I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed today. I”ve been working since 7:30. Hyper-focused, I fixed a problem with the group project, re saved it in a pdf format, and responded to some frantic 1am emails from a classmate when she couldn’t turn the assignment in. I started writing another paper, cleaned the bathroom, put away the clean dishes, mopped the kitchen floor, made the bed, wiped up messes, checked emails, called the pharmacy, made a list, lost the list, got dressed, started sorting the laundry, looked up the one email that listed alternative contact methods and sent a classmate a text to look at her email for the receipt. i swept the house, waited for some response so i could be away from my laptop, and tried to meditate.
i’ve been sub dropping for days.
The damp air has made my body burn. i’m annoyed with myself. i can feel my brain slipping in and out my ability to focus sliding away. My body is moving in slow motion and is making it clear just how offended it is that i’m even breathing. i don’t have time for this fibro shit today. The pain is making me nauseous. i fade in and out, try to go to my happy place, the one where i am covered in Sir Raven’s welts and the pain is beautiful.
Yesterday, as we walked through the gardens, i gently stroked the flowers with eager fingertips. Sir Raven tells me not to, but in a tone like she is speaking to a naughty child, and so i respond that it is the only way i can understand what the flower is about. And then i trip over an uneven stone because that is what being blind is.
She reminds me that i am not the only one who faces these burdens, these pains. i nod and remind her that i know blindness is a team sport.
Then i read her post, her worries post, and i think dryly that racism is a team sport as well. Because a lot of those worries are about racism and the fear that something will attack you that you will never see coming. Sort of like blindness.
She can’t fully understand how it feels to fight an illness that makes you less than you ever thought you could be.
i can’t fully understand how it feels to be black, or a “dyke”, in America.
Except we can, really, in the ways that count.
You don’t ever quite get away from these things. Not even in your own home, with the door locked. The weight of it is enormous. I am constantly evaluating the level of our safety, as lesbians who dare to be different races, in this world. She is constantly evaluating the safety of my environment and the level of my pain.
The only time these things are put aside, for me, is when she is using me, when we merge into one. Because when we are One, nothing can hurt us in that space.