hannahsspotlight - Tumblr blog

hannahsspotlight · 6 years ago

Text

Hannah’s Spotlight

2019 by Jacob Hagedorn

Awake all night, now Asking Saint Chris in the morning about the weather shows how up-for-chaos an agender, asexual is when there is a party happening downstairs, already chaotic, as the alarm alarms and I rub my eyes - my sister’s graduation party.

You may come to know of my worries in a flaming context that proves that I am centered some; mornings I feel the pain so. The worrisome functions are still snowballing - and even if I hold out my hand, Saint Chris shakes it, even tho I was just needy of solutions and was unsurprised he decided to leave the day as a surprise.

Ignoring the noise from downstairs, and circling the present moment, I am sitting on the side of the bed and gazing plainly out the window, the dreams of the night - this time, a lot like other times, was of the demon in my closet that will be left discrete, that is certainly not blood and that makes me cry even if it is a dream now…not crying now - although it was quite real then, and it made me sick to be reminded, or made out to be some sort of Event that was uncanny considering I was mostly content and happy and did not have all that many dark ideas or concepts hovering over me or inside me - it is anxiety and it will be examined but not made of the entirety of my mood. And that is what is funny, a different version is in fact inside me and it is not beautiful. It is what made me how I am way back when.

The schizo affective muttering (addition) slips from my tongue as I turned on collaborative paraphrasing, ergo modern indie rock, and also pulling out strings of hair of figuring out what color of shirt I was going to where - hmm, not a crop top or leggings today, and definitely no magical robe. It is not Sunday, yet this event there will be people of somewhat or definite promising futures or a presence of presents and giving presents. The thought occurred to me about how I am going to probably miss my morning coffee, so I chose a white polo and settled for a bottle of water on my desk. My sister will be beginning a masters study at The University of Texas in Austin.

There will be all sorts of personal cringing for not being adamant about the latest political buzz, or cameras, or philosophy, and even wanting to run back upstairs to take the one bullet from my closet for the one, personal use because my scholarly voice is not of par or being a whole failure - god damn it, being dramatic; I smirk then cringe. The aura from downstairs ignored, *shiver*.

There is no toleration, only anxiety - an outcast feeling, in my home too due to said party. The way to feel alright is to know not only is the person themselves doing alright, it is if we are alright together - mutual concern. Otherwise we are not picking each other’s brain or learning but we are just filling time and air. I am not apt to showing upright confidence, and also I am too experienced to act defeated..usually coming off precisely sarcastic or nonchalant but I am rather just worked up in some way - and hopefully it is not painful for them although it is for me and I fight to survive in this world.

Asking questions is a bit easier than developing something interesting as a response, so this will not be too difficult - the people will not seem familiar mostly; just my parents and sister of course. I will find a seat and sit for about one whole hour, than escape back upstairs to avoid being killed, to be safe, and most likely to read a comedy book meaning drama and not all that funny in modern context - that can be funny in it’s own way to me at least. Okay I will wear the white polo, blue jeans, and just socks. Books are my escape, and I usually get something out of them that was not intended, which indeed makes me frantic about it; frantic about most anything but the breathing is still manageable and I can smile about random things.

Outside there are cars parked and the front door opening and closing to people making loud exclamations towards one another. Imagination brings me to the idea that if, when downstairs, they are all in fact monkeys swinging from the chandelier or turtles stacking on top of each other to reach heights to balance the monkeys swinging and than - possibly - a huge rhino (resembling chaotic power) plows them all over to all truly exceed my expectations and giving me a reason to take out my video camera, taping the rupture to finally being close to have an interesting scenario to show besides being a character in someone else’s figment. Participating is worrisome at times. Having control of a concept helps me sleep at night; make it healthy and good for all the right reasons, I hope.

Yeah, I do not get out much. The college schoolwork is homeschool and I have never been on a date - 22 years old, and the most interesting thing about me is that I am a filmmaker against the odds of popular aspirations, which does not bother me because I am easily inspired. The most interesting film style, personally, is music videos - one can match sound with physical - double the emotion, and that is the only pleasure I get considering the small amount of emotion I muster up on average - not much, and my personal musical scores live in a way together with the visual depictions.

