Sunday, May 20, 2018

Words

It's rarely a question of being at a loss for them. It might be more a matter of too many of them to sort into reasonable sentences.

"What we have here, is a failure to communicate."

Of course the cluster headaches have been crashing in on a regular basis now, going into an uncharacteristic (at least in many years) fourth week. Some of them last longer than others. Others are mercifully short-lived. They all exit in the same way though, nearly as quickly as they arrive, leaving me in the same condition. There's the pervading near-depressive state, and paranoia. Is paranoia the correct word? It's a feeling that an enemy is right back over my shoulder, creeping along on cat feet. Or it's waiting around the next corner. Or under the bed waiting for me to drift off.

They come often (usually) when I'm asleep and ever several weeks I fear closing my eyes. I don't willingly surrender to sleep. It only happens when I'm overcome with exhaustion.

Then emotions... Several weeks of not sleeping enough amplifies and distorts them. They come in flashes, like photographers leaping out from behind doors trying to catch me by surprise.

Exposed.

Exposed?

Exposed.

Unprepared.

Raw.

Like torn flesh on the knees and elbows. Movement opens them. Stretches and lifts scabs.

Vulnerable might be the better word, and I am definitely struggling for the appropriate words. I've become incompetent, after much practice, at expressing emotions. The wrong words come or no words come at all. They're all pushed back in my throat.

It's fucked up to wake up every other night feeling like you're dying, but knowing it's unlikely.

(This isn't helping.)

Are you okay, MacGregor?

No, actually I'm not okay. 

Wednesday, May 09, 2018

Thursday, April 26, 2018

Thank you.

I had come to a place where I was no longer curious and didn't know exactly what was missing. I was restless and discontent. Thank you for reminding me.

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Practice makes perfect.


It's so small, sometimes imperceptible, and yet in that speck of light, there are moments of weightlessness, or moments of crushing gravity. It can seem vast, to the point where limits are incomprehensible; or it can seem suffocating. I find very few neutral moments in the present. It is one or the other for me. Both ends of the spectrum are, or can be, terrifying. Being in the moment can be like ceasing to exist.

There is a weird intuitive thing that happens, where it snaps in that I am so insignificant that I don't exist at all, or never have, or never will.

But it doesn't matter.

There will come a day when it will be like I was never really here. Anyone that has any memory of me will be long gone, and nobody will remember them either.

But it doesn't matter.

That's the beauty of it really, that in that speck of light, the struggle to matter disappears as if it were never really there, and it wasn't really. It was in my head. I can just sit there and be, as long as I forget limits and limitations.

It doesn't fucking matter.

There was the moment where all that existed in the whole universe was the warmth radiating from her back as we lay there, my body wrapped around her and her head tucked beneath my chin, our legs tangled.

Spooning.

There was the warmth radiating from her back, and the way her hair smelled and and and sweat-damp sheets, and she never said she loved me and I never said I loved her and they were only words and it's only now that I realize we never used the words, which doesn't mean we didn't feel what the words would have meant.

It doesn't matter.

One day it will be as if we we never existed and nobody will remember us. We won't even be family stories around a dinner table. Nobody will say anything like your great-great-grandfather. The family lineage and the timeline were only ever imaginary. 

And it doesn't matter. 

Sunday, April 15, 2018

To sleep, perchance to...

There are advantages to getting more sleep, and one of them is of course that it is often better sleep. Better sleep often means more dreams. The problem with that is that more dreams often doesn't translate to better dreams. One streamed through in the wee hours that left me feeling...

No, it left me knowing.

It left me knowing that there will always be more unpleasantness to unpack. This isn't the time, nor place, 4:30 a.m. on a public, if archaic (by all digital standards) forum to get into it. There are details involving people...

Involving people whom...

With whom, there is still an unwritten contract that their details aren't spilled recklessly into the ether.  There is too much backstory anyway.

The bigger part of this story, my story, is the realization that there's still so much more to sort out. You never get through all of it, you know, but it was jarring to wake up to a realization that after years of work, only the surface has been scratched. It left me with a sort of 'fuck this' feeling.

Fuck this.