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it’s weird. she’s a ghost to me

in my memory

not that she’s haunting it

necessarily

 

but i reach out to touch her

with my thoughts

and they go through her

like she’s incorporeal 

 

she’s faded, which is both

good and sad 

 

the month we broke up

seems like so long ago

 

like i’ve died and been

reincarnated several

times since then

 

lifetimes of granular details

slowly reset my daily  

experiences

 

morphing painful longing

into pangs of wistful 

reminiscence

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ughhh. so okay, here it goes….

9/11 happened when i was 13, in 8th grade. and i had hit puberty just a few months prior

so i was just old enough to have hit hyperdrive on prefrontal cortical development

and as a result, i understood things much better than if it had happened just a year earlier

but an adolescent can’t fully grasp the magnitude or repercussions of an event like that

i knew it was bad, but i was going through a whirlwind of development and was wholly consumed by that

so as an adult, i knew abstractly that ~3000 americans had died in historically gruesome circumstances

but at 32, i randomly found myself thinking “but how gruesome actually, on an individual level?”

so i endeavored to go on an epic youtube spree to learn more

and oh my god

oh my fucking god

i had no fucking idea just how gruesome it truly was

like, holy shit

watching all that footage of the events, all the interviews with survivors afterwards….

it was so harrowing that it actually gave me a genuine sense of the terror they experienced

something new and visceral to complement the abstractions i had absentmindedly lived with for 19 years

i can feel it distinctly — a macabre pall that suffuses the entirety of the calamity and its pernicious aftermath

but oh god…. the individual stories

countless videos in, i stumbled upon one where a first responder told a story so unspeakably horrifying that i was like “nope, fucking nope. i’m done. fuck this“

that story is like a grand canyon of catastrophe carved into the contours of my memory. hearing it lobotomized my spirit, replacing innocence with atrocity

that was…. two days ago?

and the memory has spontaneously popped up in my thoughts at least 20 — but likely closer to 30 — times since then

i mean, i’m glad i heard that story, watched all those videos and developed a real sense of the scope and character of the tragedy

but god damn, the psychic weight of its gestalt is astounding

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i’m a trauma llama

— and more on that

at some point in

the near future

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how do i manifest more of the reality that i want for myself?

bring into being an existence that is marked by authentic external reflection of inner desire?

take what is inside — what is howling for acknowledgment and representation — and make it permeate your whole existence?

identity those unmet needs and rise to the challenge of addressing them in a way that radiates through the totality of your life?

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i was put into a coma a year ago today

now i’m going for a run

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again so close

so very close

and yet not nearly

close enough

and still i’m tough

so very tough

and now i seek

the succor of

extinguishing

what’s weak

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fucking fuck me

so close and yet

so far — morose

is where we are

fuck. fucking

fuuuuuck.

and yet i’ll keep

trying? and

failing and

dying and

getting

back

up

and

applying

myself to my

quest to go finding

a complementary

soul for my self

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is my rage palpable enough for you—?

and what has it done for me?

……for humanity?

little and less, it seems

as we sink

and we sink—

i have been on the brink

but the potency of

my experience feels

like impotence

when i try

to change

how we think