”, you yearn for it like Thursdays ache to be Friday. Like Monday wishes to be anything other than itself. It is a dread that feels like Sunday Night. You want to be Tuesday. Some ordinary day. No disappointment in being Tuesday. No big expectation. No pleasurable hump of Wednesday. The weekend is just too far away to acknowledge and Monday got the brunt of the abuse and Thursday and Friday are too much joy so you just want to sit here… quiet, unrushed… Tuesday…

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