Writing makes my mind fall (asleep), my muscles weaken to uselessness, my bones dissolve. I am suddenly no more.
Speaking has its limitations as well. I cannot monologue. I've attempted to talk into a microphone and say words to the recording machine- it is unknown to me how anyone can do that. Monologueing into a recording device is super-ego-reality, mirrored self chamber, maddeningly discomforting.
Typing this now and my mind starts to drift off, my mind plays a trick, decides I must now sleep. That unwanted program protecting against self-discovery. As if I were to type too far, if I put it down, sort it out, the layers shed, the masks fall away, a tape runs its course, programmed mind-body mechanisms revealed. I am an outdated useless machine.
If I were to force myself to reconcile my mind and body as the singleness of which they are, that would be grand. I admire those that do- I see amazing people- strong, fit, capable, work, think, write, craft, thrive. Wow. How Un-Me.