Acid

Once in awhile I wake up expecting a horrifyingly strong coffee craving, only to be transfixed and paralyzed with a different type of tenacious electricity floating through me. It’s an acidic restlessness that lays stagnant and venomous on my tongue, promising to eat me alive in a matter of hours, or otherwise serving as a beacon of the striking possibility that I may inflict the same punishment upon any unlucky vermin who should cross me. Generally when I am faced with a typical bout of fidgety agitation, I fight back. I blast Tegan and Sara’s So Jealous so loud, and for so long, that after an hour or two the ringing in my ears has drowned out any and all unwelcome thoughts. If something should go wrong, a backup plan will go into effect immediately. This usually involves a round of binge eating various pepper-laden findings from the kitchen (I have picked up a rather unusual taste for the pungent seasoning), followed by a methodical solo performance of my “discography”. I will go on and face the music, so to speak, until the calloused skin of my fingertips split and shine with fresh drops of blood. But as of late, the sunrise of adulthood has thrown not only looming shadows my way, but also a striking inability to cope with this boxed in feeling. I have continuous nightmares concerning variations of a single theme; suffocation, isolation, and spaces that only seem to get smaller with time. These usually end with my body thrust violently back into reality, tangled in my sheets, and drenched with a salty layer of evidence that my subconscious has won again. How could it be that as a child all it takes to rid yourself of your demons is a trip to grandmas house and a bowl of 3D Doritos (now extinct)?

I see myself boxing. I see myself running, running and never stopping. I see my chest rising and falling to a rhythm. I see wide, open spaces, and endless quantities of breathable air. I see water so clear the earth seems to have a sky to walk on, and a sky above reserved for the divine. I see fingers typing so fast they seem to hover over an invisible plane. I see words so poignant, a symphony sounds in the back of ones mind as they take them in. Letter by letter. Phrase by phrase. Life is but a moment, and a moment is only as human and you wish it.

Copyright Yasamin Aftahi 2011