Yeah. So. Spiraling back and downwards and more-or-less hiding from the world. More peaceful that way. Especially when you don't really want to talk about things. Especially when you find you haven't progressed as far as you'd thought.
The tangible: I'm eating in thirds. And not often that. More tangible: I have three fresh scars on my left hip. I'd thought I was beyond that. Of course, I had to keep the old razors. Had to. So I guess somewhere in me I knew I'd go back to it.
God though. It's so easy. My senses were magnified, my body perfectly relaxed, I felt good. Guilty, to a point, because I certainly didn't want any more scars, but. It's the only part of physical existence that I can actually enjoy.
It occurred to me last night that having a body is rather like having a very annoying, unloving, and needy pet. You feed it, wash it, keep it warm, carry it around. Altogether not a good deal.
I went to bed at six. Got to sleep by around eight. I am sick. My sickness is making me deaf in my left ear. I treasure my ears more than anything else in the world. This is a very, very potent torture.
A while ago there was a rainbow. Later that day, there was a fire where the rainbow's end had been. And I wondered if the fire was the gold at the end of the rainbow. Seemed a good metaphor, at least.
Another thought, the intangible things. We assigned seats on my bus. Little index cards above each seat. A dead fly is smashed against my card. I thought it was perfect, with a sardonic little smile.
So I haven't been talking. Anywhere, really. Hiding from my family, even, and that's rather unusual. I used to hunt them down and talk to them every day.
Something has to change. I don't even care which way the change leads me. Up or down.
Know what I want to do. But neither option really seems like an option. So much for changing focuses.
revoless.
5:12 a.m.
October 16, 2001.
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