Sunday, June 3, 2012

Essay on Shame #2

The eyes of everyone I imagine stack up like a wolf spider's to be ashamed of me. I don't want anyone to know I did, said, thought, failed, betrayed. I want to have not done it, never done it. To be the kind of person who has never. Who would not. Whose mind it wouldn't even cross. This makes me think the solution is to become very still. If I don't move at all, maybe the wolf spider won't know I'm alive.

When I'm ashamed, I say furiously to myself, "You deserve to die." Well, I will die. So that problem has actually been solved for me. I enjoy being alive, except when I make a mistake, when shame informs me that it would be wrong for me to enjoy anything--pervades me, cold and heavy, driving all other airs away from my vicinity.

Solutions are so appealing. Like dioramas. A place, and a relation, to restore, in perfect stillness. Nothing to be ashamed of.

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