Unfixable

It was there on the subway, a few minutes after the morning rush hour had ended, I found myself sliding into the same mental state I had known since I was a child. An awful default mode built on fear and ego the two parts of my conscious that conspire, to form an unholy cabal from which only wicked things come.

And these wicked things whisper me my truth.

Now it varies mind you and it has become more refined and specific with age but runs something like----Everything in my life is wrong and always will be and as much as I try I can't and don't know how to fix any of it---because I don't even know what “it” is. I am trapped with no way out and no way to change. All I know is it has always been this way and it will always be like this and I just want to be dead. Conjuring the mantras I have been compelled to chant in my head for years, the plea “kill me” and the jihad “burn it down” I slowly lower my head. My blood pressure spikes, my eyes squint and turn the color of coal and my heart fills with hate as I raise my head with a deep inhale wondering what is to become of me, how did I get this way and how have I possibly made it this far.

Yeah, it was one of those commutes.

It was in that moment between stops on the train, feeling that same feeling, thinking those same thoughts, knowing I could follow that feeling all the way back to beginning of my life, thinking about all I had done in an attempt to relieve myself of it, that I knew it would always be there, it was never going away.

Unconsciously and unaware I uttered aloud—“unfixable.” And I knew it was true, I knew I was unfixable.

The feeling was old but the word was new and that creepy sense of having a feeling of yours name itself, grammatically challenged as it may be---after all that therapy I would have thought my feelings would be more literate--was enough to send a shudder through me as I stood on the swaying train, holding nothing but a coffee. Because it is saying to me, as the clever name suggests, “I am here, I am not going anywhere and as much as you workout, work, fuck or otherwise ignore, avoid or push me into some dusty corner I am part of you, actually, I am you.”

“I am you…I am unfixable.”

There it is. The inescapable truth, that moving target of a feeling you have had since you were a kid just named itself, and you know you are seriously fucked.