Don’t. Touch. Me.Posted: November 9, 2011
My ribcage is breaking and collapsing and closing in on itself.
OK, so it probably isn’t, but it feels like it is. I have a pain in the middle of my chest that feels exactly like all of the bones are trying to crawl their way further inside me, taking the skin with them. I’m way too close to the surface. I need to go inside, draw all of my extremities in, make myself as small and dense as possible.
Small, so no-one sees me. Dense, so I am unbreakable.
Since I appear to be evolving, I think I might grow some spikes too. Why not? Spikes like those cactuses (I know, cacti, but it’s so wanky) that look like they’ve rolled around in cotton wool. Spikes that sting if you ever-so-gently stroke them, and hurt like a bitch if you actually grab them.
I can feel my blood moving in my veins, at least in my upper arms. It feels like it’s boiling, bubbling, fizzing. It’s really fucking angry blood, and it’s making me hold myself rigidly: Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare fucking touch me.
I sleep like a curled-up woodlouse – tightly wrapped, rigid.
I suspect all of this is another outward manifestation of an inner ‘grace’. I suspect it is my body’s way of holding in all of the anger, pain, disappointment, sadness, anxiety, injustice and grief of the last year . I suspect very bad things will happen if I let it all out.
So I’m going inside for a bit.