I've been traveling so much lately for work that I find myself fatigued a lot. Between the Godforsaken wake up calls to catch ridiculously early flights, to the barrage of spring time allergies, each onslaught stronger than the next as different cities greet springtime differently and the long hours on my feet in retail stores or working special events... all these factors converge to produce one extremely tired Duvall. Innately, I like people. So, I can always be counted upon to overcome the fatigue and smile, chat, shake hands and "represent" with the best of them. But in the strangest moments or the weirdest of times, my energy will wane and tears will flow out of sheer vulnerability. The circumstances may not warrant tears but the energy flow (or lack thereof) simply melts down and things do not compute and emotion overtakes reason every time.
Crying tired is a curious phenomenon. It's like some part of me inside can see it happening, and I know that my tears are foolish and I am aware that my behavior is hysterical and yet I cannot seem to stop it. I despise that feeling of being out of control, of being lost, of being a victim of circumstance... I am lucky that crying tired is a not a natural state of being for me. I have sincere and deep compassion for those who suffer depression, as I suspect bio-chemical depression must feel like crying tired all the time.
I tend to feel very deeply, either highs or lows. My passion abounds, bringing me to the very depths of depression or the heights of great joy and gratitude. I feel very lucky and blessed to have access to such a free flowing river of feeling that abides in my soul. But I have often wondered about such extremes, questioning if perhaps I might be bi-polar. I believe all of us are to a certain extent, and luckily for me, my case is not one of abnormal psychosis or non-functioning neurosis. I am just like everyone else - full of ego enough to wonder about my own amplified neuroses. ha!
Sometimes when I feel low, I get out a pen and generally the word speak for themselves...
Broken
Heavy like a burden
weighted, rusty chains anchor
drowning
into a sea of marbles
cool glass sparkling
sucking me beneath the light
rolling me down
down
low.
Eyes unclosed
effortful lids beat my lashes
against the fray
swallowing
half-chewed lies
that settle deep inside
Me.
Sack full of bones
deafto the rattle of strings
loose
untied,
a wheel that will not turn
a voice that cannot sing
a poem torn into
the end forever gone
needing to be renewed
invisible
to eyes of worldly man
crowned the Queen of falling tears
heap of refuse
still unseen.
Braided mats of hair
that ache too tightmelted wax that burns
snagging fingernails that scratch
bubbling bile that belches
creeping up my back
ancient hymns of shame
retro baby steps
skidding on my rump
those race track welts that will not heal
back scrubber bruises
branded intact.
I am broken, bedside
cannot crawl to peaceful dreams
or fight you from behind.