There are no friends downstairs or outside, or anywhere - there are none at all in this life. There is not a map to find me, a trace online or a voice of hints; no use, there is no point in making connections, there must be more wrong with me…I am a bit taken aback at any social point. Making short films or music videos for the simple, acoustic piano songs I make for practice occupies me and I do it for myself completely, I say. To study music theory, or video editing techniques, or new gear knowledge is what I will study on my own - listen, celebrate truth not success (the difference is slim). The truth is I am asexual/agender and this is not the problem, it is just how I am, and yet my parents would like me to get married and there is an obvious raincheck for that. Karen, the eldest of us two and my older sister does not currently have a boyfriend, so she is far from family building as I am, although her chances of success is higher in my eyes - but I probably just will not find a success in that ever; cats, or rhinos.

Muttering my name over and over eyes to eyes: ‘Adam, Adam, Adam, Adam…’.The mirror reflects the body flailing to the music now, vocal paraphrasing, gusts of strums, and strikes of keys - precisely pumping myself up for the bussing job downstairs; cleaning is somewhat a priority but I do have delusions on how often things should be helped when there is a public setting; guessing it is a random obsession act. If the obsessing grows and there is not a dialogue happening at any rate, maybe there is an escape to the neighborhood park. It is only partly true to myself; am not against the human race at all.

The rhythm of aimlessness is a settled spiral till the end where it shoots out in every which way that refuses to be gathered; so you need someone else to pick a point for you, and I have been waiting for that. The loneliness coming naturally ergo this sense of sexuality, although it is really a lack of sexuality, teaches me to start points logically before they spiral and match them with some other logic as an arrow headed somewhere. If it is going to be chaotic soon, there must be a theme and most of the time the idea is of loneliness, being introverted and having no interest in most emotions. So, dancing for a short duration, or going downstairs is actually a huge risk because the voice in my head thinks it an apt time to mock myself and feel small; worthless, and when I do shrivel back into my reality…I feel ashamed.

Sing along for myself, make my bed for myself, and make any effort for myself - this is why the days are long and frantic; there is no one to speak with or of, and for awhile now. My phone does not buzz, no one is ringing the door bell for me, and there are nobody checking in. If I mixed it up and wore a dress, that would be for myself but it ruins all chance for myself and others, even though I know that is not true - more or less to be included but I wish I was just already in the midst of it all. People pretend they want to get away, like they do not rely on gratification at all - and maybe there conversations are not a good-heavy, but at least something is going on in general for them; surely there is good tho.

Now not a completely aimless morning, running back some personal favorites of my musical creations; sketching out visual scenes that probably will not make sense to anyone, including myself. A mood, or even a title, is more powerful than trying to depict meaning - and there is no feedback in my life but I sure enjoy it anyhow, even if beauty is misunderstood or short of cohesiveness. The lack of emotion, the lack of interesting subject, the lack of genuine message: all leaves me sulking, but only in the context of if anyone sees it - what will they think? I know my life has meaning, and the results I am fine archiving or even releasing to be found years from now by one person that may be inspired; best scenario, and absolutely worth the effort whenever it was started. And if not, it satisfied me for a moment while personally interacted with.

Most of my college credits are things that interest me, and there is not a day set for a known completion - there is a chance college will never be completed on my behalf, and I guess that is okay; music, German, fiction, history - it all is great and would not be possible to go in person, although missing society and seeing a smile on a face in reality would be healthy for me, and would create a new sense of how to integrate myself into society, help it grow in some small way, and inspire me to smile myself too.

