sensitivity (spoken word)

So as I’ve probably discussed before, I’m overwhelmed very easily. A couple months ago, sensory overload started to become a really huge problem for me. The littlest sounds would send me into a full-blown panic. Although I haven’t struggled with that in a couple months now, it is still a feeling that’s come and gone throughout my life and impaired me from doing a lot of things over the years. I think writing this poem might actually be the first time I’ve ever really tried to wrestle that feeling down onto paper. I’ve talked about this poem’s inspiration in its original post, so today I thought instead I would discuss some more of the process editing this, because I had a lot of fun with it, and I think it’s one of the most creative editing jobs I’ve done in a while.

The music

I grew up around a lot of classical music. Actually, okay, no, I really didn’t, because to be honest I didn’t grow up around much music at all, at least compared to what most kids seem to have. But when there was music in my house, it was always classical music, played on CDs my parents bought in the 90’s. There’s still a whole one of, like, Gregorian chants that was weirdly stuck in my head for a while. And since my childhood was full of so much sensory overload, I thought, what better music to use than the iconic Beethoven’s fifth, a song that was weirdly influential for me growing up, and also is just so chaotic and sad and angry and just a little panicked, which embodied the exact feeling I wanted this piece to have.

The screaming children

It’s actually really funny, when I was little I always complained to my parents about how there were no other kids in my neighborhood, and back then I wanted nothing more than to have a best friend who lived right next door. And now I’m at the point of not really wanting that kind of connection… my entire neighborhood is full of screaming children. You can hear it pretty much 24/7 in my house, even with the windows and doors closed, and sometimes it can feel like I can never escape it, and definitely that sound has sent me into my fair share of panic attacks. So that was definitely something I had to include. (It’s the same story for the little clip of dogs barking you might have noticed.)

The alarm clock!

Growing up, I had this really shitty alarm clock, that I literally got so fed up of a couple months ago that I just unplugged it, and my parents had to convince me not to smash it because over the years I have built up so much hatred for the thing. I don’t know how to turn it off, even after owning it for eight years; I only know how to set an alarm, although even that I only barely understand. So sometimes it would literally go off for two hours straight, and I would just have to shove it under a pillow, and lower the volume until it decided to stop. It had the most irritating bleep; sometimes it would go off at the wrong time, sometimes the radio would randomly turn on at two in the morning, because, yanno, nothing better than Katy Perry songs from 2010 to get you in a good mood–and I didn’t even know how to turn it off, since the buttons didn’t work, so I’d just sit there for hours willing it to stop. It was essentially just a scourge to humanity. So, since it caused me so much stress and anxiety and usually signaled the start of a school day, the place where I most frequently felt overwhelmed, I thought this would be a good thing to include.

The static

I’ve always been weirdly fascinated with static, I don’t know. Not, like, in an active way, but when I hear it I always have found the sound really interesting. I remember, when I was a toddler, my parents had this ancient TV that only took cassettes, and right before it finally broke down it would play this screen of endless static, which I always loved watching. I think when you hear or see static, it’s usually because the thing it’s coming from is either falling apart or broken, and I really wanted to allude to that feeling in this poem,m like it was only holding together by a thread. (Also, we all know I’m a trash for some lofi/vintage vibes.)

The hammering

During quarantine, I swear everyone in my neighbourhood has just decided to redo their entire home. Like, almost every day I swear, someone is building a deck, or cutting down a tree, or hammering loudly and, like, I get it–but it’s also really not a fun sound to hear when you’re already stressed and on edge. Like I said, it’s not something that’s bothered me in a while, but this was one of my main triggers when things were really bad, so I wanted to include it.

The sped up voice in the intro

When I’m anxious in social situations, my voice gets really, really fast, and in general I just tend to overdo things, which I wanted to allude to. I guess overall, my goal with this piece was to kind of harness all these triggers and anxieties and turn them into something I can control, which is honestly weirdly therapeutic. This was also why I included that racing heartbeat that fades in and out throughout the poem.

Anyhow, those are all of my main decisions editing this piece I think! I hope you found this somewhat interesting; I’m really proud of this piece, and I love hearing other people’s thought processes, so maybe you liked hearing mine? Anyhow, it’s late, and I am tired, so I’m going to go to sleep now, and hope this post is somewhat coherent.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

Continue reading “sensitivity (spoken word)”

dizzy

one step closer. just… one step closer, through the nausea and confusion. this is your life. and you’re going to ruin it.

acid raindrops falling to the ground. close your eyes, and cover your mouth.

swallow down the vertigo. just keep walking up, up, up. just keep it up, up, up. and don’t you dare let it drop.

no matter how much i scream, i still can’t make the fire alarm turn off. lightheaded and dizzy, in the smoke pressing in around me. now am i grown up?

because i’ll never get to take this back. and there’s no time to mess up.

