"The Glow Pt. 2" by the Microphones
I took my shirt off in the yard
No one saw that the skin on my shoulders was golden
My shirt's back on
I forgot my songs
The glow is gone
My gliding body stopped
I could not get through September without a battle
I faced death, I went in with my arms swinging
But I heard my own breath
And I had to face that I'm still living
I'm still flesh
I hold on to awful feelings
I'm not dead
There's no end
My face is red
My blood flows harshly
My heart beats loudly
My chest still draws breath
I hold it
I'm buoyant, ooh ooh
There's no end
August 14, 2019 Wednesday 6:58 PM
The day started with packing, and drinking coffee, and I think as it went on things felt weirder. My vision stuttering. It is like I can only see what is in my hands; and I can't see faces, only details. The shaving cream on Matt's ear, and the texture of his cheek, and the flash of his teeth or something; and the droop of Sophie's eyes, and her slide along the floor when she wanted to ask me a question but she didn't want to get up, and my irritation when she came into the room and said hello. She walks with a bounce on the balls of her feet, but her shoulders hunched. She made a very delicious soup and allowed me to eat some of it.
As usual, this is not a new experience—it is something I have clearly felt before, as otherwise I think I wouldn't have felt as if I were sliding into a Veronica-shaped space—but now that I'm feeling it again, I can't recall ever having felt it. This is how things go.
I felt so dirty for most of the day and my main goal was to get clean again. And then I was so shaky and nauseated I had to eat, so I made food and I ate it and it was all very perfunctory. My eyes only move in increments. I felt wider when I went up the stairs, but it wasn't like my body had never felt wide. If anything, it felt like my body had always been that wide and I had never noticed. I was seeing my whole shape. And I went outside and I saw this old man and an old woman with a lubricating oil fluid, trying to unlock a bike under the back steps, and I thought they were scary. Not because they seemed threatening but because I felt like... I just felt disturbed. Like they were intruding upon my perception, and forcing me to recalibrate my vision of the world as this empty thing. They populated it, and I didn't like it. And that's how I felt when seeing anyone.
In the shower I had an idea for a story and I spent 2 hours writing that. Then I wanted to throw up. It was about my grandma. I went downstairs and felt anxious because my neighbor's laundry was still in the dryer even though it was done. I wondered out loud to Matt if I should remove it. Then I went into the bathroom and sobbed for a long time and felt like... I kept seeing myself through like. I kept imagining a lens. Which I do a lot. Any time I start crying I am listening to myself do it and it feels like I'm acting, almost. And this was no different and I have such loathing for it, because I hate when I am fake. I kept thinking, "I must be crying about grandma." I went upstairs and called my grandparents. It was a horrible conversation, horribly awkward. I felt so guilty. When I hung up, I thought, I can't wait until they are finally dead and I can stop feeling guilty.
I ignored myself. I felt better and Matt could tell something was wrong. I told him a thing, and he told me a thing. Was it wrong, that I didn't want to hear about him? I felt like what I said went unheard. It felt... limp, after that. Whatever my perspective on my crying, it shriveled; everything felt stupid again. But the mood lightened, which was good.
Then later, he said a thing about Reagan and AIDs, and me, not intending to argue, said a thing I knew about public health, and Matt responded a little aggressively and I felt really upset because I had not been trying to argue or invalidate what he was saying, I meant only to comment on the many factors that lead to tragedies. With genocides and mass deaths... it's always more than a person. It's never just the person. Not to say the person should not be treated with hatred. I happen to also find it interesting that there is hatred beyond them, though, and it is tragic. However I misframed it, I felt really bad. I did not mean to say anything invalidating. He said not to conflate the whole public health thing with Reagan's treatment of AIDs. As I said, I wasn't trying to. Although, in retrospect, I do wonder—why not conflate them? It is never just one person. Conflating isn't the same as justifying, right? Either way, it had started as a casual conversation. So the change in tone very much shocked me and I immediately felt my vision coiling again and I have been feeling bad again; deeply nauseated, and kind of like I have to take a shit, and I have been staring at things and seeing them very well but, like, thinking nothing.
I am burning. I have to go downstairs now and do something. Finish laundry, specifically. My eyes are starting to come back into my head. I feel better. I think I'm okay.