Content Warning / Trigger Warning! for rape, depression?, anxiety?, PTSD?, thinking about death… spoilers for I May Destroy You… but yeah the sexual assault.
This is written in response watching the I May Destroy You episode “Line Spectrum Border”. I did have plans to eat proscuitto I bought earlier this week (with some tomatoes and mozzarella cheese) before I knew Italy was going to be a part of this episode. Thank you endlessly, Michaela Coel. And the employees at Trader Joe’s. I have tried to stop eating pork, but I also think we won’t be able to eat pigs at all in 10 years so I’m trying to be present, enjoy the moment. And on that note:
As I wrote to in a furious Twitter message after watching the fourth episode of this same show:
“The week you raped me one day it took me all my energy all day to take a shower. And as i laid on the tub floor hysterically crying, i suddenly saw my choice. I could metaphorically drown in this or I could pull all the strength in my being together and do my best to live. So i’ve been doing that.”
This has been one of the hardest years of human life since I’ve been a part of it. A barrage of loss, suffering, fear, illness… It’s not Saturn and it’s not Mars, it’s suffering and it’s malice. I don’t even think I fear death like I once did; not my own. Maybe I don’t even quite fear the death of others either, but instead I fear the experience of loss, the way we lose others’. And I fear a painful death. But if snap, cut to black, I were to die? I don’t know— that doesn’t scare me as much. Because I’ve been here. I am here. What will here be in a day, a month, a year? A flower in sidewalk cracks or an endless dried up sea of trash?
And… I have gotten up when I have felt the weight of an unseeable, seething, lethal bomb. Perhaps when I stood up, it encased my body in its lethal nature, and perhaps I am cycling with that nature, a part of the atomic bomb fog that seems to grow stronger with every fiery car crash dying and every fascist flower blooming and every coin disappear from every wishing well and every monster under every bed in every house making its residence known, screaming, “I have always lived here with you, and you must see me now but I will not be paying any of the rent, damn it!”
But I stood up, stayed wet. And sometimes… a lot of the times, I find myself laying down again, crying hysterically, tears becoming a sea. But I make the choice. I choose to swim. I am wet, and I will stay wet, moisturized and hydrating, until the day I dry up into dust.
the and times 