written sometime this summer during writing group

i don’t know what i’m doing.

i need you to know that i’m full of everything and it’s hard to parse out the next thing to do, to write, to say, like undoing the giant jenga tower, looking for the right piece to keep it in tact and my brain imagines it in a way that looks like if i remove the wrong block all my bones will fall into a pile, into the sack that is my human skin bag, all my soft fleshy parts vulnerable and exposed. How did a divine being think a ribcage was enough to keep the heart safe?

i want to d/evolve back into a turtle, a former life, roll back evolution because being human is hard and complex and sometimes the strategy of “do the next best thing” still sucks.

i’ve been hungry my entire life and i started a medication that has turned that off and three days in i am falling apart without that hunger and it’s showing me who i am now, a reflection on who i was, like how zoloft showed me who i could be if i could take a deep breath. Is this medicine or a mistake? i look at Bean, who will do anything for a snack, who lives life in wait for his next meal and now that I am no longer the same, will he choose to be someone else’s familiar?

i don’t know what to fill my emptiness with now, if not food, if not weed, if not coping mechanisms, then what? a walk in the woods? that has never been me.