Response and Ability
Recently, I've been crying and twitching more than usual.
Wow. What an intro.
I have panic attacks when it comes to my future. I've been through a few hells and back. My father lost his job and we survived off of soup for a few months. A family of three and a cat living with no hot water or sustainable food. My mother didn't know and still doesn't know how many nights I stared at the faucet on hot praying the freezing water would change. I watched everything we own leave out the front door. We no longer had couches or tables only little figurines mocking our failure. They all had smiles but they scared me when I was younger. The irony they held didn't make sense to me quiet yet. Now these ironic beings live in my room.
Only now have I realized their literary power for they smile no matter where they are.
Ever since the day I saw the "Foreclosure" sign on my house, I hated change. I became an organizing addict. Even though I was too young to save my house, I always felt as if it was my fault. All the money I spent was the reason we lost it. Maybe if I spent less, we would have had it for another month. So, now I sit here watching my bank account balance lower. Coming from the little girl inside of me who cried when packing boxes, I cry and shake every day as the panic comes back. What if I lose everything?
My stress levels have become obnoxious as I find a cup of coffee a substancial meal. Luckily, yesterday, I visited my doctor. He helps me not only my body but also my mind. I saw him almost two minutes after my attack. And of course, I wrapped my arms around my body as I felt my world had caved and I needed to protect whatever I had left from the surrounding rocks.
I told him about my anxiety levels and then he said one thing. Responsibility. He didn't mean it in the way I perceived it. Midway through my lecture about my to-do list he subtly said "Ability" and I shut up.
He told me, all I have is my ability. All I have is my creative mind and body. I can read and write as much as I want. I can scream and parade as much as I want about my book. But, this is all I can do. In responsibility, I can only control my ability. Now the OCD freak hit a wall. Is this really all I can control? Fuck man.
The response is what people like you control. The way you respond to my book and poems is all on you. The ones who sit and read this, you have the power. Not me. This is what I can't seem to understand.
In this world, no matter how independent and bold I am, there are two parts to everything. I am the ability and everyone around is the response. Without each other, we are simple word parts lost in the sea of forces all out of our control. All I need now is the ability to relax.
Wow. What an intro.
I have panic attacks when it comes to my future. I've been through a few hells and back. My father lost his job and we survived off of soup for a few months. A family of three and a cat living with no hot water or sustainable food. My mother didn't know and still doesn't know how many nights I stared at the faucet on hot praying the freezing water would change. I watched everything we own leave out the front door. We no longer had couches or tables only little figurines mocking our failure. They all had smiles but they scared me when I was younger. The irony they held didn't make sense to me quiet yet. Now these ironic beings live in my room.
Only now have I realized their literary power for they smile no matter where they are.
Ever since the day I saw the "Foreclosure" sign on my house, I hated change. I became an organizing addict. Even though I was too young to save my house, I always felt as if it was my fault. All the money I spent was the reason we lost it. Maybe if I spent less, we would have had it for another month. So, now I sit here watching my bank account balance lower. Coming from the little girl inside of me who cried when packing boxes, I cry and shake every day as the panic comes back. What if I lose everything?
My stress levels have become obnoxious as I find a cup of coffee a substancial meal. Luckily, yesterday, I visited my doctor. He helps me not only my body but also my mind. I saw him almost two minutes after my attack. And of course, I wrapped my arms around my body as I felt my world had caved and I needed to protect whatever I had left from the surrounding rocks.
I told him about my anxiety levels and then he said one thing. Responsibility. He didn't mean it in the way I perceived it. Midway through my lecture about my to-do list he subtly said "Ability" and I shut up.
He told me, all I have is my ability. All I have is my creative mind and body. I can read and write as much as I want. I can scream and parade as much as I want about my book. But, this is all I can do. In responsibility, I can only control my ability. Now the OCD freak hit a wall. Is this really all I can control? Fuck man.
The response is what people like you control. The way you respond to my book and poems is all on you. The ones who sit and read this, you have the power. Not me. This is what I can't seem to understand.
In this world, no matter how independent and bold I am, there are two parts to everything. I am the ability and everyone around is the response. Without each other, we are simple word parts lost in the sea of forces all out of our control. All I need now is the ability to relax.
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