Lately I am burdened by the irrational but looming feeling that I am going to die very soon. That everything is just about to come to a halt, my life dismally and arbitrarily truncated. I feel this strange terror all the time, my heart races, skips beats. I can't breathe properly. In social situations I cannot speak, there is a layer of cotton separating me from the others. It does not help these ominous obsessions that I keep getting sick (again with the eye and the nose thing) or that I feel so for some reason goddamned lonely right now.
Today is a beautiful spring day and I spend the whole thing in the fucking walk-in (since I can't get in with my new GP till the end of May) and then at a fucking ophthalmologist in Lexington. The scrubbed, shaved, hairgelled, mauve-lipped German resident tries to tell me what's up with my body, "Jah, shtudies are showing zat yellow discharge does not always mean an infection!" and before I know it Jesus I'm bawling again asking to speak to a real doctor and saying please just someone tell me why I've been sick for over four months now. Instead all I get is "Well, we should figure out what's at the root of all this. Here are some eye-drops," or, "Wow, that usually only happens to people with HIV." I say it is extremely unlikely that I have HIV since both me and my boyfriend were recently tested. They say, "Have some eye-drops."
So I call in to work for the second time ever even though I've worked sicker than this before and skipping work tonight means I'm going to be broke this week by the time I get home my body aches so bad and my heart is skipping every other beat even though I'm at rest and intend to stay at rest that I take a nap and when I wake up I take a shower and bring over D's clothes and make eggs there and we watch Twin Peaks while I write like two paragraphs and I talk a little about how I've felt lately and he is nice and understanding and I think I calm down but then as we're going to sleep my heart starts just to pound and pound and I can't breathe and no matter how he holds me I just can't I just hear every noise so loud and I can only think of this time as it stretches on and how Lord I am some disgusting pathetic fuck, and Fuck I know he sees it, and everyone sees it, and how could he care or feel for anything he sees to be like I am, and how can anyone.
I am spinning around in the blankets and I keep waking him up which must make him hate me more and certainly makes me hate me more. I wish more than almost anything right now that I could just feel safe and curl up in his arms and go to sleep with him like a normal woman but everything just gets louder and I know my worth and it's not this and besides, I know I am disgusting anyway and fuck how can anyone be attracted to such a sickly, lame, swollen, limping, mucous-dripping, melancholy, crying thing? My tossing and turning keeps waking him up and this makes me hate myself and makes me sure he hates me, and suddenly I am caught by the fact that no man has ever bought me flowers (except yes remember Thade bought you that sunflower in Germany when you took him back and you left it in the pitcher in the pastel blue quaintly rococo hostel room when you left). He is awake now and I ask in breath-whisper, "Do you normally give your girlfriends flowers? You seem like that type," and he says, "Sure, sometimes," and I am just thinking "Yes but not with me, because I don't invite that. I am not the type to get flowers, because I do not need, do not exist. I am object only and not actor. Maybe I am too strong to require flowers."
Yes I am feeling sorry for myself and I know so many have it so much worse and hey, spend some time in Africa or the Projects or the Army and then talk to me and blah blah blah, but fuck if we don't feel sorry for ourselves who will? Not the suited strangers drinking coffee from paper cups sinking down into the T stations or the orange-wax grinning faces on the television or our busy oh so important friends or the vast silver godless procrustean sky.
Then it is 1:30am and I am driving home crying like a madperson thinking "I'd still be at work right now, but I'm not. I'm not doing anything," and my body hurts and fuck I'm just like crying and crying and loudly, too, just like wailing because that's the only thing that feels good. I try to remember back in the fall and early winter when everything was so good for a couple of months, until January brought this sliding decline. I wonder will I live my whole life for a few months here and there of happiness and normally I think yes that is beautiful, but right now I can't remember the last time I felt so alone.
But then I guess we die alone so hey, get used to it. At least you may scream at the universe once in a while to let it know you take it personally and won't forgive and forget.