Then I shift to be in the midst of other music, other videos - it reminds me of meth back a year ago when the nightmares began; crippling, lonesome experience: the most risky endeavor of my life, and I have done my share of rehabs and mental hospitals - combining heroin does not work, of course. Mold, enjoying mold?… *Shiver*, relax and refocus. The mere sound or visual intake of what inspires me: does so freely, and I am washed away in a tide of bliss and love because they are so much accompanied by endearment; there comes tears and something magical to identify with, and the only time emotion is uncontrollable - it could go on forever, but then I get back to myself: nothing; nothing great at all - I will go take a shower. Their magic is not my magic, unfortunately - yet I can take a next step which is always good.

Standing there, through the hallway, by the stairs, I could hear the roar of the crowd and sudden laughter, or indecipherable exclamations. The anxiety in me grew. What is my name? Part of controlling the chaos within is realizing that most people are much like you; different, but living in the same time. Maybe I just feel challenged a lot - by myself, and uncontrollably by others; being fixed on a craft or just having a clear mind makes you a bore unless situationally. I turn on the water.

The future imagined is far from soon receiving disability, or staying at home much longer - ugh- ; it is actually not a defeated mindset, it is finding love in the impossible way meaning romance is so foreign. In the shower I look at the Blue Bed tattoo on my leg, the color fading - maybe the bed is where I belong and may also be the negative influence of my imagination: it is emotionless yet powerful in it being so necessary - although my bed is white. Being aware of having a version of laziness is far from humorous - it makes me sick even though I know a lot can be done or discovered in a bed. I get out of the shower, towel off, skip brushing my teeth, and look in the mirror all ready: boy.

There could be a whole lifetime wasted on depicting reality and worrying about it - and to think I can turn it into art even if it will never be seen is an impossibility and is a part of my delusional thinking - the stuff is important, but I cannot communicate any contrast at all of anything. I am happy mostly, because I intake and study at moments - it is all so beautiful indeed. A boost of confidence is needed, and the reason appearing downstairs is frightening is because hope has only let me down over the course of my life - and being happy is separate than that I believe. Being optimistic, and resetting that optimism is mostly quite simple in retrospect; we mainly defeat ourselves.

No matter the song, no matter the image - there will be a break of ego and the mutual, yet confusing (for me) interest will be kicked around and it will kill me slowly even if it is only two minutes at each go - and there is a bad habit ingrained to just walk away to somewhere else; me, awkward and rude. Do not get me wrong, I am capable of admiring and developing of just about any topic - the emotion they feel though, and what they are trying to relay for some reason does not register. I just say, ‘Oh yeah!…’ and feel defeated and death-near.

Mother said the party will go on till about 2 o’clock. I pretend to look for clothing when I see my closet is cracked; shivering and cold - there is no demon here now, though there probably is but I am sober or not in a dream to be in that sort of realm, and that is terrifying of itself. When it happened then, the creature thew up black mold onto my floor, and was gracefully-but-weirdly accompanied by beautiful, blissful string music; what I heard before and after seeing the most terrifying visual. That song, that I could identify still to this day, is in my hopes that there was also an actual angel soothing me against terror, but what a small closet! There is no way to be an entity with such demonic attire but also mustering up the sound of heaven; I heard heaven and now the closet is closed.

Some tears came as the chair by my desk spun around with me in it - stopping, put palms to face and bending over to my knees; this is my aesthetic, and this will not get easier. A bit of nausea as well, with sweaty palms which makes the whole Manly concept a joke in my shoes. My voice, when speaking anywhere or with anyone, sound like someone is pinching my face and demanding I talk sweeter - like immediate and organic sincerity, but the mocking voice in my head often makes me sound drastically uninterested - and that is just not true.

If the thought of ‘The One’ appears in the brain, it is known that the concept is of the bullet or even the demon - not a real person that is of a hoping mind, or a golden opportunity. The violence is too drastic and the occasion is not on this course of this now though; just a thought and the gun is in the attic - I’d blow holes in my soul for it to rain and come down on the people; the chandelier falling and the creatures in panic as I am in panic in a way but different. Cheers to the few. The white walls in the room are getting higher - and the shadow still lurks in some way - this is the haunting aura and it has just begun. Maybe that experience will be chased endlessly in a way throughout my life - because the music could not have come from evil, jest-like cruelty that was in my face; running out of the room then to my parents was a feeling I have not felt since I was a young child - all the times avoiding nightmares.

