Sunday, March 29, 2020

Observations From Inside

I feel a doll sized effigy of myself padding around in the room of my chest.
Wall to wall to wall to wall to wall.

Mourning doves fly back and forth between the swollen trees outside. One flutters to perch. Soon, the other comes to join it. They sit for a while. The first is restless, relocates. Soon the second follows. Repeat.

You want to be alone, but when you imagine being truly alone, you thank the Stars for the dove that won't leave you be.

Why is isolation at home hard, I think to myself? It's not very different than my regular life, in ways. I needed the break and the sleep. My natural sleep pattern is unveiled as considerably different than the one I've inhabited for years now.

When I look outside, the shine of the sun can seem wretched. I know I'm not the only one. When I went outside to be in the sun once, it made my throat tight for hours, I don't know why.

I keep thinking about what I remember of the accounts of prisoners in solitary confinement. How its inhumane, how it's used as punishment. How prisoners lose their sense of time and reality and sanity.
I'm not in prison. Isn't it strange how much of sanity is just habit? How quickly lack of habit becomes unnerving. How forced relaxation doesn't feel the same as voluntary relaxation. The steps are nearly identical, the dances alien to one another.

I take my wedding ring off. I look at it. I put it back on.

Imagine if you didn't live with your most beloved ones and had to weigh whether it was essential to see them. What kind of love is safe? Killing for love. Imagine it.

When I surrender to the urges of my emotion, I lay on the floor. I used a box of Rice R Roni as a cushion while my husband pet my shoulder. Someone called me tightly wound one time, and I'm still smoldering about it, giving my well grounded excuses and explanations whenever it comes to mind. Imagine me unwound.

(by Sara Hagale @shagey_)

I don't know how to read the curve graph. I haven't really tried and I don't want to you to explain it to me.

I'm biting my tongue at almost every opportunity. I'm trying not to tell my kids to be more quiet. Now and always, because I don't know why quiet has to be so important to me all the time. I don't want that to stick in their minds about me.

I wonder if I'll be different after this. I don't think it's been long enough yet. I think the cement in the me-shaped mold is stiff already. It hurts when the edges are chipped. So far, I still worry that I'm not doing enough. So far, I still want normal (the Before version) life to be slower. This time feels like holding a breath, and when we let it out, it will be a dream soon forgotten. I speak for myself that I know.

How tiresome the encouragement can become. How hollow the jokes. How irksome the "could be worsers", the "check your privilegers". Of course. Of course. Go away. Put your mouth in isolation. Is what you meant to say, "I'm scared too?"

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