Paradox

A Story by WhatCanISay

True story.

Orange

I pull on a striped black and orange hat with fake braids and a fluffy pom pom on top. Before I even looked in the mirror I knew what my face would say. So, I ripped it off, ruining my perfectly boring ponytail. I turned on a dime, my feet hitting the golden hardwood in a really satisfying way. The image of that hat laying on the floor with it’s long braids bent at weird angles like broken limbs lit a fire in my heart. Bronze would look better, less Halloween-ish. Less stupid or dumb or idiotic or whatever middle school insult you would like me to throw at it. Ever notice when you’ve owned something from a young age it gets stuck on the last age you loved it? Of course I’m late but I’m late with extra preparedness. Take this, take the necklace and the coat and bandana, please. Take it all, my clothes are just a shell of who I am but you’ll demand to rip them off. I was trying to give them to you. You think your hands are so big and strong when you push me down and hold me there, but you don’t realize I’m smoke. Pride yourself on being empty. Boast up the worst of the best. I’m flailing, trying to twist away and you’re laughing as your hand moves to crush my windpipe. My friends and family stand off to the side and start screaming only when they see I’m no longer moving. As I relax my body disperses into the air and you’re left holding nothing but a string of cheap orange beads. Stand up and gently stroke my face, a promise of more to come. I won’t believe you and I won’t ever wear orange again. I’ll get new colors, I’ll run away to a place devoid of orange. Oh no, I got stuck in the sun burned desert.

Flight

Bam. My foot hits the carpeted cement with a thump. The crowds behind me are left confused. I smiled to their face as I hugged them and made unkeepable promises of my safety. The strangers stared as a girl too young who had seen too much let her pain go for the first time. Holy water running down my face burned me, leaving sinful scars that no one believed in except for me. Your presence seeped into my self-inflicted coma, the girl next to me a figment of our imagination. I couldn’t tell if the turbulence was inside of me or part of the reality I was painting outside of my head. What’s a good flight without some turbulence? And to that extent, what’s a good person without some turbulence? They shouldn’t have let me on that plane, I was equal parts scared and violent. That equals desperation, dear class. My world was a sponge submerged in rain and tears. I sat, shaking, as my world dried out into a crusty sponge that had been sitting out too long. I had changed my number earlier that day, pretending it would save me from your scope. Of course, it didn’t, the devil has no blind spots. As my world dried up, so did my eyes. I struggled to take in the artificial air, stuck in this purgatory between two hells. I wonder if I should have stayed forever?

Arizona

Before, everything was sharp and dark. It hurt in a bad way. Now, I want to say the pain is gone but it’s actually hiding from me. I can’t find it no matter how much energy I summon. I look around the hospital room in the middle of an asylum. Well, not in the middle, it’s off to the right. I thought I was checking in but I’m a nurse somehow? No, I’m tied to the bed and I’m hooked up to an IV. I ask the shadows what’s in the bag. They only respond by pounding my body into the bed. Whatever is inside is making it increasingly harder to find myself. I’m falling into a pool of honey and drowning in the sickening sweet taste. So, I lay there and try not to disturb the darkness. Fear replaces my white blood cells, fighting the IV for me. The biggest shadow pretends to be a dancer but acts more like an elephant. She leans over me with a loving stare, quietly brushing my hair out of my eyes. I pry my mouth open to usher thanks, but before I can I feel a swollen burning in my scalp and look to see her holding a fistful of my dignity. Sometimes, in the middle of the dark, there were flicks of light. They were products of my lies. I became a master of my smile, my pulse, my tears. “imposter tears!” The demons shout with horror. My smile breaks as I whisper, “necessity tears.”

Dreams

I turn to my side, clutching the memory too close. I’m covered by a thin green blanket, it’s made of wool and scratches my face raw while I’m unconscious. Sleep is the best and worst thing I have the ability to do to myself. I’m awake or maybe not. I can’t tell right now. I never have been quite sure what’s real and what isn’t. I’m standing in an empty swimming pool when I see her, but who is it? Her face is changing from the fire in my heart to the darkness that puts it out. Too tired to deal with the bullshit anymore, I lay down in the middle of the cement ground. Who cares who it is? The ground scratches my bare arms and legs, leaving even more scars. Something is tingling. What is on my skin? Spiders? Feathers? Breath? No, it’s nothing, I’m alone. Finally, I scream out as I’m standing above the desert, bathed in warm pink tones. The cacti stand taller than people, proud and strong despite the rotting holes and bird’s nests they are riddled with. He whispers in my ear, holding me from behind. When our eyes meet the electricity is too real for me, so I jump from the cliff I’ve perched myself on. I watch the sun set and rise over and over until metallic screeching wakes me up, for real this time. I think.

Rain

Now isn’t it funny that I cry when I miss the rain? I make my own rain to soothe cracks in my heart. Why do I attach myself to a phenomenon of the weather? Because it is true that distance makes the heart grow fonder. Because when you live under a gray blanket your whole life, the light hurts. There isn’t anything I can say that hasn’t been said about rain. It is my gratitude and my alarm clock. It is my pain killer and my knife. It is the beat to my theme song and the inspiration for my eyeliner. What rain really is, is my home. Now that I’ve established my cliché tolerance, I must confess the truth, I do not care about the rain now that I have it. I care when it is gone. The rain is like a really sad excuse of a person. The kind who is only remembered when present. But I suppose it is true that a confession is an opinion not a fact.

Goodbye

Ah, the dread. I prefer that word to anxiety. I’m having a dread attack. The feeling is stronger, the word is true to the nausea and dizziness permeating every cell. I’m remembering the promises made all the way back in the first paragraph of more to come. They told me you would leave but you couldn’t just leave, could you? No, it had to be a grand crescendo with a kiss and a twist of the knife. When I look and see that everything I have done led up to this moment, that everything was tied to you, I flinch a little. It’s great to be free from the asylum but now I’m home without you as my umbrella and the rain is too cold and stings. I sit and ponder everything, with the perception that it is over. Over two years later, sitting by myself I cry for the first time again. My tears are full and real and saturated. They stream in a way that feels so good, so healthy. I watch the scars start to fade and I smile. When I smile, I find it’s everything I’ve wanted this entire time. I choose to be happy because I love it. I sit in a new place with a smile as big and real as the threat ever was. As the final notes of the song vibrate through the room, my phone buzzes. The subject line reads “I’m sorry.” I am informed that I must wear orange again.

Paradox

So that brings us to here. I wake up and stare outside. I am a paradox. I am dreadfully happy. I am gleefully scared. Sometimes I twist the wrong way and rip my stiches, but I am so excited for the future. I am behind but I have more work done than any of them. I work harder, smarter, and more that you could ever know. Because of the effort and the pain I’ve put in, I am standing triumphant over them. Some days I wear black and some I wear baby pink or blue or green or gold. But never orange. That’s my choice. Because what I really did was learn to say no and stand tall for what I believe. I did it by submitting myself and bending down. I learned how to stand while on my knees. I look back and smile because I did it. No one can take that away.