Haunted is right; cynical things have happened and even if Hopeless is more daily than anything else, I sometimes think there are no pros only cons in this experience. My friends left me from high school, my parents do not accept me fully, have been shown no grace by society it seems, although I try to get included, and it goes roughly - even if that somehow seems like I am showing grace and easing myself the apparent defeated attitude; I do not want that, this is just what is known by me for the last year or so: more than ever before. There is nothing gained from these ego deaths besides never having to feel this emotion newly again; old and new now, but when it is new it stings above all and I teach myself to minimize the old into a secondary worrisome-process. Maybe I will shed this perspective - good things have happened and will happen I now admit. This tends to happen: it is about latching on to something hopeful and good in the end of a segment, starting a new. There are pros, so let me work this out.

My parents will be smiling, my sister too - that makes it easier; seemingly friendly and inviting: this comes natural for them, and I will busy myself with dishes or offering organic smiles for a millisecond then break away and look down. If the people think I am selfish, they are probably right. When I snuck away and eased with drugs, that was easy - although there was never a point to rely on it completely. This is doable, this is manageable and my sweaty hands are just my sweaty hands - the spiraling and chaotic arrows of unsettling anxiety will not kill me. One foot after the other; conversation and interaction is healthy - that is known but not practiced personally. Following sentences and coming to realize the purpose of them always wants me to practice more - keep asking questions until you find out a unique point and than feel satisfied that they have managed a sincere smile; something like an accomplishment, and making them feel okay mutually - no lies at all, and a mutual firework will gleam around the room back and forth until that night when someone smiles in bed, thinking: ‘That was a good day.’ That is what I hope altogether, and it makes the uncomfortable feeling less dramatic - the pressure shortens.

I am smiling - wow. The mania is drifting towards a light indeed, and it is fait that works in my favor sometimes - and also, of course, feeling giddy about the light. Is this a dream? - gleaming again. If the day started again I would have began it with this song - rolling down a hill, momentum gaining, love or joy possible. There is satisfaction now that the day is coming together - or falling specifically in a happy array of flowers; a new perspective I suppose. Caught on, holding on - near the stairs; deep breathe. Ok, Adam.

Glaring to my left and right with softish eyes, mostly an excited stance, things are lively but not as quick and random as I had imagined. Some see me and give a little smile, in meaning that they recognize me, or a general arrow towards me of pure addition; one more in the room, and even though that did not hold up to my usual satisfaction - that ideology - but knowing there were all sorts of personalities, like the thirty-five or so human figures and voices, that opened up all sort of possibilities for a better chance at a satisfying exchange. My stomach started to hurt; feel a little light headed and my heart kind of is fluttering. I can make out words from people, like: ‘Yes!’, ‘Right.’, ‘Well..’, ‘How did you..’, ‘Ya know..’, etc.

Making way for the caffeine and to find my family one by one to locate for a secure feeling. My sister had her hands on her waist and then raising them as she proudly embraces an old friend - she is just as enthusiastic about mutuals. Right now, a feeling of contentment and satisfaction overtake me because of how much she has accomplished and how much she will too; she is just getting started making a positive impact. A wide smile, a Texan tan, and freshly highlighted hair: people use to identify us as twins, but I stand mildly random about my appearance and hardly prepare - this in fact is not my big day, but it is so for a lot of other reasons.

My mother wearing a flowery dress - big smile, next to my dad, talking to a couple that I know is from church that knew us kids since we were born. Mom is the same person that comforted me when things were low: friends lost, feelings damaged, or a lack of hope in any way. My dad has expressed that he has similar social anxieties or a worried mind no matter the situation - he handles everything just fine, and participates for the sake of loving his family and being proud of everyone. For me, there is an indescribable love for my family - but the fact that there is a house full of people is more potent of a state currently; no matter the original motive.

