I Used To Be Quite Quick

I used to be quite quick.

I've had ephemeral moments, but I've never been able to pinpoint a point in my life when I could safely say, "I am happy." I'm curious if anyone truly is because I can't imagine that feeling lasting more than a few minutes at most. When I hear someone declare they are, I imagine how the blind must feel when they are told about color. Knowing that I don't comprehend and will never understand is as terrifying as it is baffling.

I'd anesthetize myself with art. Drawing, painting, photography, and writing are all examples of creative expression. Or perhaps music. My fingers would fumble over the keyboard as I sang and attempted something vaguely resembling dance. I would try anything, but nothing would help me forget the traumas. Nothing could put an end to the OCD anguish. I'd fight for as long as I could and still leave so much unfinished. Stories with no conclusion. A canvas that is just half-painted.

But I was quick. I was never coordinated; simply look at my "dance" to know I wasn't a natural athlete.

I was simply quick. I'd been there since I was a child. Maybe it was my big legs, maybe it was my competitive upbringing, maybe I was just born to flee.

I got a rush of adrenaline just lacing up my shoes, expecting the high. A few years later, I'd only get that high by opening a bottle of water to drown in.

When I ran, I would go so far away from home that I couldn't make it back before dark. I was as quick as the setting sun. Years later, however, terror would become all I knew.

I was powerful and quick. Even when I thought my muscles were going to tear and my lungs were about to catch fire, the music in my ears spurred me forward. Surprisingly, I like the sensation of my lungs burning. It indicated I was doing well. After a few packs of cigarettes, it didn't feel like decent work.

My pulse was pounding so loudly that it drowned out the music, yet I wasn't terrified. I was still too young to have a heart attack, and I didn't have to worry about a brain aneurysm exploding just yet.

I'd spot a landmark in the distance and tell myself, "You can relax there." Even in the hot summers, the wind I created kept me cool. The bizarre stares I received while out in that heat, with my Irish complexion turning beet red, further drove my need to be distinct. I felt unique. In my young imagination, I felt like an Olympic champion.

I was never terrified of the men in automobiles who followed me around every corner. I'm sure I could outrun them.

I was never worried about falling down the mountain trail, which was littered with rocks. I was a winner. I was only agile on the mountain as if I was created for it. It was the only option.

During those summers, there was no foot traffic save mine to pack down the dust. I was by myself. I didn't have a cell phone at the time. And I wasn't afraid in the least. And it felt lovely to be alone solely there.

When I reached the top, I would gaze down in awe at all the tiny cars and houses. I was always curious about what was going on in those residences at the time. They had no idea I was observing them and wondered about them. I was an observer of the world rather than a participant in it up there. Even that felt fine up there.

I glimpsed glimpses of what it must be like to be pleased while running. Even when I was on vacation, I would flee. It was the only way to be present in such lovely settings.

The brain aneurysm has rendered me unable to run. My body is giving out on me, and I doubt I'll ever be fast again.

But when the pain becomes overwhelming and I can no longer run away from the terror, I return to the period when I was fast.

Best Regards To Everyone.