There is no metaphor for this

The usual words are just careless

Not "sadness" nor "a lack of bliss"

Bumbling mumbles say "numbness"

But there is no way that I can say

How I’m feeling everyday

Each blend of words just sounds cliché

Allegories "death, decay"

"my heart's gone cold"

"I don't fit the mold"

I'm watching myself disappear

And on top of that, is all the fear

There is no metaphor for this

Nothing loved ones won't dismiss

I can explain bits and parts

But even then, where to start?

Should I focus on the pain

Or the non-stop guilt and shame?

Do I feel trapped in my head

And how come I don't leave my bed?

It seems that no one understands

And when they send a helping hand...

They say things like, "just live, laugh, love"

I often do all the above

I often smile and make them laugh

As evidenced by photographs

Depression cannot look like me

They want an illness they can see

An illness at a high degree

They don't care 'bout balled up fists

They're only counting bleeding wrists

And even then they want more proof

They want me standing on a roof

I'm tired and I'm on the mend

But if you call yourself a friend

Careful of the hand you lend

Remember that I can't relate

The explanation you await

There is no metaphor for this

But even so it does exist.

You might be rude and vile

I'm still serving with a smile

Tell me that you're "quite fed up"

Raise your glass "fill 'er up"

I'll hold back with all my might

I'll keep my smile and be polite.

But if you decide not to tip

You'll be dead after a sip.

I used to be able to rap

speak words to the rhythm

of an upbeat clap

I'm so out of practice

This verse might not rhyme

Nothing rhymes with practice

Now I'm stalling for time

I can choke and stutter

Spread my toast with fresh butter

Eat my words, spit them out

Go bananas, scream and shout

Shit.

Now I'm thinking about food

Trying to relearn rap

But I'm not in the mood

So I'mma dig the fridge

Please hold your applause

I've forgotten how to rap

It's a lost cause.

Hey!

So- weird thing, hehe. My heart is kinda pounding. Not in a "I just ran a bunch" kind of way... More like... On and off I guess? Irregular? I'm googling irregular heartbeat.

"The most common cause of heart palpitations is stress and anxiety"

Well. That's solves it. But I figured you'd want to know anyway so I'll just explain a little more.

I haven't been running by the way. I just watched a very intense season finale and then had a very long, emotional phone call about it with my friend. We talked about the 3 crazy plot twists and the cliffhanger. The next season doesn't start for a while. 

So maybe that's why my heart is off? I dunno. It just felt uncomfortable and scary. It's also odd because- well.

You of all people know that I'm a crier. I cry easily and I'm pretty sensitive. Especially to movies and TV. But... no tears for this season finale.

Favourite character gets her happy ending and it's more perfect than anything she could ever hope for? No happy tears. It all gets taken away in one cruel, unexpected trick of fate? No sad ones either.

My friend said over and over "I cried during that scene!" And I said I did too just to feel normal.

I'll bring up the elephant in the room. Yeah, I just went through a break up. And yeah, I was crying in bed for days after. But I don't think I'm cried out.

I went to a party the other day, you see. A party I'd been planning with a friend for months. And I was utterly sad about my break up. So the first thing I did before the party is I went to the bathroom, took all of my sad feelings and shoved them deep down where they couldn't be seen. I wasn't going to let my sadness get in the way of my friend's good time.

And when someone brought up my ex I changed the subject. And when I felt the tears coming, I tucked them out of sight and made a joke instead.

I've been bottling everything for a while now, about 3 days and I think because I've been forcing everything down, I don't know how to bring it back up anymore.

So what does this have to do with my heart?

My favourite teacher once said something... 

I find that things he's said to me, even when they're not logical, have always rung true and even though he seemed like he wasn't a very responsible person, he seemed very wise. Kind of like Dumbledore who was kind of a loony but still the wisest loony. 

(Sidenote- we used to call this teacher Gandalf because of his long grey beard and ponytail. He once said to us, "If you call me Gandalf, YOU SHALL NOT PASS")

So I still remember things he's said to the class years ago. They still pop up in my head today when something like this happens.

One time he said to us that his brother didn't cry when his mother died. Apparently, the story goes, that Mr T himself went to pieces at the news but his brother remained stoic, even at the funeral when all 5 siblings were there, all shedding tears.

