| Mood:- |
ancient |
| Music:- |
The songs of birds, people, and cars |
I remember weighing 88 pounds.
Like a clean-picked bone; jutting glass-shard geometrics poking about in that see-through linen skin. A white light feather, gliding on air currents; a paper doll; a failing hologram about to fade out. A dusty sepia print; ashes poured into a linear mold, tempting death. I was a dancing flower on a breath of wind, torn apart easily by the merciless withering inevitable with time. Nearly nothing, hardly there. Blank and skeletal, dark-eyed, soulless. It was not quite existing.
"As I dropped and dropped pounds, I began to feel cold and weary, as steam makes my head spin and my eyes dizzy, woozy from light and sound like a tunneling migraine through my nerves or a dream on a string, pulling up into black wisps. It all became distant, my movements slowed, the sand fell less enthusiastically in the hourglass than at first it had. Visions came to me masked and in bottles, a hazy and distorted vapor to confuse my senses, all was a dripping consciousness devoid of anything defined or absolute. It was an estranged existence, one like brambles or tendrils, every which way, creeping in and out of numbness. Sometimes it nauseated me to feel the aching in my sharp ribs, to watch as my body became concave and scarce like a burned and barren field. I was dark and sunken, ravaged by years I had not yet experienced. I felt too stretched and scratched like white noise, like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. It was an unbelievable feeling, almost ghostlike, I would float through the silent halls of my house like a spirit, so quiet and flowing, almost as if made of fragile glass or still water. It was a purity I will never quite understand, as I did then."
It was the falling down of the living, breathing structures that supported me at that point that made me lose my head. That what I depended on for a stable life could be so heartless as to relinquish itself of its duties and suicide when I clearly needed it to survive was not sensical to a girl already deranged. There was no pillar left standing to hold up what was once the triumphant happy Parthenon of sanity and truth, and all immediately became desperately skewn. Family burst. The shoulder to cry on disappeared. There was no one to confide in. The only person available was a mirror of myself, only different in some ways. So it was then that we made this pact, this silent oath never actually agreed upon; two beings separate but able to understand. So much resulted from this particular year that what I excerpted from my notebook barely covers anything. I suppose you could call it a brief summary of one aspect, but then, words don't even come close. They're just memories, dwindling now, but they flashed past me and I caught them. A movie. A photo. A souvenir of something I'd just like to forget. |