24 degrees

the humid air snuggles up close to me. and stays there. and my blood starts to come to a boil as i look into your eyes, because i hate you even more than i hate myself tonight. furious tears, dripping off my chin one. at. a. time.

and you know, they say the skies are rife with disease. say it’s never going back to normal. not completely. and some days, i can’t help but wonder. if this step could be the butterfly that causes the tsunami. if this is going to be the last time you get to see me…

they say i’m withering. like a parched august flower. and you know, maybe it’s time to empty out the vase. rather than just changing the water.

they say i am parched soil after a long, hot wildfire. crumbling under the slightest pressure. 

and the steam seeps into my lungs, air too thick to breathe. and little girl, is this too much for you?

because if this is enough to scare you… then you haven’t seen anything.

so i’m a sad thirty year old now, apparently

the stars are out. and i should be asleep. like every single part of my body is telling me. and i can’t handle this, and yet somehow… i can’t stop doing it. because at least there’s one thing i’m good at, despite everything.  

and there’s something so addicting, about whole worlds sprouting out from my fingers. and maybe if my life in the real world is over, i can just… escape. forever. 

and i should be proud. but i don’t know how to be. and all accomplishment brings me these days is this weird moment of empty. and i’ve been working on this for so fucking long, that i’m starting to hate it, honestly. and doing what i love shouldn’t exhaust me.

but at this point i’m just… i’m too tired to care anymore. so whatever. just let it be. let the jewels of my mind drift down to the ocean floor. let the dust settle on the pages.

i don’t want to do this anymore.


I have this long running joke with my friends, about how lockdown is slowly turning me into a sad thirty year old, hence the title of this poem. Basically without having friends or whatever my life has been reduced pretty much work and only work, as I’ve probably mentioned before. Like, when I wake up, I don’t think “oh, I’m going to do this fun thing with my friends!”or whatever (because there is no fun thing I’m doing with my friends). I think “what do I have to do today?” And I do it, with more like these little quick intermissions for my life to happen–FaceTime calls and watching movies and reading books and stuff. I guess I’ve just been raised with this really toxic, horrible culture, that work is everything, work is your worth as a person, and you’re never going to be able to do the things you love, no matter how hard you work–because most of success is just having a rich family with connections mixed with random chance. And although I wish I didn’t believe that… I don’t know, I guess I still can’t help but wonder sometimes.

And these days, it just feels like work is… kind of consuming me, I guess. Ever so slowly. Like, I don’t know what my life is without it–and I don’t want to. Because I know I can do this, and do it pretty okay, considering my age. But I don’t feel the same way… about being a person. Honestly, I don’t have a clue how to do that. So instead, I just bury myself in deadlines and projects and responsibilities, and… I stay there. Because it’s easier like that.

coffee

trigger warning: blood mention. if this is something you don’t feel like you should be reading right now, feel free to skip, and just in case, find a crisis line in your area here.


blood dripping down my cheeks. slumped shoulders. angry music. too much caffeine.

and i’ve just gotta make it through one more fucking night of this. just got to grit my teeth, and push through the quicksand of my mind, and just… just tell me i did good, all right? even if i didn’t. tell me you’re proud of me. because god knows i need it.

and the shadows melt, and my limbs start to bend, and it’s funny, how scared of yourself you can get.  an echo chamber of self-hatred. greasy fingers, long showers, scabs scattered across my skin. and this is… real, right?

because, well, sometimes… it doesn’t feel like it.

and maybe it’ll pay off in the end. or maybe this was only ever pointless. and maybe i don’t even care anymore. because i just want to get this over with.

but tomorrow. tomorrow will be better, right? i mean… won’t it?


I don’t know what’s going on post this being published, but as I write this the government in my province just said it was okay, after May 16th, to see a tight group of friends again.  But the thing is, no matter how hard I try–I can’t get myself to truly be happy about it, I guess. I should be. I’ve been lying to myself that I wasn’t silently screaming to just hug someone, and laugh with them about dumb YouTube videos, and lay my head on their shoulder, but… yeah, I have. I totally have. And yet somehow the idea of having interaction back knowing it could be taken away by some random person in a suit who doesn’t even know I exist? It scares the shit of me. Because suddenly, I something to lose.

Essentially, to cope with the virus, I’ve been kind of in this… constantly denial/cynicism thing. I told myself this was just a fun vacation, an opportunity to develop coping skills and gain life experience, imagined all my friends were online. That I had never even hugged someone other than my family before, and I certainly did and do not miss it like this massive sinkhole in my chest.

And no matter which way you slice it, I just end up back at the same place I am now. Tired and angry and scared, and completely fucking useless. Ruining on caffeine and desperation, bouncing between emotional extremes in the blink of an eye pretending everything is all right. And yeah, it… it sucks.