shadows of another time

There is, I find, a calmness evident in my mind. On the surface it’s what I want. A time without the worries. A time without demons of thought dragging me down. A time of wellness and considered reflection.

Yet at the back of my mind there is still a specter of worry. Have I reached a place where the storm that has been raging within has ceased. Or have I simply stepped into the eye of the hurricane.

The worry itself is a worry. Because I have to ask if I’m not simply entering the realms of self-fulfilling prophecy.

In the end all I can do is accept things as they are. Plan for the worst. Hope for the best. Do what I can to avoid making it worse.

You begin to wonder sometimes where you fit.

At times you find your way into places where there are no doors. Places where you believe it’s okay to go. To sit and deal with the little stuff which has become so important to you.

Until someone comes and asks you to leave.

You know why they ask. You can see the reasonableness in their request. Yet you are also aware of that inner sense of rejection. That piece of you that resents being placed on the outside.

Are you able to ask them to leave your mind. To remove that piece of themselves they’ve placed inside you. To move beyond their rejection and the unintended hurt.

It takes time, you realize. For you such things always take time. And yet so often in this world of faster there’s little place for those who respect long.

There is no fault, you decide. Merely a head which moves faster than a heart. But for a moment you feel it. The mind of another sensing opportunity. The silenced voice of hate. Attitudes of children long since dead.

I found a lost day in a lost week. Sitting there trying to understand. A day where the sense changes the meaning. And the meaning is unclear. Again and again the memories cycle across my mind. As my thoughts push into the unknown. Compulsive. Obsessive. Spirals of thought leading me to a place with more questions than answers.

So often, now, I find this is all life has to offer. Days locked in an empty box. Memories of other yesterdays playing on my mind. Unsure of my place or my purpose. Fearful of the outside.

Once I had a television. Yet that was stolen just hours after delivery. So now I sit in silence. Talk to the voices. Do what I can to find change. Yet the box remains the same. Empty and dysfunctional.

I’m unable to find my way.

Few offer to help. Those that do lack understanding. They can’t see how deep within there is a piece of me which wants to remain hidden. Can’t see it is that piece of me which is able to subvert an otherwise rational and intelligent mind. Truly they don’t understand the degree to which this piece of me is able to frustrate me by rejecting them.

I’m acting in an irrational manner. I know this to be true. Yet I am unable to stop. Unable even, to begin building a better life.

You move your mind to other things. Eventually. Allow your intellect to explore other aspects of your dysfunction. This too is dysfunctional, you decide. There’s better places to explore. Yet you are trapped in an environment that reinforces nothing but your dysfunction.

You ask yourself if there’s more to life than this. More to life than lonely days stuck in your lonely room. Hospital was better than this, you decide. At least there you had food. A shower. A bath.

Then you remember the fear of the place. When you were granted leave it was this which drove you out. Spending the day sitting in coffee shops. Hiding for as long as you could. Even then you could see this as dysfunctional behavior. Yet to your psychiatrist is was seen as evidence of improvement. A good reason to discharge you.

I see now how little has changed in my life. The one room I could call my own is as devoid of personality as any room I was allocated in hospital. I still spend my days mostly lurking in coffee shops. I tell myself that I can do better. Only I don’t see how.

A chance phone call changes your view.

You listen as you dither and prevaricate. A new world of different perspectives is on offer. All you need do is agree. And yet even this is hard. You may lead a dysfunctional existence. But this is your tower. The safe place where you may allow yourself to be.

Finally you elect to escape your tower. And your city. Hesitantly agreeing to the proposal of the other. You know where you’re going. You ran there once before. Now it’s time to walk. Because if you don’t you’ll be running forever.

I’ve done it before. Warped the emotion of overridden instinct. Sublimated anxiety into anger. Used the anger to push me to precarious places. Done what I must to teach myself the good lesson.

Yet anger is no basis for learning. So I calm my mind. Use reason. I’ve done it before. I will do it again.

We all believe the wrong thing for the right reason is acceptable. Yet is it wrong to do the right thing for the wrong reason, I ask myself. Some claim it is.

I believe different.

So I calmly push myself to the precarious place yet again. Do it again. Do it right. Learn a better lesson. For each time I try I fail. Learning then that the task is not the purpose. Sensing then something deeper. Because I can see now how the purpose is not the task.

And in the end I succeed.

It’s not easy returning from where you came from. A place where the demons of your past lurk around every corner. Frozen moments in time where the seeds of your demise were to be found. It’s not the place. You’ve always been able to see that. Yet before you disintegrated you could never go back. Now you find you can. So you begin to ask questions about what it is you have become.

The anxiety hits you before you even set foot outside. A somatic response which leaves your mind flapping through time. Deep down you know things are not what they appear to be. So you summon your inner force and project your mind into the future. See the point where the anxiety has abated. Then do what you must to get there.

Outside the displacement begins you. Voices of misplaced concern compelling you maintain obsessive observances. Solutions of a previous life are suggested. Return for your medication, they say. But you’ve overcome that need. You tell yourself. The only way is forward.

You tell yourself too that it’s only a train station. Yet as you enter you can feel your knees buckle. Sense a hollow pit in your stomach. You’re destination is all but forgotten. It exists now merely as a word you mutter in exchange for your ticket.

Ticket in hand you approach the barrier. Sensing the machine you realize you know too much. Can see the thousands of ways the something can go wrong. Only one way for it to go right. There’s something wrong with this ticket, a voice tells you. Moments later the machine agrees. You begin to panic. Consider what it is you’ve done wrong. A collector rescues you before you can approach the question of what to do next.

