Waiting, Trapped, Escape - A Serious Series of Shorts

Waiting, Trapped, Escape - A Serious Series of Shorts: I created these pages in an artist book for IB Art class my senior year of high school. The purpose of this section, which had pages with glued envelopes enclosing the writing (titled/labeled with "My name is" stickers), was to recount one of my many trips to see my shrink. It's creative writing/prose but could easily be confused with poetry.

WAITING

I sit in the corner near the windows and the potted plants.

I sit so very close to the rain.

I sit on a maroon couch in a building that reminds me of the hospital.

I sit with pen in hand, sweating in a nervous sort of way.

I sit and write this down hoping I'll remember where I am because I am getting lost again.

I sit and read all of the signs on the walls hoping I'll find myself soon.

I sit where I can smell the dirt and play with the leaves on the plants.

I sit so very far away from the television.

I try so hard to sit perfectly still.

I sit and try not to pay attention to the maroon on this couch, the shade is overwhelming.

"Alli(it's pulsating)son Carmody."

I stand, unsteady on my feet.

I blink, the faint feeling subsides.

I walk, glancing back at the maroon couch.

TRAPPED

How can I put these thoughts to paper... these thoughts that travel at the speed of light. She watches my every movement, she counts the breaths I take. In a pleasant voice she states so clearly, "This isn't going to be easy. This will not feel right." It all seems so very far away. Her voice, seems so very far away. "What is your safety net? What is it that gets you by?" Prolonged silence. The answers refuse to form into words, refuse to be transferred. I am not ready. Ironically, in this vague and multi-planed language being "not ready" means you will never be more ready. Torn between the familiar and the great unknown, I take one giant leap. One giant leap for... for what I have yet to establish.

"Yes."

It's hitting me in waves now. This nausea, this monumental inner conflict.

It's truly quite scary.

All I have worked so hard to suffocate, all of the old fires I silently doused in secrecy, will be burning brightly and breathing post-deprivation tonight. I can already feel them.

Somehow this is right?

One. Two. Three. She's counting on me.

Four. Five. Six. For all the broken sticks.

Seven. Eight. Nine. I tell myself I'll be fine.

Somehow this is right.

ESCAPE

Heatedly walking outside into the rain.

Stubbornly enjoying the wet cold, acknowledging how appropriate it seems.

Calling home but being awarded no voice of reason.

Frolicking in thoughts of secrecy.

Remembering how this came to be.

Arms dropping to my sides.

Tears falling between drops of rain.

Standing so still.

Waiting for an answer that will never come.

I stand so still amidst the rain.