Tuesday, February 16, 2016

heathcliff.

i faint a limp body, cathy. that's me there- see?- defeated, awaiting the oncoming trains i know will mow this faint limp body- the oncoming trains i know i'll survive and yes it will once again be miraculous. "what is that?" people who see this miraculous limp faint body will say- as though it's an art they observe. it is that time again, cathy. i worry over how life is unfair, then stop myself, because fairness hadn't been bothering me before- not since right before the last train. i shiver.
i've done everything i've been told i need to- and what's more, i was tenacious. and all these doctors have done is switch up their sugar pills they so kindly donate to my body. i chose to take those damn bon bons because i love polluting my body. like a sword swallower, i am- upon removing the sword from my body, carefully and slowly, i hand it to them, coated in my mucus- "my body is still intact".
they told me to be brave, not to "panic". put the sword down my throat again. lose my regained ability to purge.
i go to the counselor for them to bare my epiphanies for me, to me. these epiphanies don't touch why i panic how i do- how i have one nervous breakdown, go to a place to protect myself from hurting myself, but i cannot escape the nervous breakdowns- over and over and over, like one car of a train to the next, the world repeats itself. i become exhausted from surviving alongside a wicked bride of terror striking my mind. that mind becomes too much to live for- to be terrorized, and deserving of it, and i can't make the belief stop- my own epiphanies override those of anyone else. they give me food. they nourish a body i know so little about, limp on train tracks, surviving the hit of rushing trains, always in a hurry.
and for their sake, for their years of corrective education, they remind me they need me to take their sugar pills, for the sake of their careers meaning something to them; for the sake of their careers being worth more than just the paycheck. they need proof. and when you need proof you need to ruin everything in your path.
they need proof their equations make sense. "nothing makes sense," they said last time, "the equation should make sense, not you."

"i'm resentful toward you because of my life," i said. "i've done everything i'm supposed to, as usual, and i've become resentful again."

now is the time when i have nothing left to say or do. again.

i never got "better" cathy. as you know, wise in your death you must be, "better" is unreal; indicative of a restless, lurking, unresolved problem. 'tis time again, cathy, for my resentments toward myself to bury me someplace already polluted (i am terrible for the environment).
it is time for me to experience the storming independence you too once did, cathy.