Thanks, Elly.
My teeth had been grinding furiously for the past who-knows-how-long?
Minutes?
Hours?
I became absolutely still and focused on feeling my body, but everything was numb and buzzing slightly.
I was vaguely aware that my left leg was crossed over my right, but I felt as if I were suspended in a vat of jello or floating in a dark pool of water at exactly my body temperature.
Something felt so wrong.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I thought about a lot of things in that who-knows-how-long?, like,
“How can other people even exist?”
and,
“Can anyone ever get me but myself?”
I felt crazy.
My mind was racing, but my body and face were calm. Anyone who looked at me would think I was simply tired or uninterested.
What went on inside my head was a milling factory or a crowd rushing toward the last scrap of food on the earth; it switched between the two, as the first was structured and productive, and the latter was maniacal and primitive.
I thought about how I simply did not care about anyone else. I thought about how I hated everyone else.
I spent thirty minutes trying to think of a word.
I read a book and decided that people just let themselves think that they’re crazy when they’re really not, all the while doing that very thing myself.
I remembered all the times I’ve tried to get across the point that the limits of language make it impossible to really get a point across.
I thought about how I’d never express anything exactly as I meant to.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but thoughts of death and forever crept in through my nostrils and eye-slits and traveled up to my brain which sent messengers carrying feelings of fear and desperation to my heart and my fingertips, who received them gladly and made me a writhing nutcase in my bed.
I wrote about it all before all of it even happened, and I mixed up the order so I could pretend that none of it was real.
Minutes?
Hours?
I became absolutely still and focused on feeling my body, but everything was numb and buzzing slightly.
I was vaguely aware that my left leg was crossed over my right, but I felt as if I were suspended in a vat of jello or floating in a dark pool of water at exactly my body temperature.
Something felt so wrong.
I couldn’t put my finger on it.
I thought about a lot of things in that who-knows-how-long?, like,
“How can other people even exist?”
and,
“Can anyone ever get me but myself?”
I felt crazy.
My mind was racing, but my body and face were calm. Anyone who looked at me would think I was simply tired or uninterested.
What went on inside my head was a milling factory or a crowd rushing toward the last scrap of food on the earth; it switched between the two, as the first was structured and productive, and the latter was maniacal and primitive.
I thought about how I simply did not care about anyone else. I thought about how I hated everyone else.
I spent thirty minutes trying to think of a word.
I read a book and decided that people just let themselves think that they’re crazy when they’re really not, all the while doing that very thing myself.
I remembered all the times I’ve tried to get across the point that the limits of language make it impossible to really get a point across.
I thought about how I’d never express anything exactly as I meant to.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but thoughts of death and forever crept in through my nostrils and eye-slits and traveled up to my brain which sent messengers carrying feelings of fear and desperation to my heart and my fingertips, who received them gladly and made me a writhing nutcase in my bed.
I wrote about it all before all of it even happened, and I mixed up the order so I could pretend that none of it was real.
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