The Sound of Hollow

I'm afraid to move.  Every move I've made in the past two years has inched me closer to going completely under, and there are only a few inches left before I'm gone for good.  I'm not moving, so don't ask.

   I won't come out of hiding, either.  I can't reply to the few, scattered emails, or texts, I receive from people wanting to know what's up, and how I'm doing.  I have time to reply, of course.  It's just that, I have nothing to say.  I genuinely don't know how to answer those questions.  They may as well be posed in Mandarin, or a binary code.  

   They just echo inside, and remind me how much emptiness there is in there.  I don't want to hear the sound of hollow anymore.   Even when I attempt a reply,  something won't allow it.  Something 'not me', but a part of me still, takes over.   I don't know how to describe it, and I don't know what it's called, but whatever it is, it owns me.

" Um, it was nice talking to you, Mister, but I'm being called back in now, so I better go.  Didn't you know I'm not well enough to go outside, and play with the other kids, and I don't belong there?  You didn't know that? 

Then, Mister?  Could you put it in memory?   Could you put it somewhere

you're sure you'll see it, next time?  Will you do that, please, so you don't forget, and ask me again, to join the people I'm not allowed to be with?

"It's just that it gets confusing when you do that, Mister.   It confuses me, and I don't know what to do, so I barely do anything, and I need to do something, Mister.  I really need to find something I can be able to do.  I just can't  do it with them.   

So, Mister, remember, okay?  Because it really hurts in me when you don't."

 I know that those  people checking in are doing so with good intentions, I do.  I'm not being elusive, on purpose.  My lack of response is an effort to retain focus, it's an effort to stay afloat.  It's just that when you feel as if you could go under at any moment, you become careful about how many moments you give away.

What has been most difficult about this experience is not having anyone you know who has had it.  No one is able to guide you through it from an experience of their own.  In a way, it feels as if there's no one outside yourself to turn to.   I know  that there must be.  I just don't know where they are.

I suppose that the worst part is wishing that there was, wishing you had someone you could talk to.  Wishing there was someone who could tell you that they understand,  and that you're not alone.  But there isn't, not here anyway.  The truth is you are alone.   And you're being judged.   And evaluated.   It's nothing personal.  

That's just what people do when they don't know what to do, at all.

"Oh, hey Mister.  I hope I wasn't being rude last time.  It's just confusing to be called outside, then run out there,  and be laughed at, then be told to get away again.  It's real confusing, Mister. 

And so you know, if you think it's funny, its not.  You should know, Mister, that you're killing me.  You should know you're fucking killing me, and that seems like a thing people should care about.  Isn't that a kind of thing for people to care about, Mister? 

Hmmm.   

What's wrong with you people, Mister?  What's wrong with you that makes you see nothing but what's wrong in you, in me?"

 The thing is,  I'm no different than anyone else.  I work hard.  I want to do well.  I want to contribute, and to experience the feeling of success.  I want to know, the same way we all want to know, that the life I've been living, has mattered.  That's not the message that  I've been getting, however. That's not what the people who  I've gone to for help have told me.  If you hear something often enough, even if you know it's not true, you begin to believe it.  If you hear something often enough, even if you know the people  who say it  don't matter,  it starts to sound true.

When that occurs you quit responding to anyone to ensure that the only voice you hear  is your own.  When that occurs you know you're some place critical, and that whatever happens next, only happens based upon a critical decision that you make.

And because you know that the family that was supposed to protect you can fall apart, and blame you, even though you were just a child,

And because you know that your siblings  will believe every lie they've been told by an individual who is terrified of what they stand to lose, and abandon you without hearing your side, first,  

And because you know the community you are a part of will smile at you, and then go off to talk about you behind your back,  

And because you know  that you followed the rules you were told to follow to get the job you wanted, and the people who made the rules can simply change them to take that job away,  and blame it all on you,

You reply to no one.
You confide in no one.
You trust no one.

"So Mister, if next time I see you,  and I act like I don't, you'll know why, right?  I'm not blaming you, Mister.   I just need to make sure you're not blaming me.   The only way I know to do that is to be sure I'm not a part of anything, which is kind of what you wanted anyway, right?  

I'm going to go now, Mister.  I'm going to go work to keep my head above water.   And Mister,  if you see me again, and it's clear I've survived,  don't take credit for it, Mister, okay?  Don't take credit for something you don't deserve any credit for.   Please?  It was nice talking to you, Mister.   I gotta go now..."