The Orchestra

Knocking on the door. No. Pounding. Pounding on the door. My first time home alone. I’m 8. Pounding. Pounding. Heart pounding out of my chest. Silence. I am asleep. I’m 10. A clap of thunder shakes me awake as if I was a war veteran fresh out of service. Clap. Pound. Clap. Snap. Snapping fingers. In my face. Wake up! Why are you asleep in my class? Snap. Pound. Clap. Snap. The middle school water fountain. I take a drink. But not quick enough. All eyes on me. Foot tap. Tap. Tap. Pound. Clap. Snap. Tap. High School. The doctor’s words; your mother can’t be helped if she refuses to help herself. Help. Pound. Clap. Snap. Tap. Help. I know you’re not mentally prepared for a new day, but buckle up. Alarm; Beep. Beep. Beep. Pound. Clap. Snap. Tap. Help. Beep. The ongoing orchestra. Conductor, take your position when it’s least convenient. Conductor on the train that keeps on chugging. Trapped. And with no destination on the map. Only a simple indication of where I was when I boarded. “You Are Here”. - Yes. I am. Why am I being acknowledged by a piece of paper and not a person? Regardless, the train keeps chugging, as lightning strikes the never-ending nightmare sky. There is no acknowledgment for those with a clouded mind. An unapologetic erasure of strong efforts, for they’re perceived as just average. It is a heart attack. painful. unexpected. helpless. These voices in my head are in fact my own. The battle lies in gaining control over them. Getting off the train. Being on the radar. Amidst the Pound. Clap. Snap. Tap. Help. Beep. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, seen time and time again. Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink. Opportunity, opportunity everywhere, but none of them for me. Pound. Clap. Snap. Tap. Help. Beep. Where is the exit? How do I get off the train? And when I get off, where do I go?