….it is the recoiling reverberation, like a backward spring-load, resounding in slow motion; this exhausting mental fugue that tremors in waves like an earth quake and becomes a physical exhaustion …. and the next time I check the time on the platinum watch the small hand is at seven
seven what? …. I do not know
but find I don’t care
sunk deep in the morass far far away ….where nobody can reach. nobody can get through these walls
…. nothing comes in
and they can’t hear the screams…. no, they can’t hear those …. nothing goes out
we are far away, deep in the morass where it is safe
we have been here before. sunk so deep. and time does not matter at all. there is no interest at all of anything. not even physical needs seem to present any pressing importance …. and yes, there are terms they call this; those scientific labels; psycho-sociological words invented by behavioralists to define and refine what is normal; who play with rats and monkeys and the occasional dog in labs doing their torture games to study and decide for all of us exactly what is —normal
what if you fling a normal person into an abnormal family in an abnormal society and then inflict a few freakish and violent events— and ask her: why can’t you just be normal? here, take a pill; be like us…. and pretend not to feel until you believe it. like we do. time heals they say. life times too?
I know their words, I studied them and got their degree; their handy DSM, I am more than familiar.
they decide
normal …. what is that? who is that? who’d want to be ….? so overrated …. I don’t care for it, I never believed in their conclusions to want a vocation for a field that could not even understand me ….could not even place me in their —statistics …. trail blazing indeed— Dr. Rothschild …. another way to say, you’re on your own, and good luck with that, with a smile of sympathy so they can sleep at night —keep your useless sympathy for those who want it and swallow self pity pills; a mad prescription to normal behavior
Oh Lady MacBeth, scrub it off!
….no, I’m not angry. there is no one to be angry at. I’m not angry. and why be angry when the world is busy shooting everyone up. Left, right, the republic of democracy …. what does it all mean? just delusions and ego over illusions of power but over what? over cheating death? Cheating the living. It’s so boring
and unkind….
so label me, I don’t care ….PTSD…. fuck all —and the next time I look at the face of the watch it says one
I must have slept and only now do I feel the pressure of my bladder for the first time ….I must be surfacing
….yet I don’t get up right way from where I’m sat on the floor. where I seem to have found comfort against the wall with the hoodie I’ve taken off, used to soften the corner of the wall and floor. I find my glasses nearby and put them on after rubbing my eyes. I try to clear the cobwebs from my head
and do a perfunctory inventory review of events —but robotically omitting emotion. just thought; think …. but it seems finally my bladder reminds me I’m human after all and in the end makes the exercise increasingly difficult to continue
I get up and stumble at first as it slowly dawns —realizing I have become weak— my head is weird; and decide I had better remind myself I am still alive. And carefully walk to the lavatory to perform a confirmation of the fact ….that so strangely— is propitious to support evidence of ….
and having done so, go about washing —first hands, face, using my fingers to scrub my teeth…. then stripping down to scrub just using the liquid soap in the dispenser and my hands, standing over the sink ….and then leaning over, wash my hair too.
the need to wash it all away; to own myself like a kind of baptism
I get dressed again.
There is no mirror so I use my fingers to feel and sort my hair, pulling some behind my ears and twisting the length of it into a coil and squeeze the excess water out into the sink, then pull the damp weight to one side over my left shoulder to dry and consciously make myself drink two cup fulls of water before I walk back out into the secret room
and straightening my spine, consciously lift up my chin and look into the room then walk back over to my spot on the floor to sit down soberly to think. and now as I sit there this time, when I look up, I notice a light I hadn’t seen…. that is, I don’t recall —unless I just was too distracted to be aware of it …. red and blinking up in the corner. where the wall meets the ceiling…. it might have been all along…. and escaped my notice
but after a moment I disregard it and stand back up and move to the doorway where I came through. I try to hear through it. But as before, I hear nothing through. I look to the latch and decide to test it —carefully fiddle with what seemed was the latch ….
Only now do I realize it does not open from this side and there is no keypad …. no actual door knob or latch…. and realize there is no way to open it…. and Jörn never mentioned this, and ….the secret wall had never shut with me
and for the next several moves of the small hand of the watch ….I try every possible way to find some key, some sign …. tapping the locket key to the back of the watch
but still there is no sign
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