Devil's Doing
These hands, the very fingers that type a post, are those of a ghosts. In all honesty --I should have been dead. Long gone in a coffin is all that my mind would be left for. But, thank every god I'm not. Thank you to the woman in a black Subaru who stopped.
These past few weeks I have been cursing my decisions. My body has been simply falling apart under the stresses of school and work. Pain from a dislocated hip one night and then worries of failure another. I seem to understand everything in class but I can't retain enough for tests. I poison myself with anxiety. The year just started but already, I find myself needing to catch up and work harder on top of my 20 hour days.
Last year, I could fix everything. I would run a smooth silver blade against my soft lightly tanned skin till the skin popped open just enough to release a stream of red blood cells all running away with liberation. For maybe twenty minutes, everything seemed fine --perfect. It's been over ten months now and I haven't made a mark. As my stress begins to build, I keep thinking about how easy it would be to liberate myself just for those twenty minutes. I'm mesmerized by every paper cut as I imagine it growing and wrapping around my finger.
But I'm just hungry and tired. I never get enough sleep as every night is filled with turmoil either consisting of body pains or screams of my surrounding. I forget about eating as I type and type endless essays and reports. I run out of time to eat as I find myself talking to one department and then another about classes and the money I need to spend but never seem to have.
Today, I cursed my existence. I contemplated the options of suicide not because of my depression but simply because I wanted to see the literary beauty. The literary beauty of sex surrounded by the smoke of inscents as it swirls in circles around my curls. The literary beauty of my body bursting next to the one I love. Never have I never pulled through simply because I never wanted to.
As rush hour traffic was in full swing, I was inching home glowing. I kissed my boyfriend good-bye as he continued announcing a softball game and drove away anticipating a text message as soon as I was home. In the left most lane, I signaled right in hopes of getting closer to my exit. Simultaneously, a woman crossed the white dotted line with a wheel with nothing relating towards a blinker. I continued edging forward but she accelerated into the lane.
Pressing my brakes, I jerked my wheel back into my original lane --something I have done far too many times. This time, the wheels locked flinging my car across four lanes of traffic. I hit every brake and turned my wheel in hopes of regaining control but instead, my pinky snapped. After the first 360, I threw up my hands and screamed. There in front of me, I saw four lanes of traffic stopped watching me expect my death. Within a span of ten seconds, I watched a busy highway hush to almost nothing.
My car, perpendicular to traffic --stopped. A woman in a black Subaru looked at me and lifted her hands from the wheel. Her bumper was in line with my seat. If she didn't stop, if all of traffic didn't stop, I would have fulfilled my literary ending. But thank god they did. Thank god not a scratch was left on my car. And to think, one push on the brakes could ruin a life and save the very same one.
These past few weeks I have been cursing my decisions. My body has been simply falling apart under the stresses of school and work. Pain from a dislocated hip one night and then worries of failure another. I seem to understand everything in class but I can't retain enough for tests. I poison myself with anxiety. The year just started but already, I find myself needing to catch up and work harder on top of my 20 hour days.
Last year, I could fix everything. I would run a smooth silver blade against my soft lightly tanned skin till the skin popped open just enough to release a stream of red blood cells all running away with liberation. For maybe twenty minutes, everything seemed fine --perfect. It's been over ten months now and I haven't made a mark. As my stress begins to build, I keep thinking about how easy it would be to liberate myself just for those twenty minutes. I'm mesmerized by every paper cut as I imagine it growing and wrapping around my finger.
But I'm just hungry and tired. I never get enough sleep as every night is filled with turmoil either consisting of body pains or screams of my surrounding. I forget about eating as I type and type endless essays and reports. I run out of time to eat as I find myself talking to one department and then another about classes and the money I need to spend but never seem to have.
Today, I cursed my existence. I contemplated the options of suicide not because of my depression but simply because I wanted to see the literary beauty. The literary beauty of sex surrounded by the smoke of inscents as it swirls in circles around my curls. The literary beauty of my body bursting next to the one I love. Never have I never pulled through simply because I never wanted to.
As rush hour traffic was in full swing, I was inching home glowing. I kissed my boyfriend good-bye as he continued announcing a softball game and drove away anticipating a text message as soon as I was home. In the left most lane, I signaled right in hopes of getting closer to my exit. Simultaneously, a woman crossed the white dotted line with a wheel with nothing relating towards a blinker. I continued edging forward but she accelerated into the lane.
Pressing my brakes, I jerked my wheel back into my original lane --something I have done far too many times. This time, the wheels locked flinging my car across four lanes of traffic. I hit every brake and turned my wheel in hopes of regaining control but instead, my pinky snapped. After the first 360, I threw up my hands and screamed. There in front of me, I saw four lanes of traffic stopped watching me expect my death. Within a span of ten seconds, I watched a busy highway hush to almost nothing.
My car, perpendicular to traffic --stopped. A woman in a black Subaru looked at me and lifted her hands from the wheel. Her bumper was in line with my seat. If she didn't stop, if all of traffic didn't stop, I would have fulfilled my literary ending. But thank god they did. Thank god not a scratch was left on my car. And to think, one push on the brakes could ruin a life and save the very same one.
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