My language is a dance. When I am excited, the tempo speeds up into a tango; characterized by marked rhythms and postures and abrupt pauses. I am small, but my voice is loud. I will not slump my shoulders, but I will take three steps forward, and no steps back. I will be in your face and I will pronounce my words with my history and I will say "soda" instead of "pop". I will make you hear me.
I speak to myself quietly and talk about pink satin sheets when I'm just trying to talk about the way I feel when I see him walking with her. My feelings are not words, they are colors. I will throw rocks through my own windows just by talking about myself. My language is sliding my test paper a little further past my arm when I can tell that you need help. I will help. My language consists of eye contact and tiptoeing around the question. I spend a lot of my time cursing the name of God in front of Catholics, but I do not mean to. My language is how I was raised, following angry parents through hallways and repeating words that should not have been repeated. I stumble and trip over my words like tree roots when I read out loud to the class. My language is not unique because I trace my words over everything that has ever been said around me. When I'm sad, my language is a slow dance in a burning room because I'm repeating everything bad I've ever said about myself, I'm repeating everything bad I've ever said about myself. My language is my environment; it is not unique, it is just there. My catch phrases are built on bruises caused by being shoved into lockers, but this is not sixth grade anymore. People are not "*******"; they are human, and I am sorry. Language is built upon every bad thing that has ever happened, and every reaction to it.

Up and down; a trend in life that continues to death and potentially thereafter.

My life has been a mesh of many strange moments, days, minutes, and hours... I have yet to completely shake the solipsist angst I coyly developed following the summer after my graduation from high school. Sometimes, I really do half-expect the world to cave into some psychedelic stop-motion I can't escape from, capable of only gazing in fear and realizing that I'm trapped inside the matrix.

Love, too, has assisted in bringing me a sense of release.. but it has also conversely caused lows to become lower as I now have more to lose (in a romantic context). My head buzzes with strange information and gazes at others content with a twinge of jealousy at times. There is a way out of this; I've seen it done before.  But what alchemical combination can save a battered soul who can't be sure what the ultimate cause of the suffering is? It feels like a great part of it is my fault.. but the problem is how does one go about ceasing a toxic cycle in its tracks? Someone declaring, 'simply do this!' has only ever made it worse. But could that be a form of resistance on my part? Some lack of faith in myself or in the universe? How does one go about simply 'doing this'?