Member-only story
Making words match what I want to say is hard today.
I’m not sure I even want to find flow, even thinking about moving is repulsive. I curl further into myself, let my eyelids droop, not because I am tired—I am weary.
Cold and alone, I’m not sure I don’t want that, but I know I can’t survive this way for long.
How long?
Until I get some relief—if only I knew what real, lasting relief felt like.
I don’t want to feel.
Feeling hurts right now.
The feeling of my curled spine pulling back muscles too taught, the bones in my feet and pelvis pinching flesh against bench.
The feeling of road vibrations again eardrum punctuated by splashing fountain—white noise that’s supposed to be soothing is still noise.
My big toe is asleep.
I’m forced to move.
Like the water in front of me, movement must move to maintain life.
Maybe that’s why I keep thinking I want to die. Maybe what I really want is to just be still.
Begin the journey toward finding FLOE with part one.