And the brother who didn't cry, Mr. T informed us, died of a heart attack at the ripe old age of 45. Or was it 50?I don't remember the age, except that it was not ripe enough and not old enough for him to die.

"It's because he bottled it" Mr. T explained, "he kept it all inside and eventually his heart couldn't take it."

It seems like a good time to mention that Mr. T was a literature teacher who taught Shakespeare better than anyone and saw everything as symbolic and metaphorical. In Mr. T's world, every gun is Chekhov's gun.

We have that in common. (Though I've found that stressing out about Chekhov's gun usually means it's Chekhov's red herring.)

Anyway... It just feels like that's what's happening. I'm bottling and my heart is giving out.

And I just want to cry about my break up, dammit. I want to shed tears at the funeral of my relationship so I can give my heart a break.

It feels like I am the main character of my story. Mr T was the wise old Dumbledore/Gandalf/Yoda type character who warned me about this. And the heart palpitations are foreshadowing. And the break up and the depression and the anxiety are all just the trials and obstacles I have to get past to become a better person...

I guess I'm just waiting for my character development chapter to finish so I can get on with the plot. 

Yeah.

Yours sincerely,

Me.

We are happy together, I'm committed and loyal and my feelings about you won't change. so with your permission, can I date another person too?

I'll let them know the situation, I'll be clear and communicate honestly. I'll tell them that you're part of the deal

Because... I love you both. and if we can make it work... is something wrong with that?

But if you're not ok with that then I'll be ok.

And if they don't want to date me that's fine too.

polyamory can work, if you're honest and sensitive.

One day at a club meeting, it some how fell upon me, the procrastinator who doesn't drive, to get the cake. So on the day of the event I called a bakery.

I said to the man on the phone, "How soon can I get a cake?"

An hour, he said. He was polite and diligent and guided me through the cake ordering process. He asked for my credit card number. I gave it. He asked if he could charge me. I said yes.

Because of my lack of a car and time, I asked my then-partner to drive me. They agreed and 15 minutes before it was time to pick up the cake, they arrived at my door.

Their short pink hair was shoved into a baseball cap. Their outfit was an oh-so-masculine un-buttoned shirt over a crop-top and jeans. They had put on make-up, winged eyeliner and lip gloss. All of this combined with their flat chest and slight hips... they looked androgynous and beautiful. I loved it. The outfit, the make up, it was so well put together. It was so... them.

"You look great!" I said, throwing my arms around them. We kissed briefly and walked to their car hand in hand.

We were happy. They felt as though they were finally expressing who they were. They felt handsome and confident. We loved each other dearly. And we were about to be blessed with cake. It was a good day.

As we waited in line to pick up the cake, I snuggled up to them. Their comfort and happiness was contagious and we found ourselves huddled close, whispering and stealing kisses. I remember blushing like they were my first love.

But when we got to the front of the line, the mood shifted. The man working the counter seemed to not want to serve us at all. When I mentioned my order, he said that there was no such order. I was confused.

"Did you speak to a man or a woman on the phone?" He asked

"A man" I said.

"He sounded just like you," I didn't say.

"You must have made a mistake," he told me, "I'm the only man that works here, and I didn't take any calls today"

I paused, shocked. I didn't get a chance to recover. He firmly moved on to the next customer in line.

I stumbled back a bit, feeling dizzy from the sudden tension. Was I in the wrong bakery? Together my partner and I checked that we were at the right bakery and that the order had indeed been placed. 

My bank records showed the cost of the cake was charged to my card. And the money was charged by the very bakery we were standing in. Feeling more than a little miffed, we got back in line.

Suddenly my partner had an idea. 

"Call the bakery" they said.

My eyes were wide. I pulled out my phone and hit redial. We heard the bakery phone ring.

We exchanged looks. We watched as another employee picked up the phone.

"Hi," I said when she'd picked up, "I'm in your bakery right now, trying to pick up a cake I ordered, but I was told my order doesn't exist?"

The lady spotted me and I waved. She called me up to the counter.

"What's your name?" was the only question she asked. I had my cake 2 seconds later.

"I didn't get what they were saying- I thought they said pick up" sputtered the man who had denied us cake.

But it was too late. I'd spoken to him on the phone an hour before yet he claimed not to have taken any calls.

