The Fear

This week, I have mostly written poetry. I’ve done Ops for poetry too (sitting in a Zoom room and summarizing things other people have said) and this afternoon, in a space I’ve not been in for over a year, I read poetry to a bunch of complete strangers. Nothing has gone disastrously wrong, I have not embarrassed myself, and this is why the last two weeks seem to have lasted forever.

Every time I want to convince myself that everything is fucked and also something is on fire, common sense has interceded to remind me that no, you don’t get to catastrophize when there’s nothing going wrong. That’s not how this works. Instead, I must attempt to unravel the mental stress on a brain that knows everything is totally fine, but is still utterly fucked.

How do we do this? Tomorrow I am not doing social media, or new poems [*], or indeed anything else. Tomorrow might be Lego building, or sewing, or possibly drawing. It will involve weights too. On Monday, I will give blood, and we’ll spend the rest of the week in semi shutdown. I like this part of my life because I am legitimately allowed to eat and not feel any kind of societally-enforced guilt as I am regenerating my actual form of survival.

[*] I have a pre-written one to post to Strava as part of my weekly routine now. I’m also gonna skip TikTok and YouTube because yes, that’s how much I need the rest.

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