somatose

she convinced me to do it, and i'm probably better for it, not quite so inhisface, not quite so inyourface, not quite so eruptive, with fewer fuckyous for the world.

still, mouth dry, belly distended, lacerations inside my cheeks, i wonder if the effects aren't greater than i think. i wonder if the effects don't involve more than removing the edge from my mood.

i swore i'd never medicate my mind, but she said this was better than drinking myself into a stupor, better than cutting lines in the bathroom to make it through my classes, better than fucking everything i see or just fighting, fighting, fighting.

the sense of loss overwhelms me daily and i flail in search of solid footholds. the universe has done a number of me this fall, tainting my favorite time of year with yet another sorrow, now tempered with a sugaring of joy because i am a mrs. because i am a wife. because we shared our vows in the pouring rain, red dress stretched tautly over my necrotically blossoming womb, tears flavoring the lamb we ate with our fingers afterward, because he wrote such beautiful vows and read them from their ilegible placement on a crumpled citizen's bank envelope, because that day, despite its dreariness, made it seem like life would go on.

and now, soma on the brain, the stupid schlock of the semester still lingering behind me. i guess it will. colostomies await.