The first person that talks to me is my dad’s best-friend’s wife, who is the mother of two boys that were some of my best friends when I was very young. Where are they? Your husband too! They were such a great family, and I have not seen any of them in about five or so years. She told me the youngest was working at a camp in Oklahoma, and the eldest was with his father seeing a baseball game in Michigan; where my dad and his friend were from, and the Tigers to always root for. Although a newish, spare-time occupation, writing scores for videos, she heard that that is how I spend my life instead of leaving the house; she knew that too from just the look of me and how I talk seemingly. *Blush*, I asked about the boy’s college experiences and that conversation vanished when the first exit appeared, somehow and it was awkward; I do not know how it was carried but damn it… 0/1.

When arriving at the back patio to find a seat around a table, I was able to recollect and be reflective on how it was going: planning how my tone and mood would contrast with anyone. Breathing, dressed boyish but when talking to any woman here my voice goes up and my pronunciation is more upright and feminine - there are people looking when this happens, but it is when I am the most myself, and the more I ask questions with a more giddy yet wholesome aura, the more people actually hug me or say Adam with some playfulness. The women have strings of potent emotions, and the men seem to scale on productivity or focused on how the present will effect the future; to express intricate stories that may not be but for the purpose of striking a meaning of the subject - to laugh and identify something of value, versus concrete, masculine ideations.

Today, right now, does not remind me of anything here, like a video I have seen; there is no music either happening and the thought of either music or visual captions is appealing due to a boredom, or a genuine idea to process something so foreign to me - the company at the house. The loud crowd and the people hustling around could in fact be cut/arranged into a romantic piece of a sort - the people on the patio could look interesting from across the street, my mom decorates pretty well indeed, and the music would have no beat - but a major key piano that is medium paced, ergo soothing and inviting to showcase gleeful gatherings with hyper zoomed out or in with a Karen voiceover. I do not know; to me it is fun to think about - although it maybe shows how amateur and unfocused I am in actuality. *Yawn*.

Sweat on my body, and shaking hands - my mother comes over and asks if I recently got up from bed: yes, and is Karen enjoying herself amongst friends? She said yes, in fact, she may have found a roommate for Austin or at least a complex to consider. If I made friends that easy, there would be a different future. If it is zoomed out, like the cinema, it would be a ballroom of ants. They come as they come, some dressed as they are or other. How I feel is that I should crawl away back upstairs to where the big red dragon reigns. Now I turn left or right; not going to wait. Pick one of the ants, a new priority but mouth dry - drink tea. Would it be too much to ask if I was wearing a terrifying bird mask? Sipping tea sparingly via slightly taking off the mask; they probably would still ask how my life is and it would not feel any different to me, but they would ask to go off to sit somewhere with my vote and hearty permission, it is so. Been waiting for the urge to run inside to turn on Peter Pan in the living room for the room. Why am I waiting? Or why is my guilty conscience racing my identity?

Looking at my fingernails, somewhat in tune with the feelings of the movements, yet all the reasons they are laughing are contradicting the electric jest of the real psychotic charity I am holding a white flag for - no one is helping and this is why I quit drugs. Speaking any tongue to me is a way I feel like the victim of all this: frightened; yes? Do tell me about the looming elegance of interaction that I have for years avoided; developing a horrific laziness, but I am editing colors in my head calmly at the moment. I get up to go for the coffee, seemingly pressing on with more anxiety coming with the caffeine; maybe just two cups and some tea later.

In the process of giving up being so young and difficult, ready to change partly; an adult, that looks familiar, heads towards the couch I am sitting on - sipping hot coffee, and my soul completely dropped. Uh, uh, uh, uh. A tunnel brought her closer, and she was growing radiantly, now towering over me, in complete surprise.

‘Don’t you remember me, Adam?’ With both hands around her back, and a teeth-smile that broke my eye contact immediately after. Fucking emotion, I remember her - she glances at the space between us, and I say,

‘Sleep…Sorry, I felt asleep.’ Yet my legs were shaking, oh heaven.

