Its hard to feel fabulous when you have malaria. Still, I sit here in fake eyelashes and red lipstick to make some sort of point to myself. Creativity is not extinct. It is only expunged.
I am on three synergistic antibiotics working to eradicate Babesia. I have been utterly debilitated, vomiting, and experimenting with freakish pain. People have laughed at the irony of such masochism, but I simply numb. Life used to feel so important. Now, it is a third eye blink in fundamentalist daylight. I find this issue terribly difficult. I am not content to watch my life pass, willing time to tuck itself in. Though, I feel there is no other palpable way for me at this vantage point.
I remember in high school, many of my friends utilized the term "rock bottom". I would laugh to myself, thinking even then- rock bottom doesn't really exist. Isn't that what we fear most? The utter solubility of infinite pain burrowed in the furrows. No, it isn't what we, as a culture, fear most. This idea is simply beyond our collective concept of pain. To me now, the term rock bottoms means: the moment in which the shatter occurs. Your ability to tolerate what leads you there may change, hopefully will alter after all. I've been at this place many times. I look behind and only feel wonder at the thought of what I have lived.