When I begin to think about it too intently, and recall how it unfolded, and where the feelings lie, and every day spent curled up in bed in the basement, and running through the park to run away from everything unfolding, lying, curling up in a basement bed, when I recount on two hands the number of times I dreaded the day, four a.m., defeat, defeat, repeat, curled up in bed…
…and trembling, he-who-he-who-he-who’ing until my breathing leveled, de-anxietating, talking myself down to a dull sleep, a song, a happy thought I couldn’t fathom, all brought on by a photograph, an accomplishment, a succession of stark epiphanies. You don’t want to eat, or speak, or become well—you want to curl up in your basement bed and feel defeated—and I did. When I think too intently I recall, I was defeated.
And I could turn off the lights and slowly, he-who-he-who-he-who myself to sleep.
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