in the dark

I put some puzzle pieces together. I’m going through the crazies, lately. When the things my eyes see and the things my mind thinks don’t match up. When I scream and yell and throw things. When I fall on the ground because my legs give out. When I cry super hard at night and laugh uncontrollably—on a super duper high—during the day. When I have panic attacks in the grocery store and spend so long burying my tears in the raisin display in order to appear uncrazy that I ruin my cover and get sidelong glances from store staff. When I spend long periods watching my hands. When I love and hate the same people at the same time. When things fall apart. When I become extra afraid of the dark. When I spend hours in the bathtub, staring at the wall.

I found a name for this. This thing is in my blood but the dark sky wakes it up. Every year around this time I fall into crazy. In college, when I lost control and slammed cupboards and screamed at people and cried endlessly and ended up spending hours with the therapist—that was late Fall. In Virginia when things were so horrible and I came home from work every day and went to sleep immediately, when I thought about killing myself, when I hated everything and everyone—that was late Fall. The year before last when I begged you not to leave the apartment and watched you go from my knees on the sheepskin rug and then cried on the floor for hours—that was late Fall. There’s a name for this—the internet told me so. I’m glad it has a name, that means I can put it in a box but, more importantly, it means it has an end. It will pass, like your sarcasm. It means I don’t need to go to the doctor because I can’t breathe and the world is—no really, it is—ending. It means the intensity of my need to control everything that happens--and the strain on my shoulders and neck and stomach when things aren't exactly in place and don't go according to plan...it means it's ok, and I'll loosen up eventually.