The Clicky Sound
Okay.
Just make the clicky sound.
[clickity, click]
This isn't the start. It's just making the sound.
[clickity, clickity, click]
Don't worry about the words. They don't matter.
Just clickity, clickity, click any ol' thing.
Maybe something like:
Check test - one, two - one, two
These words, words, words don't matter
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
[clickity, clickity, click]
Good.
The fingers are moving. Finding momentum.
Started without starting. Now I can start for real.
[clickity, clickity, go...]
Howdy, folks.
Welcome to the show.
There won't be a narrative today. I spent hours trying to make one. All I got was a mess.
There's just too much. I'm too out of practice.
Good news, tough. My hands are moving. I'm putting down words. They aren't the ones I expected, but they'll do.
You see, I'm recovering from bipolar episodes. One of mania. One of suicidal depression. Each caused brain damage. Not a lot, but still.
Combined with the fog of meds, my brain got pretty fucked.
Somewhere in there, I lost my ability to write. Words were gone. Reaching for them was like reaching for something in the dark and missing. I could feel the space, but nothing was there.
After two years, the fog is lifting. Words coming back. I can hear them again. I can feel them again. They have weight and shape. But, I don't know if I can use them. I don't know if my writing is gone.
Imagining life without writing is impossible. I hear static. White noise. And, there's fear. Fear I didn't know existed. Not until I started writing this. It was hidden. Low, guttural.
Fear I'd lost my foundations. Not just my writing, but everything that makes me me.
It was paralyzing. I couldn't write, or think, or... anything.
Then, I started making the clicky sound.