My assignment was to "speak my truth" and write on the theme of "possibility". This is what I came up with.

Red, White and Blue in the Face

Dream the impossible dream

he said

The possibilities are endless

he said

The world is your oyster

he said

These are the lies my country told me

while that oyster drowned me in a sea of abandonment and degradation

it tried to swallow me whole

If only I could “pick myself up by my boot straps”

and work hard for the money

so hard for it, honey

A dream is a wish your heart makes

beating with possibility

HOO-RAH

Ripped from my mother’s womb

The founding fathers are dead

but

I have some serious daddy issues

Arm yourselves

because love is a battlefield

Dream on, sweetheart

Talk to the hand

that’s cracked from hard labor

Should I give up, or should I “just keep chasing pavement”?

Don’t step on the cracks

or it’ll break the backs of those who built this country

Sure I have a dream

you lying, cheating, son of a bitch.

----------------------------------------------------------

I'm kind of angry, I guess.

I ran out of my meds this week.
Withdrawal blind-sighted me.
I missed class.
I am lacking motivation to study.

Nonononononono, no, NO.

I got all of my studying done the for the next week--the whole week. This shit just doesn't happen to me.

It feels really good. The difficult piece is that every small victory like this one reminds me of all of my past failures. Every time I've been so paralyzed that I was unable to study anything at all. Every time I've watched the clock, knowing that with every moment that passes I'm closer to missing a due date, a class or a shift at work. Every time that I've convinced myself that I can sleep forever.

It's undeniable that successes like this can be taken away at any time. Today has been remarkable but it's unlikely to become part of a pattern. I have yet to figure out what the magic number is but I'm sure that after so many of these small victories a devastating loss is guaranteed.

It's fucking bullshit that an accomplishment should bring with it so much fear.

Retourner

So many times in the past few months I have started writing. There are pages and pages in assorted notebooks that are evidence of my efforts. Oftentimes I have trouble articulating the emotions I'm experiencing, which might be difficult for some people to believe, I know. 

I feel my beast's presence, the way you might feel a slight breeze through an open window. He can be so elusive, just outside of my grasp and then what am I left with? I'm left with a feeling, a detection of something that is waiting just around the corner. Because that's a very real possibility, isn't it? Any day I might wake up and he will be waiting for me. Any day he may arrive and huff and puff and blow my fucking house down. And that could be the end. The punch line of a long, drawn out joke. That's the way it feels sometimes anyway, like some sick, cruel joke; a prank that's gone way too far and gotten out of hand. 

It's not as though I live in a constant state of paranoia, sometimes days or weeks pass where I forget entirely about this shadow, this blemish or scar on the innermost layers of my life. But so much time has been spent waiting, bracing myself for the storm my beast carries with him. The destruction he leaves in his wake. The mess I'm left to clean up, the pieces left for me to reassemble, sometimes ruined forever.

When he's biding his time, when I can feel him waiting for me, what is there to write about? What can I say that doesn't sound like irrational suspicion? And then there are bound to be people who will tell me not to dwell, or invite it into my life. Negative thinking leads to negative experiences and all of that bullshit. Whether I remain conscious of my beast at all times or deny his existence entirely, he will come. He will come for me and I will be powerless against him. 

There aren't any answers here, so don't come looking for them. I guess this is my return.