The thing is, though, when you listen too carefully, too closely, day after day, to that pain, to that keening, it can take a toll. Because to really listen is to feel it, isn’t it? Therapists are taught not to own the pain, not to take on the pain, but instead to simply observe it, at a distance. And you do, for a time. And then you don’t. Then you begin to let it in, to live it, if only for a moment. How can you not feel it some days? There’s a person and you’re asking them to talk about the most painful thing that’s ever happened. Do that day after day and tell me you might not want to walk outside and bum a cigarette off someone, a thing you kicked long ago, taking deep drags, feeling the thick smoke in your lungs, the instant nicotine buzz, while trying to let go of someone else’s death, wondering why the world doesn’t stop ...
there it is, a small desire: I want a cigarette. if loose tobacco were a thing you could still buy
 |
I tried to eat a bagel and just lopped off a chunk of finger instead. my phone is blowing up over that stupid picnic flag shit and I just can't. and I am not making Ears do it for me, he picked the table off the ground already and I am just STOPPING TRYING that just makes everything worse and worse and worse. I can't any more I just end up bleeding all over fuck and in even more pain. I have to just be in pain. full time until I get that done. that's it. back to naked reading except for the now bloody bandage throbbing like fuck |
