“We’ve been friends since we were 13.”
“What’s the most fun you’ve ever had together?”
“Oh, we don’t know…”
“Well, what’s the hardest you’ve ever laughed together?”
“Now you listen here! I want you to write down these questions you’re asking us, pull them out when you’re 85 years old, and see if you can answer them yourself!”
jevans, bipe, and my lex ladies, I look forward to this moment <3
ugh, the eternal insomniac prevails.
ok, seriously, with the meds I’m on, the 2 benedryl I just took and lavender essential oil all over me, how am I still awake?!
and for kicks, http://xkcd.com/313/
I’ve spent the past week withering and wandering - the sort that only the void of depression can bring - no concept of time, fucked up appetite, social anxiety, existential anxiety, tunnel vision, the works. and what hurts so so much is the feeling that the people around me don’t understand the experience, the heavy ache, the feeling of being totally out of control and unmovable. my mother and my sister don’t understand that when I am lying on my floor or staring of into space on the couch I am lost and hurting. they don’t understand the disconnect between my brain and body, the impenetrable freeze that keeps my legs from moving even when my brain is trying to tell them to. they don’t understand the stuckness in mud, molasses, air and fire.
and while it sucks so much that other people experience this, that this state is so prevalent, I so appreciate having people who know this feeling to talk to, or not talk, just be.
I’m seeing my therapist tomorrow, I scheduled a last minute appointment because I felt so shitty. she says I am motivated and self aware and smart but it was so scary when I looked in the mirror yesterday and couldn’t see the functional, content, stage manager and student and artist that was there a few weeks ago. I just couldn’t see her. I couldn’t see me.
so I guess I;m wondering if that ever happens to you, and what you do to kickstart the kickstart, when you know the things that would help you, or maybe you can’t reach them, you can’t even see them, and you’re just staring at yourself in the mirror. what do you do?
osiris and I are celebrating several successful weeks together. judging by her light green leaves and steady blooms, we are already in better shape than my dear bonsai adventure. here’s to house plants!
you will not steal the power in my breast
come and go as you must
but will not give what once was lost
no, I hold this strength so close.
(to be continued)
at what point does night-before-morning-final-presentation-and-paper-due turn into mush and is ultimately deemed unproductive? I think I’m just blatantly listening to miss saigon now.
also, today included bootiful boobprints.
UGHHH CONSTIPATION YOU KILL ME. colon, I do not need your shit right now, and yes, I know that’s not puny.
there’s a box, I see it from here.
close enough, I know the approximate contents
far enough, I cannot see within, cannot touch without intention and a step forward.
we’re much closer than before, the box and I.
just five months ago it was a world away,
a scream, a cry and three prescriptions away,
an ant on the horizon, a dream within a dream.
slowly, in the winter’s days of white, we trudged,
the box and I. with locked knees, no serotonin,
moods caught between a broken record and a shitty radio,
woolen socks and boots laced tight, trudging.
and in those days of white, there was a whisper-
little voices in this web of a world I am in,
weekly markers of movement -
dance, rehearsal, dance, rehearsal.
with such a rhythm that feels true to my bones
I left my shoes on the floor and ran forward,
paint-soaked, full of coffee and full of love,
a genuine smile from head to toes,
glowing, I called this, many years ago.
glowing is when my heart, soul, spirit, body, mind and beyond
are together, really, together, dancing with arms
and hands ready for another, craving connection
with the strength to reach
and I have dived? dove? headfirst into the box,
I am in so deep that there is no going back,
no, there is no going back to colorless days
of stagnant solo spinning, the weeping willow.
she dances again, the willow, with her spine
as twisted though it may feel, muscles and ligaments
sing their clicking, crunching, vital song
and I have never felt better
Miss certifiably-crazy-sick-from-a-to-z, I have never felt better
in this body, in this embodying, this jumping out of boxes
and into arms, into air that holds as gentle and strong
as the spider and her web.
you are alive. you are beautiful.
I am alive. I am beautiful.
and from there,
we can always dance.
i feel like a dehydrated turtle.
i just rolled around on the floor for 20 minutes, creaking my back and putting limbs where they needed to stretch and weighting down pained bones and i feel so much better. duhhh this is why I do dance therapy. why i forget, i do not know.
I can’t get this knot out of my throat,
my lungs, my gut.
it’s pulling me down a darkward spiral
and I cling to anything I can hold,
anything to slow the fall, the heaving,
the panic, the melancholy, and instead
my chest is tight, eyes resting at half mast,
droplets escaping as much as I don’t want them to.
and unlike the sorrow shared with another,
tonight I sit in a puddle, solitude tinged
with bitter yearning for a world now
unscrewed and far away.
in the east, my pleasure lies.
antony & cleopatra - oxford street players 2013
Work is love made visible 2.0.