We are all born with a skull and within that skull lies an item called a brain. One hundred billion neurons that gather and transmit signals, the white matter part of this grey matter lives and is made of something called dendrites and axons. The neurons use the white matter to transmit signals, allowing us to function.
Brains are about 75% water and are the fattest organ in the body, about 60% fat as a matter of fact. Within this water and fat blob resides the control center of everything we are. Our touch, taste, vision, smell and hearing is regulated from certain parts of this control center, as well as our emotions and thoughts.
I could go on about the science but what for, to a non-scientist it’s just gibberish.
With that said, let’s talk “Cranium Collapse”
“Hey motherfucker, wake up!”
Sleep, it eludes me, I wonder why. My skull has a pulse of its own. Have you ever heard the term “thump ya skull for ya”? Well, my skull, or rather what’s inside it, like many others, thumps itself, daily, I might add. Most mornings I wake with a headache and that sometimes leads to a migraine, in various levels.
“Hey fucker, I shall beat my bongo drums until you scream for sedation!”
Other days bring a full on cranium collapse. Mental illness runs in my family, both of my gene donation creators are manic depressive, although, I truly think one is an undiagnosed bipolar disorder creation, but the alcohol self infusion permits them from admitting anything is wrong at all. For me, well, I was unfortunately gifted with Generalized Depression and Anxiety Disorder, GDAD, for short.
“Hi, I’m G’Diddy your Daddy, Yo!, Wazzup?”
“Today, I’m going to make you shake rattle and roll, that’ s right you little squib. Just like a tune, I will make you cry and make you wanna start a new relationship with me and hurt yourself. LET THE BATTLE COMMENCE!!!”
Fight Like A Girl
“You are worthless, you’re fat, you’re to thin, you’re to tall, you’re to short, that hair is hideous, everyone is staring at you, you freak, no-one wants to be around you, you useless twat.”
Pacing back and forth, sit down, lie down, curl up in the fetal position. Stand up, pace, look in the mirror, talk to myself, agree, disagree, combat, curse, stare, glare, hate, loath, cry, laugh, go into hysterical fits. Sit in the tub and consider it. What would the world be like if I were gone. Would anyone even remember me? I’d probably be forgotten about in the short weeks from my cremation.
“No, give into it, I bet you don’t even have the guts to do it, you’re pathetic!”
Searching for a reason to keep going. Meanwhile, the devil on my shoulder, the voice in my head, whisper, whisper,…
“You’re better off dead”
Jab, poke, push, slap. Invisible torture. When does it end, when will it stop. It hurts, physically, I ache, my body, my head, pains in my stomach and my brain is on fire. I cannot get out of bed today, nope, not gonna do it.
“This round is mine bitch, suck it up buttercup, this cranium collapse is mine.”
I cry, hug my pillow, eyes swollen and red, burning, I drift, the darkness falls upon me. Lights out!
Fourteen hours later………….
“Well, well, look who’s still living”
Broken, angry, furious even!
Alright, today we’re getting up, showering, eating breakfast, well, at least having a cup of coffee, or a pot, and then we are writing this shit out of us!
“Yeah, that’s right, bitch, who’s laughing now?”
**Makes coffee, lights a cigarette, grabs a composition book and a pen**
Gratitude journal – one thing to be thankful for
Write a poem, your way, an introspective piece
“Compose a letter the devil”
It just keeps coming, flowing, word after word, line after line. Piece after piece.
Thirty-six items later I am feeling very accomplished.
THIS ROUND, WON BY ME! DING, DING, DING
The Cranium Carousel
Round and round we go
where we’ll stop, no-one knows
The tide is high and the wind blows
step right up, go with the flow.
Stand up or fall, no-one really knows
what it’s like on this carousel ride
will I be crazy, fight it or die
A fire burning deep down inside
I fight to live, I fight to survive
This is my life, this is my hell
hop aboard the cranium carousel.
No death certificate will be written today, so, dear devil, put the toe tag away. We aren’t going to flee this possible murder scene, we’re going to collectively create one,the devil dies tonight. Will it be by Professor Plum in the Atrium with the lead pipe?…
Original written work by Gillian Gibson aka Crimson Quintessence 2019.
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