18: January 2018 #13 - Headache
Authored by Joyce Nancy
by Joyce Nancy
The furniture is puffy and swollen with no edges & I bounce from thing to thing, foggy-eyed and drugged up on some aura I don’t understand. What this headache is is pushing the limits, is nausea, is keeping me dull, is forced dissociation. What I need is to get back to the cool dark soft room that has never existed or maybe has, but it’s hard for me to consider that—that a good thing, a kind easy thing was there when I was young and hurting. I’ve been talking a lot about doors about busted open locks about boundaries. Certain types of fear you don’t forget, like pursuit or captivity— a word I always mistake for meaning something more like solitude, isolation. I remember the cracked wood, plaster, whatever a doorframe is made of. It’s fine is what I keep saying because there are worse things to focus on, there’s always a worse thing and if you keep trying to find it you’ll go forever. Safety is a thing constructed— like a house or a poem. I’m trying my best to describe a migraine, a boundary violation, a certain type of headspace where the hurting keeps you just dull enough to feel safe.