heavy

my limbs
are weighed down by procrastination
the fear of failure
the lure of temorary insanity

i'd like to bait them free, hang feathery bits
on trees, the car, perhaps even
people
just to get myself out of my gray lake
but it's not going to happen
alone

so i sit typing
each finger, one thousand pounds
sinking into your keyboard
i should be typing
on my own but i can't
move
three feet
west.

***

today is my doctor day. i have an appointment at 1030 am but i'll be leaving around 10 in order that i might arrive early, to be safe. this time i will bring a book; last time i didn't and there was only one parenting magazine.

today i'm very nervous. perhaps that is what is inspiring the feeling of simultaneously being free of everything and weighted down by all of life's generalties.

i'm terrified that there's something wrong that cannot be fixed. with my body, with my brain, with my beloved. who is only my beloved--i'm not exactly beloved by him at the time being. i'm scared that i have poisoned our relationship, but i know that to be in a relationship there has to be two people--two individuals coming together. and right now, we're not two individuals. we're barely one person spread thin between two people.

i'm scared that the doctor won't understand that i'm depressed, and that i don't know how to fix it. i'm scared of crying all the time, of bleeding all the time, of having to just live in limbo forever. i don't know why it takes things like this to wake me up; why can't i wake up on my own and see that there is a need for help?

why does it take such great pain?

i think about that quote from babylon 5, about how the only way to grow is to constantly go through states of pain, in which you are being born. i try to focus and hang onto that quote because it brings me sanity. finding that bit of sanity reminds me of getting water at my grandma altobelli's house, on hot days when i was a kid--it was always in this greenish container with a white spigot in her fridge, and tasted so cold and so crisp and slightly metallic.

maybe it reminds me of easier times, when perhaps whatever it is that is flawed between my brain cells was dormant.

these past few years have been difficult. lots of tumultuous things happening--trying this relationship with dan again, moving to the Cities, being away from friends, dad's heart bypass surgery, my cat slowly wasting away, my car slowly wasting away, more surgery with dad, his imminent retirement, and now my uncle, dying, or clinging to life.

understanding that i'm probably depressed.

despite what the websites say, it does feel like something to be ashamed of. it's like, why can't i deal with the problems i have? why can't i face life? why is joy so fleeting? does it have to be? is it like this for everyone? does everyone feel worth so little? i feel like burdening my problems on someone else is just weakness.

but maybe that's my dad talking, when i was young. "why are you crying? i'll give you something to cry about..." etcetera. i'm afraid of the reprecussions--what if i lose this creative vein that is tapped when i am feeling down? what if i can only write poetry and fiction when i'm depressed? does being depressed open up channels to the creative spoodge of the universe and make my hands move in nouns and verbs?

i'm afraid to find out.

i'm afraid to change my world--despite the fact that it's not what i want, and despite the fact that my relationship is not healthy, i'm terrified to lose what i have. i'm usually not open to change, especially when it's not my choice of change. i don't like not having options. i don't like being forced into one thing or another.

but the other day, thursday, dan made me face a lot of things that i think have been hidden behind my gray veil for a long time, made me be honest about us and me and him. and the thing that i remember thinking, when he said that he would be open to outside help, was that i was so glad because that meant maybe i could have help, too.

i never thought about needing it. i never thought i did. but i think i do. and at this juncture, i'm more afraid of hurting than i am of changing.

so i'm going to the doctor. it's my big day. i'm going to find out what's wrong with my uterus and tell my doctor that i think i'm depressed. and we'll see what i find out.

the part of kim that's afraid of life is curled up in a corner trying not to cry, not to be ashamed, not to be embarrassed.

the part of kim that loves exploring things and learning is keyed up.

heavy and weightless. drowning and reaching for the lifeguard. closing one door and opening another. trying to be born, i guess.