All tagged mental health

Sweaty Duvet

Today she is not getting out of bed. She is not lazy. She’s not tired. She’s not interested in sex. There’s no one else in her bed. She’s not heartbroken and she doesn’t have a cold. Still, she is not getting out of bed.

Straight Lines

Each question got closer to the point: Was she a bad mother? Phyllis couldn’t think of any traditions. They didn’t go to church. They celebrated Christmas and Thanksgiving, sometimes colored Easter eggs, but those seemed too generic to be considered cultural traditions.

Nice Twitter

Anyway, around this time I read a story about a professor who got fired for his tweets about Israel. The college world is supposed to be leftist, supposed to be progressive, and I was in the process of applying for jobs in academia. My Twitter feed was just politics, Batman, the Milwaukee Brewers, and jokes.

Mice

There is a mouse in my toe and he comes out at night and whispers in my ear all the better ways I could have done everything I did that day. And there is no negotiating with this mouse—the mouse is right and needs to be listened to because if he isn’t I might go to sleep feeling comfortable and maybe confident and I just wouldn’t know what to do with myself. 

Little Beat

You play the panyo. The pan-pee-an-yo. The piano. You pick out the notes with your tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth. Your fingers are chubby with baby fat. When you reach for a B, they slip. You miss the note.

We Are All at Risk

Some people live like this until they don't live anymore. And then their bodies are peeled from the ceiling and bundled into caskets. Charcoal-gray suits and church dresses lined with lead to hold them still. Weight created so they are compliant and present in death as they weren't in life. Sometimes during the service these methods fail and the body bumps up against the lid and wavers a little, a sideways fish tank fish rocking stiff and lifeless against the glass. 

FAY WRAY

There are people who believe they have quills growing beneath their skin, she says. They can feel them. What if I had sharp quills on my knees and elbows, spines on my wrists. I can’t stop thinking about that device they invented in South Africa to punish rapists—it fits inside an orifice and has teeth that tear apart a penis if it penetrates. What if my body could destroy anything that entered it.

20 Tips for Your First Abortion

1. It does not matter if you were on birth control, if you forgot just this once, or if you didn’t think at all. It does not matter if it was your husband, your boyfriend, or someone who was really working those olive corduroy pants. You are pregnant. And you are the one that is freaking the fuck out. 

Inflammation

Marjorie woke that day with a distinct pain in her right ear—it was someone talking about her—isn’t that what they said? Your ears ring when someone is talking about you? But this wasn’t a ringing—it was a pain, deep. It seemed to radiate from her inner ear to the back of her throat and into the small glands of her neck.

Mrs. Greenwood's Jelly

Love in a vacuum, Dorothy thought. Love in the mail. Love in a blender. She almost laughed, then remembered she was pretending to sleep. Every morning, she waited for John to leave like this, listing out ways to contain and distort love.

All Natural and Safe

Before they “met” (i.e., “pinged” each other on the forum, leading to the exchange of off-thread “private messages” and eventually a virtual consummation of real names and email addresses) and fell in love (via Gchat, on July 9, 2:36 a.m., when he typed his first “<3” and she responded with “ditto” and the kissy-faced emoticon “:-*”) both had resigned to lives of quiet, gadget-filled despair.

The Age of Biology

See the slug with the throbbing antenna. It climbs up a tall piece of grass, the tallest it can find. The slug’s weight is lopsided, one brown-green antenna throbbing red. It climbs and climbs, up towards the sun, its arch nemesis. It can feel itself drying out, its protective slime starting to stiffen. It cannot stop.

Rearrange

I have a four-day week. I pull morning glory on the north, east, south, and west boundary of my property on successive days. On the fourth day, at West, I quit.

Butterfly Garden

Her mother’s dealer had skipped town. Moved elsewhere. To some other state. To another country, even. Jackie had barely come inside and hung up her winter coat, and here was her mother, standing in front of her, four foot eleven, her bony wrists hanging at her sides.