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Truths

Dear Reader,

Let’s take a walk shall we?

Oh don’t worry your, um, . . . exceptionally average little face, I won’t take you into the woods and leave your brain splattered on any trees. Hm? The gun? Oh, I keep it on me at all times.

Why do I need a shot gun you ask? For . . . reasons.

Walk with me.

You see reader, through my eyes the world is a little bit different. Colors are too bright and burn a hole in my retina. People’s stares ravage my self esteem and their voices snatch my attention: what did they say about me? Like that guy, that guy that just walked past, what did he say about me? Why was he staring? Does he know something? hm? He wasn’t talking about me, you say? Than who was he talking about? His niece, you say? Hmm.

Reader, shh, do you see the car up there? Yes, the one parked by the curb. People are in it waiting for us to walk past, they could snatch us or spray us with sleeping gas or, even worse, stare at us: we should cross the street.

The world I see is full of people with a hidden motive, with a malicious intent, and I was sent here from wherever I belong to debunk those motives, dodge those intents, and creative a life worth living. Demons (my best friends) sit on my shoulder to whisper random thoughts into my ear and mood swings twist my head until I’m dizzy enough to fall off a cliff with a purpose to gain a steady vision of things in the afterlife . . . this couldn’t possibly follow me there, could it?

The cars-except the Tesla Models-burn rubber against my ear drum. All the noise, it rips through my nerves and squeezes the life from my heart until the muscle itself, not to mention my confidence and dignity (those have been smothered for years anyway, I’m sure they’ve suffocated by now) is withered and torn. It makes me feel, well . . . unsafe.

Hm? My gun makes you feel unsafe? Oh my dear, dear reader, you’re so silly. Keep up, will you?

Don’t be offended by both earphones in my ear, it’s not that I don’t want to listen to  your silly little inquires, it’s that I can’t handle this noise any longer. Music is the ultimate soother of all shattered souls, did you know?

The world is a frightening place.

Let’s watch the ducks for a moment, they’re not frightening. In fact, they’re rather cute. I don’t say cute very often, not in front of strangers, at least.

I would like to jump over this fence and get a picture of them in the water. Why don’t I, you ask? Is that what you said?  I can’t hear you. I’ll assume you did.

Listen to all the cars pass on the street beside us. What if they think I’m jumping into the bushes to do drugs? What if they call the police and I’m jailed or shot all over my aching need for duck pictures? Do you know how embarrassing it will be telling people in Hell how I died?

I don’t want people staring at me, reader. We’ll wait for a break in the cars.

. . .

. .

.

Now!

You didn’t do it fast enough, they saw you, that car right there. You don’t care? Well, it must be nice to live a care-free life like that, huh?

Just remember, someone is always watching you. You may not see them, you may not even feel them as I do, but their eyes are upon you. I feel them over my shoulder sometimes. Sometimes they’re sitting next to me, sometimes they’re simply all around. Hm? What? Speak up!

Oh, how do I know, you ask? I just know. I can feel them. It’s why I can’t sleep, it’s why I hesitate telling you these things because I know they are watching and listening. Who is listening, you wonder? Well . . . even I don’t have an answer for that dear reader. I only know they exist in one form or another, whether that be physical, spiritual, angelic, demonic, a royal stream of consciousness perhaps  . . . when you’re as connected as I am, you will understand.

It’s all in my head, you say? Perhaps so.

The ducks are gone. Your considerably late leap must have frightened them off. If the world is as twisted and frightening for them as it is for me, I understand why they took flight.

Reverse (1 of 1)

Do you like my photo, reader? Yes?

Just know it would have been ten times better with a duck if you wouldn’t have fucked it up. Let’s continue this walk, shall we?

My brain plays tricks on me often reader, does yours ever play tricks on you? No?

You’re a liar. You can’t leap for shit and you’re a liar, are you proud of yourself?

I apologize. Let’s take a stroll through the trees, perhaps they will calm me. I need to get away from all these people, it’s a madhouse out here. Yes, I’m talking about the two people we passed walking here, that’s a madhouse. Did you see their stares? They were either trying to scratch my soul or get inside of my head and were they to reach either it would mean ten thousand years of darkness. Now you know why I walk with my eyes down.

That and I don’t like being stared at.

This is the quiet I’ve been looking for:

the beaten path (1 of 1)

path (1 of 1).jpg

vines (1 of 1)

upwards (1 of 1).jpg

up close and personal (1 of 1)

I think I can take an earphone out. There are times when the silence of nature is the best medicine. And by silence, of course, I mean the breeze through the treetops above, the steady hum of the vocalist in my left ear, your whiny ass comments, and the voices in my head.

Do I hear voices? Why does everyone ask me that? I need to stop talking to myself in public. My answer is: not in the way you’re thinking.

We all have voices in our head, my friend. Some are our conscience, some are our friends, our enemies, some are internal, some are external, but we should be able to agree they are all, to a great extent, an extension of ourselves, of our emotions, of our repression, of our society, and of our humanity.

Do you ever wonder about what you can’t always see, dear reader?

What do I mean? Why, you don’t think this reality is reality, do you? Haha!

Ha!

Oh, you’re serious.

People are too caught up in narrowing themselves into a standard, and consequentially narrow reality into the standard with them. And if you don’t fit that standard, well, prepare to live a life riddled with doctors and diagnoses, instability, doubt, confusion, anger, shame, self-loathing, disbelief, and loss of hope.

No one took the time to understand my beliefs, they instead forced their beliefs of my beliefs upon me. Silly humans.

What kind of beliefs, you ask? What another silly question. Why would I tell anyone any longer? What did that get me before besides laughs and overbearing psychiatric “concern”?

Let’s take the focus off of me. Let’s put the focus back on life.

img_20160608_202854.jpg

I think we’re out of the woods. There’s a wall of cloud over the ocean up ahead, can you see it? That’s alright, it comes and goes. Some how we always make it out in the end.

See. I told you I wouldn’t shoot you. 

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About AlishiaDee (378 Articles)
Alishia D. is a blogger, a beginning novelist, and a counselor at 2nd Story Peer Respite house where diagnostic labels and the culture of mental health is long forgotten. She's a mental health peer who has bounced through as many labels as she has doctors, and enjoys being sarcastic when she can. She also hates writing in 3rd person.

2 Comments on Dear Reader,

  1. Great read as always!

    Liked by 1 person

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