10 november

Not to brag but i've just had a pretty good shower. By myself. With no help. Hooray! Good for me! Sounds pathetic! Two months ago, six months ago, a year ago, I would have said that this was a ridiculous thing to be proud of. Actually two weeks ago, I would have been proud, and today I'm also proud. It's all relative, as my relatives would say. So yes, I took a shower, with hot water and everything, and manage not to fall over the entire time. I washed my hair, shaved my legs a little bit at least while avoiding bending over, and stepped out onto a towel that did not move. Most of the time I was thinking ‘Wow my legs are shaky I hope I don't fall I hope I don't fall I hope I don't fall.’ I know the idea of positive thinking is to focus on something good happening rather than the absence of something negative, because we have this thought that thinking about the negative makes it happen. As if talking about suicide to people will somehow suggest the idea to them. This is not the case. It's always better to talk about it if you think the need is there. I'm just saying. So I'm still alive and I did not fall in the shower. Is that because his medication is so effective? Is that because I thought continuously about not falling? Is that because nobody understands psychology? Is that because I ask so many questions? There are no answers.

I feel a bit like I’ve been put on ice. Like those long and slimy fish waiting in a market for someone to catch their eye and sling them along home, plus or minus guts, onto some sort of board with big knives and flashing scales and blades and a plating that leaves taste to be desired. Waiting for the bones to be snatched out at just the right moment. Or accidentally crunched to spark some whodunit. Says someone who doesn’t eat fish. And loves mysteries.

And yet. Even those unfortunate fish flung about Pike’s Place and other markets through rough hands and lingo and oily rank air land on crushed ice beds to gleam those dead eyes in a challenge at all comers. Graceful in their arcs. Waiting in the artificial light to be taken home to one final dark delivery. Caught and catching.

Which is to say: At some moments I feel the fish have it better. They don’t need to worry about false moves. They’re not concerned about which bones are connected to which others. They’re not wondering over the short- and long-term effects of the chemicals seeping through their systems. The short- and long-term future. The effect on others. The loss of independence. The death of stubbornness. The freeze of winter sidewalks and the need to be a grown-up. The fear of needing help.

Lucky fish.