To whom it may concern

To whom it may concern:

Every day of the week has a beginning, a middle, and a future. Who knows about tomorrow. She doesn’t remember yesterday. Kind of. But not, really. She sure doesn’t remember it the way that anybody that was with her yesterday remembers it.

This is a story about Amy. A story only Amy, can tell. Right off the bat she’ll tell you that she has issues. Yes. I said it. And I know it. Issues. I-S-S U-E-S

Issues…

Fuck.

That word.

Lol.

The, issues. The, reasons. The be-causes. Be-cause…

Of Amy.

Be-cause of what she normally does. She causes a lot of effect.

She is a creature of habit. I think that this is what defines her. Along with a lot of other things. Other things being mixed in between and around, some major issues.

Issues that lead her back to a, new beginning. Lol.

So today, she is starting anew.

Again.

She doesn’t know how far this is going to take her, or how long it’s going to take her to get there, but she is getting ready for it.

Example:

Only some of her words are legible. Words like blood sugar and heart rate.

Thyroid. Thyroid, hair. Or lack thereof.  

Crazy eyes.

Spin-spin drop.

It’s all there. She thought that she was losing it all.

So she quit.

Amy is super-good at quitting things. La, la, la...

Focus…

Focus...

How long does it stay in your blood? How long does it take poison to seep out of your muscles and your bones?

And what happens or what is going to happen, after it is gone?

This...

Another fucking road-block. That’s what will happen. It will come back to the accident. The answer for everything.

But this is kind of what she is looking for. Just not in those words. Why she is doing this is still somewhat unclear. On a good note, it’s not as fuzzy as before. Maybe.

She does know that she is still lost. Closer. But, still lost.

Lost…

All be-cause, she found something today. Actually, she found it a long time ago, and then she lost it. And then she found it again. Circles. She’s always searching for something. Lost, and found.

And quite possibly, an answer.

But only if she keeps finding the pieces. The pieces to her puzzle.

***ONE PROBLEM***

She doesn’t know where to put them.

Yet.

Right now as we speak, they are all over the place(S).

She better find a place soon because this has gone on for way, too long.

Not necessarily the answer. But a reason.

Btw.

It has been years.

And all those issue, are combined into eight plus years. Right now going on, nine. Maybe ten.

Who knows.

Years.

Of complete bull****.

Because these things that get lost, somehow get found again. She tries to keep those things, together. Some drawer. Some, box. Somewhere. And then she moves them again. Lol. Because she thinks she will remember. It never works. Probably because of her issue. Amy, Amy, Amy. Yep. Amy. That is her issue. Lol. A never-ending issue. This is that story.          

Hello.

Amy hears too much in her head. So many words. Too, many words.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.  

She needs a spot. A safe spot. Today she can see it. A new beginning, to an old pattern. In different shapes, sizes, and sounds. With drama-drama, drama. Maybe, a comedy. Exciting and sad. Boring, too.

But mainly, it’s typical. Because Amy is a, fickle person. A puzzled, person. She has so many pieces. So, many clues. Yet she is lost. Maybe too many pieces. Too many clues.

That’s probably why she gets lost.

Lost…

Ye-ah.

That’s, why.

It’s because her head’s not on straight. Or right. Or, left. Literally.  But her shoulders are more straight across than they’ve, ever been.

Just do it.

Start.

It.

A-gain.

Okay...

Hello.

To whom it may concern:

I could call you. But I am not going to do that.  

I, can.

But the first thing you would say to her is…what?

Because nobody can hear her. Ever. Her voice is quiet. The words that come out of her mouth are not the same words that you will see here. Nor are these words said the same way in her head. Here her words are clean. Readable. These words are not made-up. They are here. And will now forever be here. I am bringing you into this with no warning. Only hints of something to come someday.

Maybe it was yesterday.

She doesn’t know.

She never, has known. What she does know is that Amy’s ideas are endless. She has so many, she gets lost.

Lost…

And nowhere, to put them.  

Because Amy is a creature-of-habit. I think this is what defines her. In fact, I know it is. Anyway, this is a story with a beginning. But she is still in the middle. Because there is no end to something that is never-ending. And there are a million issues, that always take her back to the beginning. So…

This is what she did. She started anew. Again.

But she is so, far ahead of her old beginning. Then the things in the middle, will get pushed to the end. And the things in the end, will get shoved way into the back. To the start, back. Omg...

It will never end if I don’t start. In The Beginning…

Round and round, she goes. The reason for her beginning in the middle.

The reason…

Is her.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

Yep.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

How is she going to manipulate this situation? How will she use this to her advantage?

Manipulate…the situation.

How is she going to watch and listen?

Without vomiting.

Because she felt ok.

This morning...

This morning she had a neck-tug and an Xray.

Again.

What is this thing inside of me?

Maybe a, stroke?

Maybe not.

Mom had the same thing going on, some years ago. About the same, age. Maybe. Am I going to stroke-out? Am I stroking out? As Aaron would put it.

This is all I care about. Not because it’s me.

 Because it is Amy.

Amy, Amy, Amy.

It’s almost over.

(There are some things that will never be over)

LIAR.

About so much.

The little things, add up. What do I believe???

You have no, idea.

I don’t even know. Right now, anyway.

Right, now?

All my hair is falling out.

What is happening to me??

Will I ever know?

Probably, not.

Accept it.

And my face…

It’s fucking ugly.                                                                                                               

This is the only place that I’m okay.

You cannot see me, nor look at me here. Yes.

I’m okay here. This is my spot. Blahblahblah. Tomorrow, I’ll be outside.

ALL…DAY.

But tonight, she is going to stay sitting by the fire. Waiting for her daily crossword. A day early.

