A temperamental anxiety
A tempermental anxiety
Christ, oh Christ, oh God, oh, oh it’s happening - Oh goddamn, oh goddamn, Jesus oh -
Nothing.
I’m shaking your hand now, and the pressure you’re using on my hand is like a nerve compression, and I want to let my eyes roll back into my head, but I won’t. You seem like one to be easily offended.
You let go, and I forget your name as soon as you say it. I tell you mine.
You pat my shoulder, and then I’m facing a wall. Literally. I turn around, I must look like an idiot. How long was I staring at that wall? Oh,
Jesus fuck, ah, ah -
Pull focus.
Who’s that? I’m walking, the toes of my shoes feel more weighted than the heels. I read her name tag.
We have the same name!
What’s that?
We share the same name!
She’s pointing at my tag. Now hers.
Mary?
Oh -
Fuck! Fuck! God, fuck me.
Almost.
Lucy! God fucking damn it.
I’m walking away, my cheeks are burning. I wonder if slapping them will help, but now I feel like an idiot. I decide to leave, I’ve been here long enough. My pocket is filled with business cards. They’re all mine. I realize this once I’m already out the door and -
Idiot! STUPID fucking -
It’s too late to turn back in without drawing attention, so I swallow the loss of the connections. Is my hair falling out? No, that’s not my own. That’s funny! My body exchanged business cards.
-
Awake.
Oh, fucking - Oh, man - oh God…
Closing eyes.
What the hell was that? I regain feeling in my toes. I can’t remember a nightmare, but the sweat budding on my spine disagrees. I don’t like sweating in my sheets. I don’t like washing my sheets.
I don’t want to get up.
Awake.
Jesus man, God - Fucking -
My sweat is cold, lying thick on the previous. I’m starting to smell bad, the sheets will smell bad. I move to the floor. The carpet only extends a quarter away from the bed, and now I am under it. I miss my mom for a moment, and my skin is goosepimpled. I feel cold. I feel really cold.
-
I’m driving, and the frame feels more even. The little water dial met its equilibrium, and is bouncing! I stare so much, suddenly I’m in the ravines. I’m blinking.
-
.I’m washing my hands
FUCK! FUCKING DICK GOD DAMN
I might throw up, but I am walking out the door dripping with soap. I don’t mind the smell, much, though I know it’s going to crack my handsandIalreadyknowIhavelessthanalipfulofVaselinetolastmetherestoftheday
GOD DAMN OH, OH - Oh, oh God -
I’m falling! No. I’m not. I’m standing at the top of the staircase, and suddenly I have old-woman’s-vertigo. This happened in a dream once, where I wore a blue dress and stood at the top of my stairs, the front hall was crowded with elevator people and little women in stiff dresses that already reeked of mothballs and decay - I climbed over the edge of the railing, and let myself fall down, floating until the party had ended. It felt like a New Year.
-
It’s the middle of July, and it’s ninety degrees, and the lake I’m looking at is frozen. My shoulders are exposed and burnt, freckling at the tops, and this lake is fucking frozen. I want to
Nonononono
be still in this moment for a while and
fucknonofuckfuckfuck
sleep for a while knowing everything isn’t moving if I can’t imagine it to be and
ouchouchnono please please no fuck
I won’t miss my Mom, and I won’t miss what has happened, and I will
OUCHfuckgodplease
just let myself cry hot tears in Colorado that won’t leave the mountain.
-
I am running. I have my skirt hiked up over my knees, and I think my underwear must be showing some, I feel the breeze straight through the triangle in my inner hips, my thighs, straight through the waist of the dress and between my breasts. I can’t stop pounding the ground as fast as I am to need a breath, to cough out the cigarette smoke that still lingers in my chest - I don’t think I need to turn around, to look anywhere else but at the red glare of the sun in my eyes with each blink. I feel, feel, feel, feel, feel.
-
Art - EDVARD MUNCH - ANGST/ANXIETY