i wanna be a lighthouse but i can’t shine all the time

being attacked may bring up feelings of humiliation

I think I’m part tree and part zebra muscle with some sparkles and idk what else but other things too

Coming up along Jane, I felt sad and happy almost all of the time. I was sad to feel happy and idk if this makes sense but happy, no, something more intense than happy when I felt sad.

None of it made sense. I felt deep inside like I was broken because I couldn’t figure out this complicated, unexplained metaphysical phenomenon that was affecting me and my life.

But I had no way of knowing it wasn’t as easy to figure out as the other things that made sense to me.

The feeling of broken came from a thought. ‘I should be able to understand myself of all the things on this planet that are understandable.’

I was a precocious kid.

btw, for those that don’t know, ‘precocious kid’ was a euphemism in the 80s.

A code phrase for older people like me to understand I was like them and therefore should be handled a certain way, to know this without calling themselves out as being like me.

Oh, those precocious kids and their crazy ballyhoo, you know.

But here I am in the present because the past doesn’t exist. Except when I’m telling a story. And I’m telling the story of manifesting zebra muscles into my physical world so I could work out the root of what confused me as a child.

As a teen, the universe conspired to help me by moving me to a world of opposites, basically a dramatic microcosm of the planet. A clear division had been created many generations before I moved between the haves and the havenots.

It was in this environment where I found myself as a teen. I often felt like there were two polar opposites within me and that they were magnetically repelled to opposite sides of my body.

You wouldn’t think zebra muscles and trees got along in any way, not even in the way that zebra muscles get along with anything.

But there we suddenly were. A foreign part of me becoming a non foreign part of me. Becoming like the other parts of me that I never called zebra muscles. But acted like them.

Some mornings I wake feeling like my zebra muscle parts have done a number on me in my sleep. Ripped me from limb to limb. Attached itself to my eyelids. Weighting my shoulders.

Don’t ask for clean sentence structures on these mornings when it feels like I woke from some nightmare in which I was fighting for my life.

On the mornings I feel most pressed, and the zebra muscle parts of me are sure that it’s going to be impossible to find my way around the fog let in through the window opened in the night, to walk without slipping on the banana peels on my kitchen floor, get dressed when I somehow sleepwalked and dumped all of my clothes in a big mess in the linen closet, and not die or at least poison myself a bit and ruin my day for sure when my tired eyes see the draino that is mysteriously in the fridge and believe it’s yummy milk, they get mad when not only do I not die, but I somehow make it out the door on time with clothes on that are done up in all the right ways and I don’t even have any bruises on my knees to laugh about.

I can’t feel peaceful without my zebra muscle parts feeling angry. I can’t feel happy without my zebra muscle parts feeling rage. I can’t receive blessings without my zebra muscle parts feeling envy.

It’s very confusing to feel so much at once. But, not really. If I could feel more than an intense rage with a side of instant thoughts of making things different next time in direct response to my feeling happy, I would probably be more myself than ever.

Make sense? I bet it does. If not now, then some day.

But for now I feel stuck in a very small world where there’s just me and my zebra muscle parts. Just the choices of do I engage in self sabotage to avoid the inevitable backlash of hatred and attack in some way because I’m too tired to fight for my right to be happy, or do I try today, do I have the energy to deal with my zebra muscles doing everything they can to drain me dry. Like the ocean never existed.

There’s more to life than trees and zebra muscles. But when my eyelids are adorned with the sticky, scaly parts of me, the world seems pretty fucking impossibly small.