Arizona at the Brink
Arizona is a metaphor of my existence. I live here yet I hate it here. I want to die here. Arizona, too, wants to die. As a kid I remember wanting to have swim parties for my birthday in April and being told it’s “too cold.” Now? It’s plenty warm. Pools actually start closing down in July because it’s so hot even 12 foot deep olympic sized pools are too hot to swim in. Global warming. Warming my brain, frying, dying. I hate it.
The sun gives me migraines and the heat makes me sweat so much I am sensory overloaded.
It’s not a place meant to exist. I’m not meant to exist. So much concrete has been laid that the artificial accommodations we have made to our changing environment has only exacerbated the issue, not made it better.
I need to get out of this place. I need to get out of this body. But if I die the grief would explode on those I am trying to protect. But if I stay I am afraid these dark thoughts will get the best of me. It’s hard to be rational when you are sensory overloaded. So I have few options left.
Would leaving actually help me? I don’t know. But I am running out of options, and so is Arizona. They could tear up the concrete and the stores and try to regrow the greenery and cool it all down, but by doing it they would destroy the livelihood of everyone here. And everyone keeps moving here.
Stop moving here. Stop talking to me.