The stalker

I have a stalker.

He is tall and muscular and gloomy.  He takes the very breath from my lungs the moment I see him. It’s there, clutched in his first, seeping through his fingers…dripping slowly to the ground until at last it’s gone.  And I stand there unable to breathe… That’s part of my soul you just took away. Just pulled from my chest like the strings of a marionette, tugging me toward you and playing me for your amusement. When I’m frightened it makes me feel like a little girl, longing to wrap my arms around mommy’s leg and feel its strength and fearlessness. But sometimes, when I’m faking strong, I absolutely do not care for these childish games. Now get out of my way now and let me pass. Let me pass or I’ll…

He is always looming. He crouches in the corner of my dreams. When I’m awake he steps out of shadows I don’t even know are there. I feel his presence creep upon me like a bottle of ink spilt across a piece of newsprint. It’s horrifying. Not just because I’m scared—because I feel violated. Because this creepy is inside me. Around me. Hovering. You know it’s changed the color of my skin? I’m paler now than I used to be. Sickly. The circles around my eyes are darker, more pronounced and my eyes have sunk… my skin feels draped over my bones, leaving only a landscape of peaks and valleys with no discernable shape. 

So much wreckage.  This is my life. I never knew what a big word that was until now. I had cut out the pattern and colored inside the lines. But I had no concept of how enormous it was. That my body—this complex system of cells with weight and depth, sprinkled with thought and senses to help it maneuver in the world—is simply an emblem of life. A representation, a translation, of my experiences. The child who absorbs life like a sponge is only meant to grow up—not out of her impermeability. I know this to be true so why can’t I have it? Make room for it? The creepy prevents me. 

I have a vision that one day I will be free. I am standing before an enormous window—in a castle above the clouds. It’s covered with silk sheers and they billow into the room as the wind blows and my hair flies and twists wildly around my head. I walk toward the window, barefoot across a stone floor, deliberately, feeling the contour beneath my feet. Heal, ball of foot, toes. I am grounded. The fluttering curtains assure me that I am alone here and their translucency seems to offer the proof I need. But I’ve been fooled before. I reach out to the window, harnessing the power of the wind, and grab hold of curtains.  I rip them aside, my breath clamped down tight, veins flooding and rising to the surface of my pale exterior. There is no one there. No shadow, no image, nothing. I am alone.

Suddenly the deadbolt on my lungs is undone …and my breath is released for the very first time. I exhale and watch the dust covered cobwebs get carried away with the wind, swishing and twirling and tumbling into oblivion. I gulp in clean, fresh air and it fills me so completely that my feet are nearly lifted off the ground. I smile, the muscles in my cheeks pleased to be of service once again and they remind me with a biting sting that they have lay dormant far too long. Alone. My veins retreat beneath the surface of my skin and my color begins to change. I hear myself laughing, a familiar tune but a new melody. Suddenly everything is new. I’ve been reborn and the woman is once again a sponge of innocence. No longer bound to a shadowy figure in the corner of my mind. I am finally free. 

But in the real world, I’m haunted by a disease they say I no longer have. I take pills to stay awake and pills to sleep because every time I close my eyes I encounter the stalker and I’m too tired and too desperate and too weak to push past him into my dreams. I am constantly afraid. I cannot listen to the radio, watch TV or read a magazine. In the real world I feel stifled and stiff and I struggle to push on…

I want to pass…

…to where I am pourus and weighted with my surroundings not my surrender. To tell my story to everyone and let them be inspired. I want my life and I want to package it in delicate paper and wrap it with purple ribbon and give it to my children. So that someday, much sooner than I did, they will learn of the power that comes from within each of us.

This is my life now. I can’t reclaim the old one. He will always be in the shadows, lurking. I can’t make him leave any more than I can change the color of the sky. I have no intention of embracing him or offering an olive branch. No polite nods or awkward smiles when I feel his presence. If I am to exist I have to accept that, and with that, him. I don’t need to like it—only acknowledge that the pieces have a new shape; one with thicker skin and wider eyes. Do you see me now? How do I look from your perch on the porch, from beneath the umbrella in the rain?

Get out of my way and let me pass. If you don’t, I keep walking. With you in tow if I must but I will not be afraid and I will not be ruined. My window is waiting, and I will feel the sweet release from my lungs. Because this is my life, not yours, and I will not be held captive. Not anymore.