Thinking…

It’s not about what you do. Or even what you say you say you said you did or didn’t do. It’s all about how you are.

Example:

I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life.

-Georgia O’ Keefe

Please, wake me up.

Please….

Wake, me, up!!!

She remembers her mother’s voice speaking so quietly…

No honey…you’re not dreaming.

This is my dream. I’ll decide where it goes from here.

-Alice  

Epiphany.

She can’t think of the meaning, but she does know that it sounds like an Amy word.

Kind of.

Epiphamy.

She knows what it means, but she can’t put it into words well enough for her to be able to explain it. And then be able to understand it herself. She does know what a part of it is though. It is the part, that is a feeling.

An unmistakable, feeling. That, she knows for sure. She has them all of the time.

She has had them ever since she can remember. She has never known how to understand these feelings. Or how to get a handle on them.

They are little flashes.

They are always there.

And they are never going to go away.

Ever.

It’s a terrifying feeling. A Déjà vu, kind of feeling. An unavoidable occurrence that is happening right now, at this or that, very moment. And then comes along the eerie feeling that you have dreamt of this exact moment, sometime before now.

All in the matter of a, split second.

Everybody’s had them.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But she has.

She was screaming from the bottom of her lungs. But nobody could hear her. Is she awake?        

Or is she, asleep?            

She didn't know.

She still doesn't know. Wonderful. They terrify her every time, she has one. These are little episodes of an instant acknowledgment of a memory of something. That may or may not, have happened in the past. Mixed with what could or could not happen, in the future. At that exact, moment. Whatever way it goes, it’s confusing to her. Quite scary, too. It creeps her out every time it happens. Is this, good?  Is this bad? Should I be happy? Should I be…sad?

Is this positive?

Is this…negative?

What are you supposed to feel, Amy? How do you want to feel, Amy?

Tell me now Amy.

What’s the right way, and what’s the wrong way?

Amy??

               Amy??

               AMY!!!

Pick-a-side-Amy.

HURRY!!!

It is as typical as it is, unexplainable. She wonders if this is her sign. A spiritual awakening, so to speak. But boy she’ll tell you what...

It freaks her out. Yes, it does. She gets head to toe nervous and then she's frozen. She thinks these little episodes are coming way, too often. She also knows that she is not too particularly, fond of them.

They scare her.

Amy is scared today.

Again.

Amy is scared every day. Every time she wakes up, she is scared. Sometimes it’s a good fear. But it is still, a fear. And that is scary to her.

Example:

Amy’s memory and information overload is turning into a huge sense of fear.  She can't explain it to anybody. This has turned into an emotional fallout for her.  

The boys love that game. But this is not a game. This is not a game, no.

Maybe.

Because during the holidays Amy had some sort of a breakdown. One like she’s never had before. It was dark, and it was dreary. Every day. Amy has lived in Michigan almost 23 years and this is the first time she has ever felt like this. Was this a seasonal thing? Or was she having a, medical issue?

She was sick. Real sick. The holidays are over so she shouldn’t be sick anymore. But she was. She thought that the movie theater trip, would be her last. To see, the last.

Maybe.

Because almost a year ago, Amy received a letter from the Social Security office. It was short and to the point. After thirty-some-odd years they have decided to change most of what has Amy has ever known. She is being told what she is, how she is, and who she is.

Once again.

Playing phone-tag can be very frustrating. And irritating, at the same time. But there is also a flip side to this situation. When you have called my number, and I see it on my recent calls list, you are probably thinking that this Amy girl is quite crazy. And quite probably a waste of your time.

Well…                                                  

Just wait.

Give yourself a chance. This perhaps, may be something that you find both comical, beautiful, and ugly, fucking ugly, at the same time. It’s growing and it keeps on growing. Just think about it. With a little imagination…

This one thing...

WOW.  

But Amy was sick. And tired. And bored, lonely, angry, sad, mad, and completely lost. Lost…

She didn’t know how to feel, or if she even wanted to feel. She was stale. No emotion, nothing. Zero. Zilch.                Her words are her tears. Her words are her touch. Her words are her...tone.

Some of her words are just, words.

This may be her way of networking. Throwing herself out there. Testing out the waters with tip of her longest toe. Seeing the where, when and the how.

Mixed with the what. And the why of it all. What she has done. What she has never done. Honesty is ALWAYS the best way to go. You don’t know her though. Youuu don’t know...

What this may or may not do for her.

Or you.

Or anybody.

To whom it may concern:

Hello.

Ok.        

She is in a good spot tonight. She has been in the same spot for the past few nights.

She is not outside.

Nor is she at her desk. She is at the dining table doing her stuff. She cleaned off the built-in hutch to make room for some more of her things. It seems she is moving along. She found the bowl for her wax burner, so she took the light out of the elephant to use instead.

Change is good.

And I miss my owl.

Anyway…

I’m forgetting. And I’m letting things go.

Only because I’m sick of it.

Change is good.

Ex.

Do I want friends?

No.

Not, really. She thinks that maybe she needs them, more than she wants them. She needs a connection from somewhere. She is missing something. From somewhere.

She only thinks like that from time to time. Mainly, every day. But different hours, during the day.

It’s not a bad feeling. It doesn’t make her hurt, nor make her want to cry. It’s a feeling of emptiness. A hole in my chest. A pit, in my stomach. A thorn in my side. It’s not the kind of exercise. It’s the kind from a memory. A sense of loss? It is something that she has never had. I want to feel alive. But I am tired. I wasn’t two minutes ago.

And I probably won’t be two minutes from now.

She needs the music on.

I’ve been doing me.

Yep.

I’m just doing me.

To whom it may concern:

To be continued…