For a moment I see my ghost walking the streets behind me. See the walls of my mind. The places of anonymous comfort. The areas of familiarity. The places where I’m able to hide in full sight. It’s not a wonderful life. But at least I’m able to feel warm and safe. Mostly.

I see too how hard it is to deviate from fixed patterns. To step outside the ruts in my mind. The ones that fold out into the city. Unraveling threads of self written into the fabric of the environment. I want more than this, I tell myself. Yet there is something undone inside. And until it’s repaired more seems so far away.

You begin to analyze your thoughts. Wonder, perhaps, if the world is trying to tell you something. A piece of a jigsaw. A little piece of what’s not right. Something shown to you because you’re so fixed minded. A conspiracy in plain sight. And then you laugh. Because their world seemingly precludes them from knowing. And in the world of the mentally ill, conspiracies are a trope. Like time traveling Nazis is sci-fi; nobody listens to that sort of shit any more.

You can deny the evidence of your own senses, said a voice in my mind, no more than a scientist can ignore data which does not fit. And this includes, you realize, the voices which come from beyond.

The moment passes. You find yourself searching for the right platform. Only you already know which platform. You don’t, however, understand why you know. So you find you can’t trust the feeling. Choosing instead to stare at the overhead display. Time and again the right answer passes before your eyes. Yet still you find yourself unsure.

Time too is uncertain. It’s written there. Yet you can’t resolve the connection to the train. It’s not right, you decide. You don’t realize what ‘it’ is, comes the answer. The need to keep moving becomes stronger. So you throw your uncertainty ahead of you. Start moving. Find the platform you’ve identified as mostly likely.

You find the correct platform. The next train is yours, the signage informs you. It is the right platform. So you find a conveniently anonymous place to wait. And yet your uncertainty remains. Something is wrong with the display, you decide. It’s giving you the wrong information. A voice asks you to leave. This is not your train, it tells you. Find an excuse to come back later.

A train arrives and the information changes. This is not your train. So you wander back the way you came. You need to check yet again. Yet again you get lost uncertainty. It is the right platform. And again time is not right. You will not run, you decide. You’ll wait. So you return to your conveniently anonymous place. Moment’s later an announcement is made. Your train will be eighteen minutes late.

And with that news your uncertainty collapses. Allowing you, finally, the moment you need to find a calm space. To release the anxiety. To calm your body. To calm your mind. You take a moment to looking around you. You begin to see others. Sense their impatience. Their discomfort. Not all of it is transport related. Leaking in at the edges is an awareness of an awareness of your dysfunction. So you cloak your mind. And practice remembering to breath.

I wonder sometimes: who I am; what I am; where I am. About the collective beliefs of others. The places their minds are open. Learn what they collectively think.

Fill my mind with a question. Resolve the dissonance. Know what’s right in their eyes without then ever having to look. Feel the pain they’ll never know. I would choose to protect them from it. That’s all.

Now I find the guard is corrupt. So now I must Act.

Unless the way finds you.

You don’t wait long. Soon the correct train soon arrives. A crowd surges forward. You can sense their eagerness. The sense is strong. It mirrors your own. A race condition is developing. You don’t especially like the side of yourself it evokes. So you consider hiding at the back and getting on last. Too long, suggests a voice, you’ll get left behind. The crowding is less at the rear of the train, you notice.

So you wander to the back. Try to avoid mirroring the eagerness of the other passengers. But it doesn’t work. A middle-aged child wants a race. Politely shoving himself in-front of you. You don’t especially care. He can have his table seat. You just need to sit. Avoid the minds of those sitting next to you. Yet he wants a victory. So you get drawn in. An emotional duel. The kind in which you habitually surrender. You don’t especially like the side of yourself it evokes.

Your victory comes moments later. When you finally take your seat on the train. The next bit of the journey is somebody-else’s problem. The train pulls out of the station. You content yourself with looking out of the window. Until you see the guard leaving their room at the very back of the train. At which point there’s a short desperate search for your ticket. Yet you find it in time for the guard to punch it. Minutes later all tickets are checked and the guard returns.

This time you manage to catch a long glimpse through the door. Through the rear window. Now that’s a view, a voice announces. You find yourself agreeing. Scenery rushing directly away. For a moment you consider the optical illusions. The apparent speed differential between your side view and the guard’s rear view. Then the grey door slams shut. And once more the window on the left offers the best opportunity for distraction.

A timeless moment later you find yourself contemplating trains, schedules and logistics. The sound of the engine doesn’t sound right. The train is going slow. It’s possible, you realize, that the network does not have enough slack to accommodate a late train.

Data starts flooding into your mind. You begin to sense something outside the train. Familiar thoughts causing your inner essence to thrash about. Your will caught between the need to listen and the need ask the questions which bring understanding. Soon your distress begins to break through. You find yourself looking at the faces around you. Yet what you experience daily makes you alien in their eyes. They will be no help.

So you close your eyes and begin a breathing exercise. Do what you can to empty your mind. Then your mind plays a trick on you. Because now you’re seeing the view from the back of the train. For a moment it calms you down. Then you hear the guard’s voice over the public address system. Owing to the apparent lateness of the service the train will terminate at the next station.

Inside you start laughing. Reality as you were taught to perceive it to be is absurd. You’re seeing things before they happen. The emotional toll is high. Yet all others can do to help is ask you deny the evidence of your own senses. How do you explain this, you ask yourself. Occam’s razor, says a deeper voice, you’re a telepath. No, objected another voice, he’s psychic. You don’t care what the diagnosis is, you decide, you really do need help.

It’s not just you either, concluded the voices after a pause, whatever it is your children have it too.