It was the year
It was the year I had a panic attack for the first time in my life,
when I thought for a moment that I could not move my legs.
My blood pressure went up so high, I thought I would die.
Apparently thinking that you will die is not a valid cause of death.
And when I told the handsome Middle Eastern doctor what had happened,
he guessed that it had happened before.
He didn’t give me a prescription guaranteeing it wouldn’t happen again.
Men will exploit you, they will harm you, my mother told me that night under the yellow light of the kitchen table.
I remember the light on her face, her skin looked so yellow when she said this.
It was the year I talked in abstractions about real things
and talked real about abstractions.
It was the year my dreams died of a disease.
They vanquished and reality spray painted its hue into
graffiti on my soul, in a language I have yet to learn.
It was the year there were those who would say long sentences to me
and I would not remember their words but only the shapes their lips formed.
I could taste the spit on their tongues.
I never cut myself, threw up food, or took too many pills like some girls I knew.
I just sat there sometimes and didn’t move, not even to breathe.
Although apparently breathing was happening without my written consent or a prescription from the doctor
who wrote me the script for chill pills.
I took the chilling seriously, really seriously.
It became my job, my profession, no my career, to chill.
For a while, I did nothing else.
This is the year I woke up from a deep slumber.
I had put myself to sleep, not with drugs, but the sedative of a sanctuary.
My bed had become my home, I needed to nest there for a while.
This is the moment I look back at my journey
and realize that the world is going on here with or without me participating.
It is the year I decide there is no time
I have not lost anything, time is not something we own
time is a vessel through which we see that we are existing
but it is not the measurement of that existence.
It is only a window.
It was about time I opened that window.
Who knew there was so much air to breathe?
It was the year or was it the lifetime, that I forgot I existed.
This is the moment, I remember.