recovery room

I was walking to the bus just now, breathing in the green air for the first time in what feels like weeks, and the strangest happiness came over me. Or rather, I noticed it. And by rights, I shouldn't be. But I guess all that's happened, an agonizing week and more pain than I've ever encountered.... It makes everything I used to be afraid of less significant. I don't feel that constant anxious gnawing to prove myself. I don't feel the guilt I've always carried. And I know now what bright spot will always be in my eyes. This must last. I want it to.

as many requiems as possible

I have never had a more difficult day than those past few hours. I got past the screaming sobs and the shock as they went down the shower drain with soap and tears. I went into action as soon as I towelled off. I've never seen myself so level-headed. I've never felt so old. Other than procedural trepidation, I am left with only a deep sorrow. I don't want to celebrate. I have no cause to. I'm just cold and sad and I tripped and fell off the bus just now and I am so, so scared that this will make us lose something. Part of the joy we took in each other, maybe some of the trust. The truth is that now I have made another sad memory for him to feel the sharpness of the past in, and I always wanted to be so different for him. I'm so sad. I've never felt such a wordless anchor, never had such an overwhelming reason. I do now. Birthday transmission, end.

error: uncertain domain

There are few things that are more terrifying to me than not knowing what is going on inside my body. In fact, I would be hard pressed to come up with something that scares me more absolutely and fundamentally. That's why I've never been one for substances. I don't like being out of my own control, and I don't like unexpected changes to my health. (greatest explanation for recent anxiety and near-constant terror) It seems this thought is overwhelmingly appropriate on the eve of my twenty-first birthday- a day already sadder than most birthdays because people only seem to care about the alcoholic number, and not a whit that it's my birthday. How strange to be eclipsed by one's age. But then, I've never had the gumption to be special. My intent is simply to ignore the day as much as possible. I'd rather be left alone, I think. I don't think the ability to drink is going to change my life in any way. I truly don't care. I wish they knew how I felt. It's not easy for people from this culture to understand. But I decided today- on the subject of not understanding what a body is doing- that what would be worse than not knowing, worse even than having to choose, would be to know and be powerless. I just have to keep telling myself that I'm not, and maybe the fog won't matter.