Too Much

I get anxious when there is silence because I know that my heart will shriek at the tops of its lungs, angry that I never let it speak, desperate to talk to me about everything we are going through.

My heart… I named her Too Much.

Well Too Much will remind me that I am going through a major loss but I can’t think about my Pops or else I won’t be able to get up in the morning to go for walks and the sun is the only hug I ever get and I really really need it.

Too Much will remind me that I need to work on accepting my body.

Shut up motherfucker. I am perfectly okay with feeling like it doesn’t belong to me. I am not ready to connect. It has been much easier to disassociate, and I don’t think you understand the torture this body went through. I don’t have the energy or the capacity to care for it.

Imagine that you own a crocheted blanket, and this blanket is big enough to cover the entire world. Imagine leaving that blanket outside while there is a thunderstorm. Can you imagine the damage? Now imagine that the storm has calmed. What do you need to do?

Clean it and repair it of course! Well, that blanket is my skin and my God that is a mess I can’t clean on my own right now.

Want to know something? I fill up my time with phone calls just to avoid the silence. I listen to my friends’ stories. Hey, it’s a step in the right direction! I used to listen to people that I didn’t even want to talk to. Isn’t this proof that I am healthier? I love my friends. Sometimes I may love them too much. Is there such a thing as loving too much?

When we hang up, the panic starts kicking in, so I start to read the news. I have a slight addiction to reading the news. I HAVE to know what is happening around the world. I just have to. Then I’ll talk to my sister about what I read. She could care less I think.

And then I will write a poem, but the poem is not about the present. My poems all happened in the past. My poems are about the emotions I avoided years ago! I don’t think I will ever catch up to the present. Maybe in two years you’ll read a poem about my Pops.

So now that you know that I can’t handle silence, please feel free to send me as much noise and chaos as you can. I am very open to that.

And Too Much…shut the fuck up. You’re not wanted here.

Angelica Flores

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