Existential Dread
Naomi Tercero
i.
these past few weeks there has been a feeling residing somewhere in my heart. i don’t know why i’ve never noticed it there before, maybe it’s always been quietly comfortable. made and plays house on a patch quilt couch of oranges and reds. you know, like the ones you’ve seen before. surrounded by dark wooden logs, the fire burning in the corner, the smell of pinon in the air for miles. i dream of it. i can smell it. i guess it snuck up on me. the way most things seem to these days. some kind of realization that i only get to be one person.
ii.
every time i am surrounded by friends that aren’t home, in pretty skirts attached to their waist exactly right and makeup sculpting out their eyes and lips and hair in mathematically perfect curls, i’m caught in the mirror trying to fit in. trying to be pretty like they are. and every time i think it might finally be the time that i do, borrowing tops and lip liners and nail polishes, i find myself retreating from the lace they adorn themselves with. i want to rip it from them all. burn it. and add it to the pile of things i’ve failed at.
iii.
i wish my parents liked me still. i feel farther from home than i have in years. but what is home to me? certainly not the pinon tree roasting in town. but maybe that is all there is to it. only one place i consider “home.” but having nowhere to stay makes it unwelcoming.
iv.
i was in an open relationship. rather i should say, “i survived” one. i wanted to try it. sometimes i wonder what would have happened if i had said no.
v.
my male friend recently asked me how to get over an ed. i told him i didn’t know.
vi.
i wonder about alice on the bad days. about how she found wonderland. it’s said that she loved being two different people. maybe it’s not so crazy to do the same. she stays with me it seems, some version of my own wonderland. when there is a nonsensical talking cat, the silver sliver moon looking down at me i think i am home. me and my mom used to point it out together when i was younger. the “cheshire cat moon.”
vii.
bipolar disorder and alcoholism might be living in my veins. i am scared of these.
viii.
recently i have been getting stuck in dreams. i can’t wake up. i get caught in a loop of thinking i am awake. the room exactly as it is in real life. i have jumped off cliffs, crashed my car, hurt myself, over and over. it never works. i still “wake” to a version of my partner. who touches me without permission and laughs when i tell them i can’t wake up. and when finally, i am able to get out, trembling, i worry i am still asleep.
Tags: Existential DreadFree Versegrowing painsmental healthPoem