ruiner

When the crack lets a bit of light in, the ruiner pours oil. When the hands grip tight and hold on, the ruiner cuts the rope. When the words are formed, the ruiner erases language. The ruiner holds the mirror. The ruiner provides an essential function.

*

Sometimes to get out of bed is a victory. Sometimes nothing weighs more heavily than the thought of going back to bed, even if that's the only place you can imagine being.

*

There are moments when I am sure decay is starting to set in. When my mouth can no longer form words correctly, when concepts are no longer linking in my mind, when my hands shake with enough subtlety to be unseen but cause me to drop things. I think of Sylvia Plath after electroshock and her suicide attempt, when she could not even read. Her high school teacher brought a word game and they worked until she could recognize the alphabet again. Such a tremendous act of love. No idea is more frightening to me than losing the ability to think...except to be alive in thought but the body unable to communicate. Sylvia was young. I am not. The only high school teacher who would teach me language died almost two decades ago. It's not about the shadows. It's not about the emptiness. It's about strings of life no longer tying together, instead drifting unconnected into the ether.

*

I've always been able to do things. It scares me when I cannot, because of an invisible weight. When the invisible becomes physical. Weight inside of bones. I tried to rearrange a room today. I put together a shelf and could do no more. The room lies unfinished. I stood in the middle of it for ten minutes, trying to move forward. To pick something up, to put something down. To move an object from one place to a different place. I was not successful. I had drank two swallows from a beer earlier. I dumped the rest down the sink and turned the lights off. I have not returned to the room since.

*

I dreamt heavily last night. All of the dreams involved communication: trying to communicate emotions and importance to others. To forge a connection. I ate heavily yesterday. Today I have eaten very little. I have taken two long walks. I am thankful that my legs work, that I can lift a foot and put it back down.