Unable to focus; multi-sensory overload becomes a strategy:
layers of sound: ocean waves beneath Pink Floyd under Ms. Pacman eating dots while chasing ghosts because Tetris couldn’t stabilize you this time and tab after tab after tab remains open to another then another and without no end to exhausting yourself. Nothing works.
Think. What did your therapist tell you? But that doesn’t focalize either because you forgot to take your medication this morning and everyone knows, or so you think, that it is a very bad thing to forget a daily pill. You make lists upon lists, random thoughts like
hinterland: finally, Tom’s story comes to light;
laundry and dishes and parenting in no particular order
shine on you–
last time someone held you and you didn’t have to ask and you never ask anyway because shit;
white curtains do not keep out light, but seem to draw in flash after flash as a storm lingers in the quietest way over a neighborhood where everyone seems to keep their lights on and what does that even suggest or mean? you question your personal safety.
to do: parent, wash things, write something, try not to say horrible things out loud; don’t cry in front of authority figures; don’t empower those who don’t deserve it; take your medicine; lose weight so you can ride horses…
what to see: glaciers, the Blue Ridge Mountains from the air– just one more time; beads hanging from trees; as much green in winter that can be found;
sleep; dream only the good dreams, not the one where your child comes to you and says so-and-so did something terrible to me and then you break down because protecting your child is the one thing you think you can control; just sleep
find the weight: not the same as losing weight. Finding the weight is searching for heft to lay a-top yourself to relieve the desire to be held and toppled with desire;
what it is : a diamond, a space, a door frame– shapes dimensional, flat, or trapping;
the weight you carry, the damage done to your body by you–the realization that food is not a cure or answer and it scares you to think you might actually have some control in your life, but can’t get past how wrong you were and that you were never really protecting yourself to begin with;
it’s a busy day…. you’ve got things on your mind mixed in ocean waves and reverb. Hey you: I know you’re tempted to step outside in the rain you cannot hear, watch the lightning from the second floor and welcome another strike against you, but sit on the floor; accept the imprint of a rattan rug against the back of your thighs until your legs fall asleep
the song is over.