‘Do you feel lonely over here all by yourself?’ It is Hannah. Hannah was mormon some time ago, she sometimes hangs out with my old high school buddies ,which those friendships dissolved, and her older brother took Karen to Homecoming her junior year.

‘Hannah. How are you? Your hair is short and purple. I like that! And your voice has changed.’

‘How so?’

‘I do not know, you have changed.’ One. Definite nice one, Adam…

‘Oh, well it is so nice seeing, it has been years! So, film?’

We were in film club together sophomore year in high school and she was just as attentive and passionate about it. She was the fashion hand, which now makes sense - her yellow, unicorn shirt is intriguing. Butterfly earrings and very well done, minimal makeup, eyeliner, and light blue fingernail polish. It is just a genuine breathe-take seeing her - this makes me very happy, and now my voice gets higher but normalizing. I feel comfortable as she sits right next to me on the couch with our drinks.

Impossible to resign when faced with the uttermost sincerity; struck by a calm, white cloud, it feels. When she touched my shoulder after an accidental Lonesome reveal, all the voices hushed in the rooms it seemed as she grinned with contentment. There is no rush for me: bright blue eyes. Hannah has changed a lot indeed - she has grown to be magnificent and she proves that when I say ‘I am not sure…’ and she makes me think it is known in fact, whatever it is; a needed grasp on the self that she seemingly promotes and delicately practices. Go on and ask her:

‘How are your friends?…my old pals?’ Smirking minimally in naiveness actually, because she did not feel challenged - not one bit.

‘They talk about you! Everyone worries about you of course. Ya know, you had some pretty daring obstacles: the drug season maybe, that is so incredible that you have conquered!’

Hannah paints for fun, she showed me a waterfall from her phone, and also works at a gallery now across town, plus a breakfast place on weekends. She is getting more exact on the spectrum of relation - I am dark; everywhere that has been explored for satisfaction was in a false mindset: people, or just maybe her now makes me realize that what has been going on inside is definitely affecting the outcome of my reality. It is the experience she has had, and a knack for keeping it genuine, and this all astonishes me. Now I see that maybe my friends moved on because they needed room to grow: that is a sad thought, but she is proof of evolution in any case of more growth. At school, Hannah was quiet, and stuck mostly around her church friends yet still sweet as can be when speaking out in film club.

‘Did Alex ever tell you… oh, never mind.’ I stopped, being stupid and knocking down the fortress of purity, or the floating adoration bubble she herself brought over and freely included me. Alex was like me in some ways: feeling explorer, and we grew so close it felt like the only thing romance is grouped with in my life in context.

She laughed smartly at words we were saying and the emotion they proclaimed and we, together, were intertwined in a function of progress.

‘Tell me what?’

‘Never mind that. My realm is just a little dark…’

There was a point where there was self-inflicted, heavy tension for me, but not between us. Hannah’s beam was not fading, but I am realizing that this is taking a lot of work for her considering the unhealthy preoccupation that possesses my mind regularly and is seeping out, and with no beam of my own at all. Obviously far from any sensual ideations, and she seems way bigger than me and the attempt to equalize shows me like out-of-options and struck dumb and numb.

We did not go on a walk and I could not find the words to pursue more questions in her direction; how selfish indeed, yet she gave me her number and she told me to update her on my work and I told her the same - me, beyond perplexed and unspeakably inspired. Today, Hannah is my blessing. As the people left, and my sister was happy, I asked Karen about her and she says they have talked before - only a couple months ago too. That night, instead of wondering when there would be another opportunity to redeem myself, or wondering when there would be another event in satisfaction in general in my life: I closed my bedroom door, danced as the sun went down, and Hannah’s everlasting spotlight cleansed my soul and guided the demons away. And I thought: You learn to dance when you fall in with nothing to do, like the universe; my own hell diminished by bliss and the one that saved my day - I fell asleep smiling knowing influence is soft, and a chance for a beautiful state to be accessible is at any moment if I try and acknowledge the eternal beauty of the human race; till tomorrow, and all I will need is a smile.

[email protected]

0 notes