The words I am about to weave for you are what binds me in place.
Devices tethered tight to the past, a tragedy transfixed in my future.
My mental illness amidst them.
This tale is older than my years, my days, my minutes.
Spun by millions through the millennia, and dismantled by millions more.
I now pass it onto you.
My character’s template is common, yet dismissed as weak of mind.
Unwilling to view it from different eyes, spiders judge my journey as a fly.
Typecast is this role.
Visions of me flicker before you now, immobilized, suspended, vulnerable.
This is where the second act will end, the image setting the tenor of the first.
Now look to the beginning.
Sheer silky curtains rose in silence, an empty stage marked my debut.
With a prologue misleading, sight lines obscured, warnings withheld.
The scene began benign.
Sending the first volley of long sticky strings, strife marked its target.
Anchors casted deep within, provided space, shelter, purchase.
Anxiety reared its head.
Willful determination set out to dissolve the delicate connections.
Rational reasoning returned, intermission was called, the audience scurried.
The opening scenario I won.
Floorboards creaked, the chorus found their cue, the action resumed.
New skirmishes spewed lines of webbing resistant to positive processes.
Breaking my spirit down.
Focus became splintered, my motivation refracted through faceted eyes.
Coping melted down, fatigue froze the mind and numbness settled in.
Panic closed the trap.
Apprehension consumed my brain, intelligence retreated to the gloom.
Life pulled cords, emotional receptors responded, patterns repeated.
Welcome to my present state.
I am not alone, supporters, detractors, fillers, the venue seats all who show.
Well wishing commenters, obnoxious hecklers, cutting critics are in abundance. They feast upon my pain.
Habit produced a safety net, cobwebs swaddled me in illusions.
It requires study of patterns, players, timing, to reveal an escape.
I need to find the strength.
My spirit desires a standing ovation, a win which will bring down the house.
To leave spectators craving more, is what the villain is spinning for.
The play continues for me.
Happy ever afters are for fairytales, more will follow once I take my bow.
Fresh sets will be painted, musical numbers scored, unknown actors cast.
Mental illness goes on.
C. Fay Shlanda