Nausea

NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA.

The overwhelming, chaotic dimension of the physical. I would rather be asleep or to violate this nauseating reality that has crept between the boundaries of inside and outside.

The only time to relax, there was a man wearing nothing but a tiny thong and boots. The shitty plastic glasses that came with the cheap bottle of wine that we can’t help but spill on ourselves. I would rather be there. Being anywhere else makes me feel sick.

I want to be elsewhere, but my body rejects it. And I reject my body. I don’t even want to think or believe there is such a thing as my body. I will be sick from the realisation that the inside and outside are separate, but they are merging, intertwining realities. I want to be back in that honest place.

DON’T GET SICK. TRY AND STOP YOUR HANDS FROM TREMBLING. I AM FINE.

I zone out between the inside and outside, once again forgetting they are separated. Wanting to feel every part of you, so I don’t need to feel anything. Your dare that I could not possibly hurt you made me feel free, free to look after you whilst hurting you.

I want to keep you outside of me for now, all of you. Outside of my thoughts, talking but still outside. I forget about all of you. In isolation, I was surrounded, I was outside, and now I want to retreat to somewhere in between. You could get out of the straps holding you down on the St. Andrew’s Cross, but what if next time, all of you, could not? Will I hurt you then?

THE TABLE. THE COUPLE. THE STRAP-ON. … I COULD BREATHE.

In your funny little world of bureaucracy. I wanted to get out of your bed then. I don’t want to know you; I want to know the soft bed that I escaped to that morning. Listening to boring government meetings. White wine. The Soviet flag above the bed.

I WANT TO FORGET ABOUT ALL OF YOU. I WANT TO BE BACK THERE ON THE LEATHER COUCHES WATCHING HER GO DOWN ON HIM WHILST EVERYONE STUMBLED AROUND THEM JUST TRYING TO BUY SOME DRINKS.

Thinking about it helps stop feeling the

NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA. NAUSEA.

I cannot go on like this. I need to think about something else. Go back to that place. Even the word body or health makes me feel like I am being strapped down to the earth underneath me.

Thinking of the black leather couches. Thinking of the lake I was too scared to swim across, the slimy ground, I feel nauseous. I want to hug you, but you’re in Chile. We barely even talk anymore. I will visit one day. We can cook together, maybe I’ll be able to drive by then.

BREATHING. RELIEF.

BREATHING.