He'd denied us service. He was rude to us and lied instead of literally just reaching behind him and handing us a box. And the whole time we were in line, we'd watched him politely serve the rest of the customers. We knew it was personal.

We were silent all the way back home, thinking over and over "Did I imagine that?" 

We didn't. It had happened. And would continue to happen every time we were in public. We'd hold hands and passers-by would frown. We'd kiss and mothers would shield their children.

When we got to the event that day, the cake turned out to be delicious and superb. But it stuck in our throats. All our friends praised my partner's make up, their great style and fashion sense. But the compliments didn't feel authentic.

We replayed the scenario from the bakery over and over in our heads. We hadn't done anything wrong. 

I watched them wash their make up off that night. What had once made them confident now made them feel vulnerable.

We sat together on my couch, the fear and confusion settling between us like cement. I leaned forward and we shared a soft, chaste kiss.

In that silence, I felt intimacy and tenderness and trust.

I felt our familiar sweet love. 

And for the first time, I was scared.

I really, really don't.

But there's something in my apartment. 


Something that makes soft, human noises in the living room.

I hear it when I'm home alone,

Soft footsteps,

Plastic bags crinkling,

Things being moved.

…There's never anything there.

Nothing but glimpses at the corner of my eye

And a feeling of being watched.

Nothing but goosebumps on my skin

I don't believe in ghosts.


But I know that she is there.

And I feel that she is harmless.

I know that she is "she".


Previous occupants all say:

"Oh! You met the ghost?"

Then, inexplicably they add:

"Don't worry, she's harmless,”

Things I never mentioned... they knew.

Does that mean they could be true?

But I shake my stubborn head.

I don't believe in ghosts, you see

Not even when they’re there.

And whatever she was, I noticed

She didn't like to be discussed.

Mentioning her meant losing things

Missing trinkets and earrings 


We laughed it off, because she's harmless, right?

But even so my chest felt tight.

I don't believe in ghosts.

And she'd like so much to keep it that way.


When I tell her story, my hands go numb.

I feel a slight tremor.

See flashes of red.

Change the subject

“I don’t believe in ghosts” I scoff,

Because it seems to me,

more and more when she’s brought up

She likes to slam the door

So I pretend I’m not convinced.

Ignore whispered rumors and meaningful stares

I debunk the odd occurrence

dismiss it as "coincidence"

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I say

Because my throat is dry

She here to stay and gets her way

And talking about it makes it worse.

So hear my word, I’ve changed my mind:

I do believe in ghosts, I find.

I just don’t believe she’s harmless.

I'm in bed. My second favorite blanket is strewn across my lap, saving my legs from the heat of my laptop. My fan is pointed at me, saving me from the heat of the summer. It's 8pm and the sun is still attempting to set. We haven't turned any of the lights on. 

I get bored. 

That's the problem really. Last time I got bored I was at the airport and my flight was delayed. I was people watching. And people describing. My parents got 4 rambling texts of description. The soon-to-be passengers that surrounded me were being unknowingly catalogued into my phone. 

"I'm counting and I just saw 4 girls in sweatpants and ugg boots.

Wait. Make that 7. Just spotted a gaggle of them. Not judging- actually kind of jealous. looks comfy."

Also spotted:

- A 70-ish year-old lady wearing a top saying "the future is female" (goals)

-Two punk rock band member, in their 50s, who have lots of tattoos and patches. One of them is playing his electric guitar (not plugged in of course) the other one is brushing his long white beard.

-A lady talking non-stop about her kids to a stranger.

-A guy Pa's age taking selfies.

-Two girls behind me whispering endlessly about a semi-famous Youtuber who is possibly at our gate."

And then my mother said, "I feel like I'm there. I can see it."

I felt good about that. She isn't always one for praise. So I started narrating more. I edited and exaggerated but I gave the scene I'd set action and drama.

"The girls behind me are buzzing with excitement, the youtuber just tweeted that's she's at the airport, she's flying to the same destination as us!"

"There's a grumpy man here. He's frowning deeply at his phone. He's wearing a suit and carrying a laptop bag. He has an air of entitlement. He has places to be and people to frown at. I can see him complaining about the service at a crowded, understaffed restaurant. Even though his server is doing her best. I bet he doesn't tip her. I'm so angry about this hypothetical situation."

"The girls behind me are trying to muster up the courage to ask the youtuber for a picture. You can do it! Go!"