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In bed.
The time is 12:03. PM. My husband walked in the bedroom and opened the blinds about an hour ago.
“I will be out soon.” I told him.
I am a liar.
Scrolling through Facebook, I see a pianist friend posted his video of Clapton’s “Tears in Heaven.”
I listen to his fingers sing “Will you know my name, if I saw you in heaven…”
Today is Memorial Day.
Am I dead? I feel dead…
I reach over the queen sheets and press my hand on the mattress…
Press, Erliss.
Ppppppressssssssssssssss.
The trees outside…I turn to them. “Please pull me out to you” I beg. But they pretend not to hear me. They exchange some secret words and continue staring into my window, mocking my condition.
The world continues despite my absence.
I can’t feel outside of my stomach – it’s a ball of stone. Cold Stone. I hate that place. Not “hate” hate, but I spent a lot of money there once and the ice cream did not taste like ice cream. For 8 dollars I can buy a bag of m&ms, satisfy my “fight” impulses by pulverizing them with a hammer, and mash them into Neapolitan ice cream with some baby kale, dried quinoa, and orange rind.
I would save five dollars, have leftovers, and it would taste better.
I know what you are thinking: “ADHD girl.” Well fuck ADHD. It’s not fun this morning. Or this afternoon. Or whatever time of day it is. Who cares – I can’t get out of bed, and don’t want to breathe my next breath – and even there, I have no choice.
The body wants to breathe. Not wants to as in desire or longing. If you hold your breath with the intention of never letting it out to bring more in, your body doesn’t care.
YOUR BODY DOESN’T NEED YOUR CONSENT TO BREATHE.
When I was little I would inhale and keep the air in place – it was my super power. If I held my breath long enough I could turn invisible, then no one could find me.
It’s not true. You can still be found, no matter how long you hold your breath.
No matter how much you try to keep the whistle of air from leaving your throat, it will whistle eventually because YOUR BODY DOESN’T NEED YOUR DAMNED CONSENT TO BREATHE AND MAKE NOISE SO YOU LOSE…YOU LOSE…
your
little
self
is
l o s t.
I curl into a ball, scream in my mind, thrash my head against an imaginary brick wall.
But in reality, in the realm of bodies and physical-ness, I am frozen.
If only I could stretch out my hand and touch something…
It’s now after one p.m.
My husband returns.
I…need…help… I mumble.
He takes off the blankets, pats my legs, moves them to the side of the bed, pulls my arms so I sit up, then he stands me up and holds me until I feel my feet on the floor.
I press my cheek against his chest, and whisper
I am up now.
Thank you for listening.
Much love,
Erliss
