No one sees the chains chaining me to my bed. No one sees the clouds behind my eyes begging to release the raindrops. No one feels the dirt and discoloration of my soul. I speak and no one hears a sound. I’m invisible. You’re not hearing me when I say everything hurts and I want it all to stop.
I speak and no one can make sense of the words I string together. It’s frustrating because I can’t verbally express or explain to others how I’m feeling or what I need. I try to go deeper but my words get lost in translation. How can I get help when no one can understand what I’m saying?
I’m lost again. My tongue is quick and sharper than usual. When others come in contact with me, they leave with black and blue marks on their soul. Pieces and pieces of my skin tumble to the ground and I can’t seem to put them back together again. Every eye looking my way is lethal. Every expression on every face is evil. I’m not safe. All I see is danger. All I see is danger. I’m scrambling for safety but safety doesn’t want me.
The light in my room for hope went out. It turns out the socket is broken and so is the wiring. I don’t know how to fix it.
What do you do when your words can no longer grasp the depths of your own soul? Like there’s something incredibly important you need to say, to express but there aren’t enough words to showcase that. You can’t find the right words. Nothing goes deep enough. What do you do when the sound of rain no longer cleanses your mind? No longer quiets it. When the heaviness remains? When melodies leave imprints on your heart but only eases the pain slightly? Should I accept that the pain will never fully subside? What do you do when no human sees you, no one gives you the time of day? When you stay up for the moon and its stars because they’re your only friends? I feel like I’m slowly fading. But I just want to burn out. Or maybe I should just jump and fly.
Connection is hard for me.
When I’m calm, cool, and collected, I’m someone I recognize. I’m intuitive, witty, and kind. When I’m anxious which is normal, I can’t stay present enough to connect with myself or others.
It’s tragic.
I have a lot to offer this world. I need to get out of my head.
When people look my way, they see a question mark, a dark cloud, flames, thunder, rain, claw marks, bruises… and they stay away. I’m a violent storm in which others run away rather than towards. Can I blame them?
My eyes only see one thing. Threat. It’s either they only want to hurt me or it’s they only want to hurt me. I’m not purposely only seeing the worst in others and things. These threat-colored glasses aren’t just a mere accessory, they are heavy lenses built into the inner workings of my eye.
I want to erase my existence.
Close the lid on the tea pot and put it away.
Reverse the video of my birth.
Let the sand of my life fall through my fingers.
Watch as the water lantern of my consciousness floats away.
Can I fade away?
Can I hit the backspace and delete everything that is me?
Can I go now?
Please?
Mikka Bell
CEO 105 – Jenna Fox
Mon-Thurs 11:30-1:20
2/21/2019
This I Believe Essay
In the movie, Dead Poets Society, Professor John Keating played by Robin Williams said, “Boys, you must strive to find your own voice, because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, ‘Most men lead lives of quiet desperation.’ Don’t be resigned to that. Break out!” That quote speaks to my heart because finding my voice is something that I have struggled with my entire life. Growing up, I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind, share my opinions, or express my feelings. When I did, I was called disrespectful, ignorant, and was constantly shut down. Eventually, I just stopped sharing my truth out loud.
A year ago, in August, I was admitted into long-term inpatient treatment where I lived with twelve other kids, and it was the most challenging and rewarding six months of my life. All thirteen of us had target behaviors that we worked on every day by practicing small behaviors that would become a good habit in the long run. One of my target behaviors was to be assertive and it consisted of asking for my basic needs like asking for water, asking to use the bathroom, asking to go to my room, asking to open the hygiene bin and more. It also meant asking for help when I needed it, asking to talk to a staff member, asking to see the nurse and a lot more. I felt like my entire world was a reality tv show because everyone pretty much knew when you weren’t doing well, or when you were on your period, or the date of your last shower because they literally documented everything. Feeling exposed wasn’t even the hardest part about living there. When it came down to asking for my needs, it would take minutes, to hours, to even days depending on what I needed. I would analyze every way I could speak my needs, think of every way the staff would respond, and then I would wonder if what I had to say would matter, if the staff would even care, I’d worry if I was interrupting the staff’s plans, if I was becoming a burden and eventually the pressure to be assertive became too much. Others would say that it was like pulling teeth trying to get me to answer a question in a timely matter, but it was just as hard for me to spit something out. I’d try to talk, and it felt as if my esophagus closed, that my vocal chords were ripped out. So, instead of speaking what I needed, I wrote. I wrote in metaphors when it came down to how I was feeling, I wrote letters instead of having hard conversations sometimes, I wrote short messages on sticky notes when asking a question and doing that was only a little bit easier than talking. Writing allowed me time to think without feeling like what I had to say was on a time limit. It also gave me room to fully express myself in a way that was comprehensible to the staff. I felt that my needs were taken more seriously when I wrote because fear would consume my entire being to the point that when I spoke, I didn’t make much sense, and I was overlooked because of it. Over time, my words became something I could verbalize. It gave me the confidence to own what I had to say. I believe that the written word has and will help me find my voice, that it is my voice. I know for sure that when I can’t find my voice, I’ll write, write, and write until I can find it again.
Thinking Sessions with My Heart and My Head 