Sometimes my eyelids turn inside out.
I swear they do. I close my eyes so tight and they invert on themselves. Pop. Cause and effect. They turn inside out—soft, red and veiny. A shiny, wet windowpane of nerves. All gross and wrong. Like a sophomore science class dissection.
But that’s just a guess. I don’t know…I’ve never seen it.
It only happens during the secret little times when I don’t want to see. When I refuse. It happens when I cry. When I clamp my eyelids shut as hard as I can against everything and everyone, then all at once, it clicks.
Pop. Eyelids.
Then, ugh, I can’t sleep.
Listen, I know what you’re going to say but we both know I can’t listen to another minute of those stupid fucking self-soothing meditations. The healing frequencies are starting to freak me out. Because somewhere, on some nonlinear timeline, i’m still screaming. I’m still screaming and it really ruins the calming spa vibes.
You know it. I know it — somewhere, i’m still sitting in a state of shock-collar shock. It rips through me, splits me in half while I’m trying to hold my inhale like one, two, three.
And I can’t. Because I’m still screaming.
Somewhere—I'm sure it’s me—still, screaming.
But really, it’s fine. Most of the time I’m fine.
Then I’m fine until I’m not.
Now all my writing sounds the same because I keep reliving the same feelings day after day after day. A groundhog’s nightmare of me. Me fucking screaming. Me crying until my eyelids turn inside out like the weird kid in elementary school.
You do have to wonder where those kids are now.
Where are the eyelid kids? What happened to them? Are they still turning their eyelids inside out?
Or is it just me? Do you think it’s just me?
Anyways, I wrote a book about how I felt like I was going insane and it cured me. Now I only go insane sometimes. Now I only go insane in secret.
Did you know it doesn’t count if it’s in secret? I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere.
If a tree falls in a forest and what not.
It doesn’t count if you keep it a secret, right?
<sarcasm>…right? </sarcasm>
Now I only go insane if it benefits me. If I can put it into words and give it a name. If I can try to make peace and publish it. Get an advance. Now my feelings only feel if they have purpose.
And when I tell you that, do you believe me?
Because somewhere—on some nonlinear timeline—I don’t. I don’t believe a single word I say. But in this one? Sure! Totally. Everything is just fine. And genuinely, it is! You won’t believe me after this but really, it has been.
Repeat after me: it’s okay.
That’s what I tell myself anyway: It’s okay. You’re okay.
Then I hold myself while my eyelids turn inside out. like pop.
I swear they do. They really do.
But only when I feel small. And scared. And sad. And God, when I feel alone.
I feel so alone. And eventually, you have to wonder why everyone leaves. What’s wrong with you? Is it the way your eyelids turn inside out? Is it the fact that you’re so small and scared? Is it…God—could it be how alone you feel?
It’s got to be a turn off. It’s a turn off, right?
The way my eyelids turn inside out?
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nothing, go sit in silence.