Sincerely October

12:12 AM: written from the meadow

A thoughtful and reflective chapter written across two late nights.

The shore
I didn't think I would ever feel this way, for a long time I truly believed I wasn't capable of being sunny, I didn't think I had the internal meadow, I didn't have the well to draw the water from.
When the haunted house felt like my only home, when the pillars I built myself up with were hollow, when I realized I am no greater than the thousands who died from taking the paths I chose to take, I didn't try to find the shore, I simply accepted the currents.
I accepted the waves that were so high I felt as if I had no ground to stand on, I made peace with the drawn out shallow tides.
I had the breath taken out of me, I felt the salt water sting my eyes, and I didn't bother to look back at the shore, I didn't care about collecting happy moments like shells, this is what I was.
You see the ocean may be unlike anything you'll ever see on the beach, you won't float quite so high when your feet are on the ground, but in the seas the gold never stays.
The tides are unpredictable, they draw you in with the same promises that will be the death of you.
You see, when I go into the ocean, there's no telling when I'll swim to the shore. I tell myself different stories about what it means to be where I am, but the truth is if you stay in the ocean for long enough, you will drown.
After many nights spent in discomfort and pain, after the crushed cans cut into my skin one too many times, when I accepted I only have so many close calls before I stumble into my last, I realized the ocean wasn't what it once was, and it will never be what I want it to be.
My body was tired of having no ground to plant my feet, I needed someone to hold onto, I wanted to spend my days doing something more than waiting for the next wave.
So began the swim to shore, knowing there was more to life than the sea.
How strange it was to swim away. How strange it was to watch my days being spent swimming to shore rather than standing in the tides.
It felt like I was running from the life I had grown to know. I asked myself what I was without it, who I am without it?
I remember the night I stepped onto shore, when I was finally able to breathe above water, I realized the ocean wasn't what I once thought it was.
I realized I am so much more than the waves I chase, I am so much more than waiting for the tides to change.
I spend my days picking up the shells that fell out of my pocket on the way, the little pieces of me I lost along the way.

I guess what you say is true
It's not like I didn't know.
I saw that day in October coming at some point or another, so I cannot pretend to be moved. This was not a surprise party two weeks after my birthday, it's been on the calendar for many years.
I know I'm schizophrenic, I have for a long time, there's no question in my mind about it, I have read the papers, I know what I am standing in front of.
Yet seeing it written down shakes me to the bone.
You're not supposed to say that. You're supposed to tell me that this isn't that. You're supposed to tell me that I'm different, but I'm not, and I can feel that fear deep within me.
You see I know this doesn't define me, not on a day like today. I know when my eyes aren't adjusted to the real world, I know when my skin is lying to me.
Today this isn't what I am, today I am one hundred words before I am schizophrenic.
Yet these perceptions haven't ever been quite like this. They've never been quite this constant. I am running as fast as I can because I need to leave the woods, but it seems the trees are sprouting and growing faster than I can run from.

I'm not who I used to be
You never thought you'd be where you are today.
You accepted the inevitable overdose long ago but now you know that it isn't so inevitable.
You told them what you did to you. You told the story until you became tired of hearing it. You shook with fear at the thought of anyone knowing and now you don't care who holds this information.
You don't get high anymore. You go to meetings and talk about god. You keep your pen writing happy stories instead of rereading old entries.
You never thought you would feel like you do now. You thought you'd always be utterly miserable.
The poetry captures it all, your writing shows you don't hold the aches quite like you used to.
So while today may still leave me aching, I know that if I were to meet myself last may that past self would be relieved knowing it doesn't last.

The forest
How strange it is to live with the knowledge that my ears, eyes, and skin lie to me.
How unsettling it is to see hallucinations move into my house of a mind in a way unlike they ever have.
I know what is real and what is not. I know that someday soon the horror movie will be over, that I will come back to the theater and forget about all the details of what once frightened me.
I understand that my mind is sick, that I did not choose to be this way, that my mind being what it is contains no fault of my own.
I am terrified that this is only the beginning. I am terrified because there may be a day in which I don't know if what I see holds any truth.
I don't want to be sick, not anymore. I want to get better.
I am lost in the woods. Utterly disoriented. You see I cannot tell you I've been here before. I cannot tell you if it's raining or if it has always been like this. Something about this trip in the woods is unlike any I've ever known.