Bad things happen to me more and more. I think it is because It causes them to happen. People avoid me because of It. You can see it on the bus. It drives people away from me. It scares people. People anxiously pull their children away from me, frightened of It. I have an odor I cannot wash off of me, no matter how hard I scrub myself in the shower, the odor of It.
It puts a knife into my heart and it breaks open and bleeds and bleeds all over my body and soul. I have blood on my hands and I saw this blood when I was on the bus today. It is blood from my broken heart.
I put my feelings, which I could no longer bear to feel, into a box today, closed the lid, and locked the box. I brought the locked box to therapy and set the box on a table. I explained to my therapist what was in the box. She knew I couldn’t open it, not today, maybe not for a long, long time. I do not want to feel.
I can control my feelings because It controls my thoughts. Even when I am not experiencing It, this is the case. I choose to control the small part of myself that I still have control over. It owns the rest.
It makes me do things sometimes, too. I cannot reveal the details of this to anyone right now…nor can I reveal the mechanism by which this takes place, or what, exactly, It makes me do. Please do not try to guess, because you will surely guess wrong.
Today on the subway, I told myself I must always hide. I told myself I should always have a long, bulky jacket to wear, even in summertime, to hide myself. Last summer, I always hid my skinny arms. Now, I must hide my entire body, even my face. I must keep my head bowed, and keep my jacket zipped over my neck.
When I am influenced by It, I keep my eyes only one foot in front of me. I cannot control this. I bump into people. This, of course, cannot be helped, either. For these moments, and for other times, I have practiced and practiced the line, “Sorry, disabled.” So I will say this if I bump into someone. I have had to use the line…once…on the bus. Lately, I haven’t been bumping into people. This is because they are avoiding It.
In the subway on Friday, I was so afraid I’d go over the edge onto the tracks at the Red Line the other day that I ended up taking the elevator instead of the stairs. Then I took the stairs out of the station. I had my line prepared: “Sorry, my voices are bothering me,” but I didn’t have to say this to anyone. Then after I walked out of the station, I kept my head way, way down.
I keep my head down a lot these days. Maybe it’s because I don’t need to see. Maybe it’s because I don’t want anyone to see me. Maybe it’s because seeing is believing. Maybe it’s because if you look someone in the eye, it means death.
If you’re interested in my book, This Hunger Is Secret: My Journeys Through Mental Illness and Wellness, see the upper part of the sidebar (on the right) and click on the book purchase link to see an excerpt. This will take you to the publisher’s website. The paperback will be coming out…eventually…not sure when. Click here to go to my home site and see more excerpts.