you look. i feel. you look how i feel.

crewdson

This Thursday, a day when the sun comes out in bathroom breaks and then encloses herself again is heightened. The only good thing to come out of depressive episodes triggered (I am guessing by little to no sleep these last few days) is the heightened heights of everything. I see my fingers in a different way, my chair, and this Gregory Crewdson photograph I have witnessed so many innumerable times is different. Different today.

In this I do not see the societal message today, I see myself. My complete and utter domestic displaced feeling. Like my living room’s a circus and my kitchen’s a slaughterhouse. So many things surround me in my tangible rooms — things that evoke horror and sadness. Even getting rid of them entirely, still I see a ghost of its shape: a small rectangle from a deck of cards I tore to pieces, the ghost of a beer glass I broke accidentally-on-purpose, a bag of sugar, a sleeve of mints that sat on my bookcase for 6 months. In getting rid of the physical we are only doing that. Just that. There are everywhere and everyday ghosts, bursting into our ears, eyes, and breaking into our minds as if we were an open carnival in a lonely town.

Most of this started late Friday night. Well, in the middle of the night. He was breathing next to me. He was warm. I was cold and felt like I had died and hadn’t been discovered yet. But I was alive. I had a reflection in the bathroom mirror. Water ran over my hands as I rubbed them together. And in my eyes I saw the facade. The facade so many have accused me of having, was there, plain as my nipples sitting innocently just inches below. I thought of tard stick postcard shelves, doing my dishes, cleaning my closet like these were events that could bend time, effect the lot of us, and kill me all at once. In Ann Arbor the next day, I was in a fog. Walking behind the love of my life and a best friend, I was the ghost I had seen in the mirror very early that morning. During the Anne Waldman reading all I could think: “Clean Americans. Clean Americans.” And I felt like a ghost whose life had been a joke, mundane like a crumb under a refrigerator. Up and down. Alive and dead. Then, now.

Now this place again. I see this emotional place as a room. In this room, I have witnessed so much. The look of this room is very similar — I have just suddenly realized — to the Crewdson photo. When I realized this only moments ago, it was enough to make me scream. On Saturday, my mind kept saying, too: Scream and cry, same time. Scream and cry, same time. Is it any wonder this happened today? No. It is no wonder.

In this room. Last year. Just before my birthday like last year, I sensed deep hurt, the deep kind that has physical feeling — like something in my chest got stuck in a car door; those seconds of intense pain followed by swelling, throbbing majesty of pain across all senses, in all places.

In this room. I thought he broke my heart since I thought … had convinced myself … I was in love. And it was all so stupid. Looking back now, I wonder how I ever ever ever thought I was in love. Instead, I was “in desperate.” I didn’t want to be alone. Lived in fear of it and so would settle for anything warm and breathing. And I did. And it almost killed me. Truly. Friends are good for saving your life. In my complete fear of being alone, I was willing to be alone and in the role of wait wait waiting while the bad man played like a termite in an outhouse.

And I was in my house. My room. My birthday came like a shot in the heart. There was blood shed and regrets that dug deeper than anything I had ever known. Regret that was horrible because it was over every single thought I had, feeling I felt, and word I had uttered for two years — from April 2006-April 2008. Almost every single day. And every single moment. All of this evident only now, a year later. Maybe birthdays do make one wiser. Funny how so much horror has happened on my birthdays, in April, that “cruelest month.”

And now. I sit and reflect on how much has happened for me. Good things. Goodness returned completely. Only weeks after my horrible birthday moments gifted upon me in April 2008, this. Complete love and also friends returning to me. And art. Art becoming a true reality. A city on a horizon and I can see it breathing just as my warm sweet lover does.

This is to be my first true and beautiful birthday since it is not merely shreds of me, but all of me. I will be back together by then. Ready to carry on like a happy fanatic in love. For absolute and complete real this time. And forever.

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Published in: on March 26, 2009 at 8:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

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