Scar Tissue
(skar TIH-shoo) Fibrous tissue that forms when normal tissue is destroyed by disease, injury, or surgery. For example, scar tissue forms when a wound heals after a cut, sore, burn, or other skin condition, or when an incision (cut) is made into the skin during surgery.
I give up. Hands flailing- eyes weeping, this last surge of covid has brought me to my knees, which is funny because I thought I was already there lol. I don’t really know where to go from here, so I will let the words lead the way. They give voice to something inside me that needs the space. This space is tender, achingly so, like an open wound that needs to be cleaned and aired. The plump red tissue surrounding my gaping wounds are not ready to be sown back all neat and tidy like nothing happened.
There will be Scar tissue.
As the end of the pandemic continues to stretch out further into the far off distance, like a mirage in the desert, I feel lost in the sand dunes unsure of which way is out but desperate to escape this pandemic shit storm . One thing I know for certain is that I will not emerge the same. This realization is disorienting, I have never considered myself anything else but hopeful and enthusiastic, a dreamer of sorts.
But lately I don't dream.
When I sleep the world goes dark, sometimes I wake up gasping for breath. I don't know how to address the person I see in the mirror. Some times I want to say “snap out of it!” other times I want to cuddle her and whisper gently “its okay, borough down, cover yourself with leaves and hibernate until this is all over. “ But mostly my eyes glaze over my reflection and I simply keep walking.
I don't know who the fuck that is but it isn't me.
I miss the old me, I can hardly remember what she felt like, I am numb now. That's new for me too, I love emotions — lit my whole life with them. Like an exuberant child at the art table, I eagerly painted my world with all the colors feelings and miracle of just being human. Now I trace my fingers over fabrics and random physical surfaces simply trying to ground myself in this new uncertainty.
Sometimes if I am not careful, I can feel the hysteria bubbling. That’s when I write, the words give meaning to all that is lost. The words tether me to the world and to myself. They draw me back holding me close.
I people watch now, wondering what might have been the last straw for the lady who cried in the grocery store, her tears all to familiar. I chuckle at the man who pushes through the crowd a little too aggressively, sometimes I want to do that too, push my way through all these feelings and the rage that simmers somewhere deep inside. I can feel the snaps of tension in the air. I am a part of that tension.
It lives within me as well.
The connective tissue that joins us together attempts to heal and forge a new skin, but there are some wounds that leave their mark. I fear there will be a little bit of scar tissue in us all.
Stay safe.
