Into October

Summer ended and immediately after the equinox, Nature dropped the temperatures here to a refreshing Autumn chill. Some days had a certain bite to them, a pervasive humidity with the very hint of ice crystals on its edge. Some days were simply beautiful, a gentle, cool breeze blowing, the smell of the world changing just beginning to start. The end of September was, for myriad reasons, very lovely.

I started to pull out the Halloween decor, just little bits of things to keep out in small, designated places. A gargoyle I’d recently purchased for very little money got an offering of tea leaves in the hopes that he would grant me good dreams — he has, but whether it is the offering or the love given in transforming his color from silver shimmer to greys spanning from purple in the dark to teal, and blue for the highlight, I simply do not know. Masks and other accents have made their way out and I wonder what to do with them. There is some grand idea for a plague doctor costume, but with the mutated, wrinkled face of a vulture, only that obtaining the proper costume itself has slipped out of possibility by now. Other quality, but surprisingly cheap, plastic masks have made their way into my home and I am left wondering how to repaint this ‘raven’ skull that inexplicably looks like a Jason Voorhees hockey mask. I find myself drawn to a combination of pheasants and absurd tones from the ‘shaders’ in a game.

The gargoyle gifts are pleasant. A dream here of something horrendous happening, a world-ending storm, but being in a safe place with people who are just doing good things for each other. Calming, secure, an intense feeling of the love floating about the room. Dreams of moments with important personal figures, the quality time that is oft overlooked. Dreams of grandeur provided by structures, designed by nature or by humans, being impressively and impossibly large in scale. A certain awe follows, a certain inspiration emerges from an otherwise foggy place.

I find the dreams to be a moment of respite from the waking world. A place where all hope is dashed, where the future seems unlikely and so there is no hope. Anxiety runs rampant. Feelings of worthlessness, loneliness, longing, seep into the depths of my mind, filling my thoughts with dark, demented figures that sit on my shoulders and weigh me down. Anxiety, creating a sense of needing to do something, anything, but having neither direction nor energy to start. My stomach aches, but whether this is from food being off combined with a garbage diet, or from stress, I do not know. I was ravenously hungry, and was disappointed at what the scale showed, especially leading up to another appointment. An appointment where I simply do not want to hear a word said about my weight — it is perfectly fine where it is both on me and with regard to whatever nonsensical diagrams we ignorantly try to apply to all bodies. More annoying, I could not see where the weight was, although after some observation it appeared to be slightly exaggerated swelling from PMDD Week. Perhaps muscle, but that is always wishful thinking.

There are some studies and statements about one’s ability to gain strength and muscle topping out in the thirties. It is a strange thing to tack onto a body that has been willing to build muscle quickly for some time, an overly exaggerated sense where simply breathing heavier puts that body directly into the line of wanting to build more. A bizarre state.

And the societal expectations still seem to want me to be waifish. A slender woman, somehow still feminine. Soft is also acceptable, provided the softness is in the right locations. Gentle curving from one area to the next. Muscle still seen as some brutish, masculine feature. Is muscle not ideally soft at rest? strength can never be overstated. A body that is strong for an individual’s purpose. That seems an ideal, and at this point for me, an ideal that is genuinely not that difficult to attain.

Anxiety wore down any defense I had. I was unable to sleep, unable to find the energy to make motions toward feeling better. An inherent desire for every carb in the house and then some. But it was PMDD Week, and the caloric requirements added on top of an already physically strenuous time were great enough to require such things. Carbs are happiness.

It was, however, an unwelcome first few steps into a month that should be marked by exuberance.

So I find myself again in the morning when I ought to be sleeping, waiting for numbing agents to take hold and allow me to bypass the obsessive thinking while lying in bed with no distraction, typing here. Thinking about my keyboard flashing orange, ‘black,’ green, violet, in the spirit of the month of Halloween. Wondering if, perhaps now that the cycle has started, that things will find their way back to normalcy.

The gate, the door of which opens occasionally, only for outward momentum, made of grotesque, fleshy material. The innards, those which we should not see, bearing the colors of our insides. It is a blood gate that expels death, vile, gruesome forms. Stretchy transparent tissue at the best of times, but thick, opaque bits of pink and purple at the worst. It is a terrible feeling.

As the gate opens, a shift happens. The purge takes with it all manner of exhaustion, anxiety, depression. Darkness only evident in a deep chalice of blood, the clearest indication that the renewal will turn into recovery.

I had not eaten enough in what I call my today. Feeling somewhat as though a sweeter bread would tide me over, I opened the forbidden bag of rolls I pretend not to eat. Returning to my room, I stuffed one to my nose to get a hit of that oddly appealing smell, only to find something terribly off with it. Pulling it away, the thin layer of chalky mold on it showed itself. A waste of a bread. The other option was something with whole seeds in it — highly preferable — but it did lack the certain charm of the slightly underbaked rolls.

Even now I am uncertain if more food would be good or not, but as the combination of anxiety-be-gone and sleep-please kicks in, the world spins and the energy required to put on any amount of clothing to scour for food has dissipated. It will be fine.

I hope beyond hope that October will begin to look up, as walking into it feeling restless, lonely, hungry, and exhausted has not made for a good first couple days.

I hope.


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Sheep Moth

Someone told me I was a good writer, so now I’m proving…something. Tend to one’s own flame, and do not extinguish the flames of others.