I don`t want music or glamour scenes
I don`t want flashing pictures
I don`t want to go looking and I don`t want to stay waiting
I don`t want the pain yet I`m doing nothing to stop it
I don`t want feasts and entertainment
When I get them, I float around and everything is colorful again,
but what can get me to want them again
I don`t want my favorite things
I don`t want my fingers to press the strings so hard it hurts
I don`t want to read Tove Janson by the window when it rains
I don`t want to spill what I feel, because after I do, it`s still in there
I don`t want the people I love
I don`t want anybody to touch me
I want to scream, but I don`t want it enough
I don`t want anybody not to touch me
I don`t want to be this person
and yet I am
I am I am I am
What is this place and why am I here
what is this feeling and why does it keep conquering me
who am I to be lost inside myself
who am I
I can put anything under the magnifying glass and so anything would become big, too big to handle
Every speck of dust, every cinder, every crack in the wall, every drop of blood, every tear
Enormous
What can you do if you are getting lost inside a single tear?
We are supposed to be handling this. All of us. We`ve been told so.
I don`t know how others are doing it. They have their ways and they can possibly share their ways.
But when you`re drowning in a drop of blood, nothing is relevant.
Everything is around me, above me, within me, pressing on me from all directions, weighting down on me with the weight of all the possible worlds.
I don`t want this.
It`s easy to know what you don`t want.
Your body is rejecting everything.
Ideas bounce off your mind like there is an invisible shield around it.
Only it`s not a shield, because what`s inside that has to be protected?
I know what I don`t want.
And I know help can come in various ways - like a gliding ship, like a small bird, like a darting dragonfly, like a cold palm on your forehead,
like shaking a nightmare off; and I know help can bring back the sensation of doing things in a sequence of natural movements, in a sequence of passion and weightlessness. The untamed power of being. I know help can make my skin react to raindrops again, make me search for songs and draw trees, make me walk, mimicking the speed of the clouds, make me long for mint tea and freshly squeezed fruit juice, and for a circle of laughter.
I know what help can do.
Only nothing can get me to want it.
