sitting on the floor
By: anaïs peterson
i’ve gotten good at locating my energy. a jumble swirled like the scribbles of someone trying to get the
last drop of ink out of their pen. in the morning it tends to sit behind my belly button, i do not always feel
grounded. when i trace it it never travels up past my heart. when i draw self-portraits of tulips i’ve started
to add roots.
yesterday, the employee at hocus pocus told me to compartmentalize more. he said it would help me deal
with the bad energy and placed a stone good for aries, stress relief, and available for $3.00 into my right
hand. i bought the bloodstone for aries, pisces, and anger relief for $2.75.
when i go to therapy i will tell them i bring my whole self into spaces (olivia told me that’s a risky move).
i will tell them i have decided the problem is not disassociation. there’s a weight to carrying myself that
i’ve yet to put down. maybe when i go to therapy they will tell me atlas got 12 hours of sleep a night.
it’s not that i am not in tune with my emotions. i feel anger in the tightness just left of my sternum that
makes my heart beat so hard i see my pulse through my chest. i’ve started to feel anxiety in my left arm,
it's a numb feeling that makes me think that maybe my limbs are made from lead and i am having a heart
attack.
i’m very in tune with all the versions of myself, the girl, the woman, the force of nature. as someone bad
at goodbyes, i’m in conversation with the versions i don’t want. i see all 3 when i look in the mirror. they
are like a good set of tupperware or russian dolls. they nest, some could say neatly.
i’m borrowing bits and pieces of people who are not me. caution! gender in the mirror is more disjointed
than it appears. i’ll give them all back when i find my own.
Composition with three figures - fragment 1932 // Fernand Léger