harvest moon orange
Sitting under harvest moon orange
Geometric waves of blue carpeting the floor
Green stalks of coupled leaves growing diagonal
Curled up on an enormous brown couch
I should’ve known better, I should’ve known better
Veils covering frames covering views
View framed by lids veiled by salt ocean water
Ocean waves the shape of hills in their regularity
Couch floating on top of watery hills that carpet the room
I shouldn’t be feeling this. There’s no reason to cry.
DrB sitting in his chair on a shaggy carpet of green
Green like land like stability like the foundation of civilizations
There are three chairs in the room: two for the patient, one for DrB
I always choose the couch, but never lie on it
I’m having trouble regulating my emotions
I think you have trouble feeling that any of your emotions are valid.
Space. The final frontier. Space. To feel safe.
Sitting under harvest moon orange.
Actually, I imagine it’s how Spock would decorate his room.
There’s bronze sculpture, grotesque dolls with nails sticking everywhere
I should’ve known better, I shouldn’t be feeling this
Books, reproductions of paintings, two butterflies carefully preserved,
Glass orbs, mask with the face exposed, plants, yellow scarves,
All carefully placed, logic and aesthetic in arrangement,
Violence and beauty balanced under harvest moon orange
What does crying mean to you, J?
Space. The final frontier. We talk about Star Trek a lot.
It helps me understand, recontextualize the volatile
In a way that isn’t so threatening. Safe.
That room, it’s safe to feel and talk about emotions.
What does crying mean to you, J?
Crying is helplessness, fucking vulnerability.
Crying is when he went in for the kill, when he’d pour it on
and I could do nothing to stop it. He’d rip me open.
The only safe place to cry is in a dark room, alone, so no one knows.
That’s fucked up. Do you want me to turn the lights off and leave?
No. I shouldn’t be feeling this. He doesn’t get to do this to me
I’m not there anymore, he doesn’t get to destroy me like this
I should’ve known better. I should’ve known better.
I should be over this. I should be fucking over this.
You’re angry at yourself. Why do you feel like you should be over this?
Because there are people out there without jobs,
Children kidnapped, murders, rapes, people starving,
There’re people with terminal illnesses, dying,
Wars going on, people enslaved-
You’re trying to make your problems disappear by trivializing them.
I’m worried about you. I’m worried you might harm yourself.
I’m in control, I’m in control, I’m in control
He doesn’t get to do this to me, no one gets to do this to me
Withdraw withdraw, control control, stop crying
Stop now. Stop now. Stop NOW
I thought of it. But the thought of suicide’s usually enough. Calm descends.
Sitting under harvest moon orange
Curled up on an enormous brown couch
Listening to DrB deconstruct my emotions
Logically, methodically, analytically. Rationally
This will pass. It always does. But my first reaction is to withdraw
From everything, everyone. I isolate myself in mindspace
Go days without human contact, without speaking
That’s the only safe place. Space, black and empty
But... I’m human. Right? I need... things.
This will pass. It always does. Withdraw, but it will pass.
We talk a lot about what it means to be emotionless.
Data, Spock, Vulcans. Supercomputers.
We talk about violence: Klingons, Romulans.
Some things can’t be reparsed into Trekspeak
Sometimes I reread what I’ve written.
He asks me questions. I feel by thinking. Asks me,
If you had known better, what you do? What would you do differently?
Easy answer. I would lock down, turn off emotions
Stop hoping, stop wanting, stop eating, just thinking
I don’t recognize that person. They want so much to live. They’re so determined.
We deconstruct my father. Analyze my mother. Consider society.
Once he asked me, have you ever thought of loving yourself?
I stared at him, like he’d sprouted three heads.
I don’t need shit like that. I don’t need anything from anyone.
They want things. They’re so determined.
Well, they had to be, to survive what you did.
Fuck love. Fuck emotions. I’m done. We’re through.
And yet,
Sitting under harvest moon orange
DrB makes me laugh, saying,
“It’s a good thing McCoy wasn’t a psychiatrist, or he’d be like,
‘Spock, you have some very strong feelings about not feeling.’
And then Spock would get defensive,
‘Oh yeah? Well, I’m like, ten times stronger than you.
I can like, make you unconscious with like a pinch.’”
For some reason, DrB likes to recast Spock as a valley girl.
It’s hilarious.
“J.”
Session’s over, get up from the enormous brown couch
Leave the harvest moon orange
“If you think of killing yourself, don’t. Call me.”
“Okay.”
Pause before stepping out.
“Thanks.”