sung entropy [ reverse cowboys ]

sung entropy [ reverse cowboys ] Jul 15, 2022 11:18:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by heather - d2 [mylee] on Jul 15, 2022 11:18:01 GMT -5

K I P T Y N

I know I’m not really that far away from where I started when my legs finally collapse underneath me, but it feels like I’ve spent my whole life running, and there’s a part of me that believes it’s true, that this is all I’ve ever known and to stop now is to abandon something--perhaps the only thing--that could be considered an integral part of who I am. I ran from helping Robin at the first sight of real danger; I fled from my parents’ anger and the possibility of conflict, each time convincing myself of the moral high ground, of maturity, of being the better and bigger person.

But really there was nothing but fear driving me out of the lives of the people I loved, and I want to believe this is what drives all of us, the course of our lives determined by the presence or absence of fear.

Trying desperately to catch my breath feels like I’m shoving the ground away from me with each exhale, ragged and violent. The worst part of all of this is the knowing--standing at the bottom of the valley between this world and the imagined one and knowing there’s distance between them to be collapsed but doing nothing, the body sent into a tailspin of terror. When you’re so far down there, what else is there to do?

One of the earliest jobs that Robin and I worked had been continually complicated each time we tried to gain ground. The couple’s routine changed, the hours they worked continually shifting; the installation of security measures just days before we had originally planned to break in; the appearance of a big truck and boxes being carted off to storage--there was nothing going our way, and I threw out the idea of bailing to Robin persistently until we had crossed the threshold of the backdoor.

Once we were in, there wasn’t anything that went particularly amiss. I kept watch, and Robin picked his way through the house, taking light steps through the tall carpet. And I don’t know what it was, or what triggered it, but fear trapped me where I was, and I remember feeling like my chest had been pressed in and collapsed to half its size, my throat narrowed to nothing. Robin had found me curled up near the back door, my spine rounded against the drywall and my knees tucked up to my chest, hyperventilating. What’s wrong? he’d first asked, but figured out quickly that the ability to communicate, that fickle capacity for language, was long gone. He’d unfurled my body and held me until the initial panic stopped, and we’d left the house with half of what we originally planned.

I’d apologized for weeks, and kicked myself for months for that fear that had no clear and distinct origin, just something amorphous and feral, an animal you can tell is following you through the woods but you’re none the wiser about its location or direction.

I hear footsteps somewhere behind my head, but I don’t bother to turn myself to see who they are. Tex? I call out, but it’s soft and nearly indiscernible, practically useless amongst the nearby rattle of wind through the leaves sitting stubborn at the tops of the trees. Please don’t kill me, I hear myself say, and I’m surprised I’ve said it, even though I know my own fear, have known it all this time.

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