I feel suppressed and wound tightly into a knot of unsettled flesh – jittery synapse – chattering teeth. Folded over myself and fused into the mold of anonymity. Friends aren’t friends and enemies make odd overtures – like music out of time, steps out of sync.
We all have our own strange process for coping. The multi-leveled mirror that looks funhouse to others but logical to us. Chocolate cake. Road rage. Kick the cat. Clean the floorboards. Smile without mirth, grin with depression and mock those who look happy on the outside.
“It’s not forever.” My mantra – and it leaks out of the side of my mouth when no one is listening. Pacing, my aerobics. Cigarettes and coffee my reassurance that I still exist.
And I fall to troubled sleep and dream of disaster. I wake to harsh sun and dread for breakfast. Still, I put one foot in front of the other as Mother taught me. I keep my head high to hide my low heart. I speak with confidence I do not feel but know will come back to me. Some day.
I was not made to obey a master. To punch a time clock. To travel with commuters en masse toward a dismal work-a-day life. I worry that people see that in me. That my secret is out. I strive to push me further down into my soul so I can continue to pretend until I don’t have to be a me that I am not.
Until then, I walk quietly with open ears and carry a big notebook.
What is suppressing Christine?