January 31, 2021

Last day of January. February is the worst month but at least it’s also the shortest month. And then it’ll be March. It’ll be spring.

I’m ready to not feel disoriented again. I want to feel present where I am, to commit to where my body is. Even if it’s hard to find sometimes.

February 17, 2021

I slept badly last night. My brain stopped working while I was still finishing up my presentation. I stared at a piece of dust and cobweb attached to the ceiling for way too long, trying to process what my eyes were seeing and decide whether it was a spider or not. Eventually, I had to give up and go to sleep, hope functions would fire in the correct order again after a few hours of sleep.

My mind was so loud and so in disarray, it took a while before I could sleep. And even then, I woke up in the middle of the night, still dreaming, and the world was shattered again. This time it was worse. It’s like the air itself was broken glass, pressing against me, choking and stifling me. Nothing of reality made sense to me and I didn’t think it ever would. It frightened me. I closed my eyes to go back to sleep just to hide from that madness. I feel like I know now what it feels like to have your mind unspool. It’s terrifying.

February 21, 2021

I’m sitting on the floor of my room in a transient patch of sunlight marveling at this small warmth and how it makes me feel suddenly bright and alive, rich with detail again. There are nights lately where I’m afraid to go to sleep and see how dark the morning will be.

February 23, 2021

In some small way, pandemic stripped me of the joy of having a body. Instead, my body became a weakness, an opening for disease to come in and work its horrible deeds through me. What is the good in having lungs if they can be used to draw in deadly virus? My body being in proximity of other bodies was also problematic. Just as I was learning to brush shoulders with strangers and rest my head against someone else’s, all of that became something to fear and avoid. My body as a source of joy to experience the world and other people – it’s not something I have dwelt on for very long because I have rarely thought of my body like that. Instead, it was a source of frustration because I could never feel entirely comfortable in it. A weight to be pushed against.

But it was made for joy too. It was made for light touches and not-so-light touches and for kissing and for being held. It was made for poisoning in all those wonderful ways we choose to poison ourselves. It was made for carrying me back to bed after it had exhausted itself singing, and dancing, for letting the night sky know that I am here, I am here, I gleam too, I am here.

February 24, 2021

I’m not emotionally available right now. Come back later!

February 26, 2021

I’m so bored. Falling asleep is boring. Waking up is boring. Everyone I talk to is boring. I feel myself about to make reckless decisions just to be reckless. I imagined getting old, dying alone. I imagined having kids. I imagined quitting my Ph.D. I imagined moving to Europe, for no other reason than to displace myself over and over again, like when an act of poetry or violence unsettles you into uncomfortable self-awareness.

This is where your body starts. This is where your soul ends.

Sometimes you want to be possessed by the place you live in.

February 27, 2021

We looked at churches and city hall, the record store, thrift store, gaming store, a vegetarian diner, murals, an alleyway between buildings where the walls were covered in spray paint. I got home absolutely exhausted, but so happy. Just uncomplicatedly happy, smiling easily, laughing easily.

Of all entries to end this journal with, I’m glad it is a hopeful one.