9:20 p.m. - 08/15/02
black holes.
I told the doctor there are black holes in my head; I'm glad to say I don't think this pleased him. certainly, the minefields I tiptoe past have lessened this last year, but should there still be this unpredictable capability of my mind to collapse upon itself, taking all rational response with it? sometimes, when I look in my own head, I can't find what has happened, what will happen, or even how I feel. sometimes, there is a flash of craziness, and everything is gone.
it's in these moments when I gauge my stability on the loudness of the air. the pulsing of invisible soundwaves bursts like thunder in my brain; my head aches with it. and I don't know how to put this into words for him. how frightening it is, or how frightening it would be if I could access any emotion at the time. I wish I could articulate it, but what could he respond? that we will work to define this, too- to discover its intricacies as well - that certainly there is some protection in it? my brain collapses to protect itself. from something. but afterward there is no memory of anything, there is no explanation to link, no analysis to stumble on. because afterwards there is nothing. and I don't know enough about black holes to continue the metaphor. but I don't know how a brain comes out of collapsing without some damage done.
he gave me a survey to take if I felt up to it, something to help explain what might be going on for me, what I still struggle with, beyond the points we know. one of the true-false questions read I don't believe my brain is functioning properly and what was I supposed to say? my brain doesn't deserve an inferiority complex; it does its best, I'm sure - but I'd rather not believe that this is normal. I'd rather not believe that crashing and spinning and cycling and frying is normal. honestly...?
it's similar to what I used to experience before the meds, when I felt I'd done something wrong. a crashing, a lightning in my brain. it felt like the nerve core had been violently struck sending shocks of pain through my head and down my spine. now, it's dulled, it's gone (gone?) but I look around searching for the pain, like something should be there and isn't, like nothing shouldn't be there, and is...
I'm not making this up. I'm not looking for problems; there is enough to finish without more pain. but sometimes I can't find my head. sometimes for no reason, suddenly, the hope is gone, the purpose is gone, the support, the peace, the faith all disappear, and I'm left to be ravaged by the circumstances and the memories. And it's then that everything difficult I dealt with becomes unbearable. It's then that Dixie still hasn't written about the hospital time, Sara and I haven't talked, there's nothing I can do for anyone, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry amplifies until I have to fall asleep or let it take away my breathing after all.
It's then that, for what I'm sure can't be the first time but has the impact all the same - I remember what happened to Tracy is not a fiction not a fantasy not a metaphor. What happened to Tracy was a curt one syllable blade of a word. Everything spins around and I either lose all gravity or implode, surrender safety, risk losing everything to a force that, even afterward, I will not recognize...
?
chord
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