I raise the mandible from around a -35° decline… drag the cranium, the neck along with it. Deliberate motion with minimal resistance, to bring the eyes into view.
A streetlight from an unassigned number of yards away emits particles, photons, which behave like waves. Collisions with imperceptible violence, less than ideal reflection coefficients on solid surfaces, and particles of air themselves providing a scattering effect.
Multiple repetitions in less than a second: A dim illumination in the dark. Individual hairs at myriad orientations resolve into detail at partial spirals.
The ears strain, attemptin-…
Ignore. Ambiguate. Attend to it later.
A series of muscle contractions:
- Leaning back.
- Balancing weight in the opposing direction.
- Left upper limb extension.
- Rotate to face the arm posteriorly.
- Abduction of the index finger.
A flood of light: Constriction. Rebound dilation.
Even in the radiating amber, bathing the tiles and everything in-between their planes, the slight blue tinge of the sclera looking back at me is perceptible.
Osteogenesis imperfecta, displaying with blue scle-…
I have two choices, among others: The conventional wisdom is that I’m supposed to “turn my brain off” at this hour, to think less. ”Conventional wisdom” doesn’t really resemble the actual concept of wisdom, upon examination in the mirror.
I have the will to make free choices. I will choose differently.
Both arms brought forward, gripping the lateral walls of the sink. A series of adjustments allows an increasingly firm grip, without an excessive push towards gravity, without a lift upwards. The temptation is resisted to apply any of these forces in excess: In better shape, the sink would barely stand a chance. At present, the sink would win in the tension battle versus my sustained contractile forces.
Suppression, in small doses, allows for productivity and appreciation of certain moments/scenarios. I refuse to go anywhere near pathological levels, freely, consciously.
Increase the grip. Steadying, opposing static forces slightly.
Dilation: The vessels on my right sclera stand in sharper relief than before I entered this room. I’d gone countless days without anything resembling the symptom, a combination of careful management of potential physical and psychological causes.
I lean into the litany of possible conditions this would represent, instead of avoiding them, consciously arguing and counterarguing all noticeable sides, improving my understanding of the matter slightly, while relieving the tension in a controlled and steady fashion.
Control, engagement, focus, meeting it head on, yet again.
The ears strain as I reach the end of this process, and I let the internal works have their turn. The ring becomes a roar, and I hear nothing else in the sprawl, harmonizing intentionally in the mix as it begins to roll, recede, die back down at a moment whose occurrence I actually let slip by in the midst of it all.
…and it sounds gorgeous, for just a while.
Keeping my own counsel is what’s gotten me through, this far in. Stepping back was necessary, and shifting the weight back became desired, rather than needed, after a while. I was told, so many times, that I would find out a lot about myself, and about others, when I would decide to train towards becoming a Doctor. Managing my expectations, let alone my hopes, in the midst of it has shown more about myself than about the others toward whom those attitudes may have originally been assigned.
I don’t ask for help because I need it, even though I may sometimes want it.
You don’t need them. I write this on an index card, and attach it to a wall, just in case I forget to say this at a critical moment.
I can freely choose the difficult path, to be transparent and fair whenever possible. I will rarely fluctuate, because I adhere to my own remarks, and my own expectations, nearly always. I am no longer afraid of disappointing anyone but myself, and the fact that I can sleep at night a bit more often is no coincidence.
Delete all of it. Save all of it.
Edit, restructure, reorder.
Days, weeks, months pass.
I look in the mirror, a constant warp bending the striking light, providing a consistent distortion. Another one exists in the next room, any time I want something more accurate, but this is the one that I bother to stare at, on most nights. I let myself smirk, then smile, the expression that lights up rooms when followed by a booming laugh.
I exiled myself, a while back. I know why I did so, and there’s not a person on Earth that can claim that my motivations lie elsewhere. The only capable arguing opponent is occupied with typing, reflected at the focal point of a cheap mirror.
My ears strain again, but on the sound of my voice, projected and reverberating miles from you.