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Coping Skills

I can’t keep forgetting my coping skills

By Reid WatsonPublished about a year ago 4 min read
2

Life is exceedingly ordinary. The dust settled over the sunset, casting a hazy, golden light inside my kitchen. There were so many shadows elongating by the second. The moments didn’t last too long, but I stared at the glowing window, hoping some of the glitters would make their way inside.

I couldn’t seem to break my gaze, eyes fixed on the setting sun, letting nightshade conquer me from behind. I’d been comfortably nestled between couch cushions, forgetting my own weight yet weighed down, unable, unwilling to move.

The primitive pain of hunger grew stronger and unrelenting. I felt my hands reach toward my face, dragging the skin of my cheeks up, down, out, and in. The temporary, manipulated deformities had a warm semblance of human touch. Soon my fingers danced across my lips that thoughtlessly opened for them. Unable, unwilling to venture further, my hands dropped back to my lap with a cold, trembling discomfort reminiscent of that of the first day of school – perturbed about the lack of order amidst the chaos created.

All yellow asleep, blue and purple welcomed a calm into my home. Involuntary exhales were pushed out of me, and I can’t seem to remember taking in air. As the illusion of breath overtakes my unquiet mind, pangs of hunger scream at me from the abyss. In the great stillness, my body betrays me with such sound, I close my eyes.

I never took kindly to rejection, I thought to myself. Knife in hand and an onion lay halved before me. The kitchen floor was soberingly indifferent to my need for warmth. Its ice froze my soles in place as it wrapped around my ankles and up my legs. Paralysis, I’d heard, was simply to be expected. Nevertheless, fear rose in my chest in short, troubled breaths. Where was my relief? My exhale?

Bolted in place with cold wrapping and climbing my body, I swayed my hips in protest. To the left they stayed as they fell victim to the spell cast beneath my feet. Twisted and uneasy, my stomach attempted to plead for sustenance as I begged it for patience.

The apple that lay before me was dimly illuminated from above. Its prominent curvature was undeniably flat. It’d already begun browning. Far too large, I murmured only loud enough for myself to hear. Arms and hands still free, I held down my dinner and began to slice. Twice, I tell myself. It only needs two cuts.

My face contorted, mimicking the manipulation of my fingers: in, out, up, and down in a manner of sheer helplessness. The sound of screaming fills my ears, and I’m finally able to exhale. A small burden was released, and I was a step closer to freedom. Violently shaking at a newfound empower, a warmth circles and showers on me from above. It releases my hips, and I’m able to stand upright; once again tall enough to meet my own desolate gaze in the glass panel before me.

The face surrounding the eyes I saw seemed to impersonate a rendition of affliction without commentary on struggle. The golden light had a remarkably prominent burgundy hue. A maroon radiance highlighted the surfaces before me, all shimmering with the life I’d given them. Shadows, brighter and less defined than before, began dripping to the floor, coating my bare feet in darkness and unfamiliarity.

The screaming ceased as the shadows slithered their way back onto the counter. Mouth agape, breathing weighted and labored, guttural sounds forcefully expelled from my throat and past my trembling lips. The knife in hand vibrated with the uneasy shaking of my heart. Eyes wide open, focused, the thought of one more slice to fulfillment consumed me.

Yet now, I began to ache with the frost. Obsessed with devouring me whole, the hostile cold grew tighter, squeezing my legs as revenge for the inability to climb. My tongue dry from the vacuum my lungs created, it sought comfort away from home. The sweet taste of fruit brushed just out of its reach, and desperation seized what life and breath lay within. Salt began to burn me; too jagged for my sensitivity. Quenched and nourished, my tongue sought more of the sting, alone in the quest to bring me life. Amazed, there were rivers flowing within reach. Partly satisfied with the tethered journey, it attempted to return home, rejected too soon from the pearly gates. It, too, fell and was engulfed in ice.

Blurry eyes, wildly searching for an answer and finding only fading whispers, they shut themselves away, feigning safety and malfunction. An unheard prayer answer, I found the strength to slice once more. Joy reverberated through my bones, and they burst, unable to carry me and great freedom. Crumbled. Wet. Breathless and weightless, I rolled onto my back. My face was unusually tight and cramped. A closed fist lightly skinned the mangled landscape to uncover my smile.

Again the joy began to radiate, releasing my muscles, leaving me limp. Exhale.

The fog cleared. I sat upright and unclenching my fist, ravished and reminded of the purpose of my journey. Leaning my head back, I opened my mouth to heaven. A gentle knock echoed from the floorboards. All too curious eyes searched for the source. Glistening rusted pools pulled my gaze in all directions. A steady stream fell down my chin.

The only sounds were of my breaking heart and mumbled screams. My fingers, ones that’d once learned to play my face, lay hollow atop the tongue they once feared. Slowly, my hand brought itself to meet my gaze, and it, too, was hollow. There, I found solace.

humanitytraumaschizophreniapersonality disordereatingdisorderdepressioncopingbipolarartanxiety
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About the Creator

Reid Watson

My special interest in life is psychology and mental illness, and seeing as both take a heavy toll on my life, I’ve decided to finally share what I write. It’s a window into my mind, and I’m sorry if the glass lacks transparency.

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