Everything since May has blended together in one mass of vague memories and what feels like a fuck ton of driving. I looked at the trees yesterday and saw how drastically the leaves had changed from lush green to the revered colors of autumn everyone adores so much. When did that happen? Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that it was 90 degrees and raining, droplets gliding off the spines of those green leaves? Jesus, I was in Detroit two and a half months ago–it feels like I’m still there, in a way. I also sort of wish I still was; still wish I was sleeping on a mattress on the floor in my cousin’s house, my grandfather’s leather chair seated in the meticulously decorated living room. I sort of wish I could kick back at Sneaker’s Pub again and sit on the edge of the strip of what is truly gentrification.
Burning rage has been bubbling up inside me for months on end now. Maybe it was finally graduating–you know, finally achieving that thing that was supposed to fix everything. But it’s only caused more stress, really. Maybe it’s my resume, or what’s on my resume, or maybe the degrees I have really are “useless.” But I can’t handle sitting, festering, in my box of a bedroom anymore. I can’t handle the noises from beyond the paper thin walls. I can’t handle the noises from anyone. I feel like I need blinders. Why does that girl have to go on the treadmill right next to me?
If I keep my body moving, the anxiety, anger, stress–they can’t get to me. But as soon as I stop, they attack again. I already feel the tingle in my scalp. My leg is already bouncing rapidly. Yet I’m really trying. The exercise. Completely changing my diet. Fuck Greek yogurt. Fuck Perdue chicken. I take my vitamins every day. I take my medication. I try to be productive. But I still feel like a caged and frenzied animal–either a massive breakdown is coming or an assault charge, although I guess they’re one and the same.