Running

I found myself running, barefoot through the suburban maze, passing indiscernible ticky-tacky house after ticky-tacky house. The only sound, the soft thud of my feet against the pavement and my labored breaths as I pick up speed. The night air is stiff with humidity, my skin starting to bead with salt-laced sweat and tears. A bitter taste keeps filling my mouth, the source completely unknown. The smell of bonfires, marijuana and the fragrance of a night-blooming flower hang in the wind as I race past. My eyes darting and bouncing at each set of headlights I see coming my way. My heart is pounding louder now, but I don't feel tired. It seems as though I have the energy to run for days with the amount of endorphins coursing through me. My hardened soles barely touching the sidewalk as I sail over each perfectly-proportioned square. At some point, I lose my sense of direction, what little I had to begin with. My head should be swimming with thoughts, but its remarkably vacant. Running is my only focus. My long, tangled mane flying back wildly, conjuring an image of a savage Amazon chasing her prey. She wouldn't have any modesty or shame in running. I begin to panic, as I am lost in the generic labyrinth that is my life. I don't know which direction to turn, which street to take. I begin to meander a bit, slowing down slightly. I make a few sharp turns and end up close to where I started, to begin the journey all over again. This time, I run a little smarter, base my actions on some cornerstones of reality. I finally get my bearings, and make my way to the nearest hospitality. I should have just ran all the way to what is left of my home, but it was nearing midnight and the sprinting was catching up with me. My throat was parched and tight, and I had no money, no ID, no keys, no shoes, and no options. It took a lot to swallow my pride, especially with the dehydration overtaking my soft palette. I finally come upon the intended unremarkable house, not quite sure if its the one or not. I hesitate slightly before knocking on the door, but then my gnarled fist wraps decidedly, of its own volition. Quickly the door is thrown open and a startled, but familiar face sympathetically ushers me in. I completely break down, all the endorphins immediately drained away, allowing all the backed-up tears to flow out in a ridiculous, mortifying outburst.

I try so hard to be strong and stoic, like my only real-life role model, but sometimes, life just gets to you in a way you aren't equipped to deal with, even if you've been through the emotional gauntlet a thousand times before. I never ask people for help; I always feel like I am imposing far too much, but conversely I jump at the chance to help another when I'm asked. I haven't quite figured out what that's entirely about yet. I am sure it is some deep-seeded guilt from my childhood, rearing its over-compensatory head. Maybe because I never got any help when I needed it, I just learned to live without it, and eventually began to loathe it from extreme cognitive dissonance. I have a latent embitterment to any assistance from others, coupled with my do-it-yourself attitude stemming from my distrust of others and their lackluster performances. There haven't been a whole Hell of a lot of times where people have pleasantly surprised me with their genuine kindness, versus the frequently-encountered polite tolerance. There are only a few non-family members I hold in that high esteem; Bob. Jesus. Bob. There is someone who deserves every ounce of his success. I still think of him often, especially in times like this, but I'll never forget the look on his face when I showed him my arm I cut up with the spare key I used as a box cutter at work. The sincere look of concern and then subsequent anger endeared me to him forever. He looked at me the way he would look at his own daughter if she did something like that. "DON'T YOU EVER DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN," he said through gritted teeth and I could tell he meant it. Jennifer, along the same vein, going above and beyond for my mental well-being. And my cousin Amber, who unknowingly brought me back from the brink with just a little card and stuffed dog and the sharing of a box of Golden Grahams that cold February afternoon, not so long ago. Sometimes my neuroticism gets the best of me, I have to humbly admit that, but I am stronger than I have ever realized. I am just starting to get that. The person who I felt was the strongest in the world, who I have leaned against for far too long, is turning out to be not too strong at all. It's more than jarring when your rock begins to crumble into the sea; it's difficult to watch. Maybe that's the hardest part, the shattering of such a deep-rooted illusion. The unthinkable happening right before my very eyes. Sometimes, in the dead of night, when I think no one is looking, I miss my little life, for a brief moment. But, I now know that it couldn't last. With a love so all-consuming, so omnipotent that it was bound to implode for good one of these days. That much energy in the wrong hands or manipulated the wrong way; it just can't be sustained. It's too unwieldy and unbridled. It can't be tamed for more than the blink of an eye. It goes nuclear, eventually, erupting in a mushroom cloud of full-spectrum emotion, leaving only a barren, stark landscape where the heart once lied; an apathetic wasteland. I know I'll never find love that compares to that engulfing tire fire, but maybe that's a good thing. Complacency is Hell, but so is a literal blaze of passion burning so hot, you have to jump out every so often just to keep from searing off your flesh. In the aftermath, it's hard to tell if their is room for friendship, or anything more than that dreaded polite tolerance. It's difficult to let go fully of the only person that ever really knew me, the real me, and wasn't scared off or disgusted by what he unearthed. No one really knows me because I won't let them. I never let them. I keep everyone at arms length for a reason; fear of revealing my vulnerability. Very few people know that side of me, I try to keep it hidden the best I can, until something, somehow seems to reveal it for me. I guess the one upside is, I don't have to worry about hiding it from him anymore. It's out there in the open now, to soak up or cast aside as one wishes. I was at least trying to hold this back for another month to continue my spinning-top summer, but the dam broke early; the whole "best laid plans" thing, I suppose. There was just the slightest indication of a wobble, but I didn't want to see it. The only thing to do is set the top a-twirlin' again.