This is prose about experiencing Sensory Integration Disorder.
I stand here barefoot on carpet,
the fiber of comfort and home pressed into my soles.
The Quiet, stands with me.
(Originally published FEBRUARY 2, 2016 on Quirkybirdwords.com)
We watch branches and leaves swing through a wet window.
The Quiet doesn’t echo the cacophony in my mind.
Instead it’s a friend and wraps me in a swathe of emptiness
like a blanket.
It provides comfort in fear,
and its silence feels like a threadbare and button-eyed love
hugged fierce in the dark.
It comforts more than honeyed chamomile
and says absolutely nothing when I need it the most.
The Quiet is never jealous when I return home.
It doesn’t chide that I stink of Chaos
and then shame me for where I’ve been.
solitude is always offered
and I’m reminded this is where I belong.
No matter what, I can always be here
and seek peace from the constant crackle of the storm.
Oh, but I love to be drunk with Chaos.
It’s scented with Life.
Rebellion of The Quiet can be delicious and decadent.
The body-high incredible when saturated with voice,
intoxicated with vibration
and drenched in indiscriminate light.
And that’s not enough.
My skin seeks what it can’t always have, human touch.
It need be nothing more grandiose than a pressed-cheek hello
and honest hug.
Even a sincere handshake will do — that brief, warm connection to real life.
A moment of humanity.
Fuck, I’m alive. To hell with The Quiet and bring on the noise.
I fight Chaos. I fight pain.
I rage against the invisible and stand emboldened again
Welcome me into the world.
Your bumping, thumping, chiming, beeping, clicking
I want to hear your chatter, songs, and curse.
Light me up with a message flash, photosnap, headlight swerve,
blinking streaking electronic billboard,
streetlight and spotlight.
Share with me the synchronicity of community.
I want to know your vibe and feel your heart.
Let’s dance. Let’s play. Let’s read our words.
Smack the table. Ring the bell. Roar and applause.
Conversation overlapping conversation.
It doesn’t matter that the commotion shorts my wiring.
Like an addict, my brain’s dependent and I need more.
More of you. More of this. Give me decadence.
Give me decadence until my head explodes
and knees smack the floor
Let’s overindulge until I Shake, Rattle and Hum
a staccato inconsistent to tunes Bono has sung.
Let me feel alive completely — this one moment
full. sensory. integration.
I’m going to do this until Chaos and rebellion fry my mind.
Even then, I’ll be unapologetic when
Writhe and Agony arrive.
With my unrepentant soul spent,
I will seek The Quiet, my mistress of Silence,
to love me healthy
so I can flirt with Chaos again.
It’s human to think different.
Eve Hinson | July 2017
Evolution of Eve | Rediscovering life then and exploring the now
Memory loss, scattered focus, inability to track time, and an ill-known stigmatized neurological disorder, plus PTSD symptoms, have erased or complicated recall of Eve’s first 37 years of life.
Now in her mid-40s, Eve is Autistic AF and left with a brain that doesn’t include filters (she says fuck. a lot), likes to glitch and, after the memory wipe, created a new personhood. Eve is different to those who’ve known her from childhood. She is unknown even to herself and seeking to learn about her life from back then, and embracing life now.
This series focuses on self-discovery after the onset of severe mental illness, memory loss and permanent disability. It’s a different life and a worthy life.
Contact Eve | email@example.com