Addict

The buzz of the needle that makes me feel color

Mixed media by Tippy Ki Yay

The pain reaches a crescendo that lingers a little too long, like a high-pitched note ringing in my ear after dancing too close to the speakers. I try to pinpoint my focus on my breath, in and out, but all I can think about is steak knives ripping me open, sawing me in half. Like a magic trick. Ta-dah.

I’m thinking, this is going on for too long. And then I think it again.

Finally, the pain cuts off like a switch. My body relaxes. My grip loosens on the pillow duct taped inside a garbage bag.

I’ve felt this pain a thousand times before. I’ve memorized the way my body tenses and locks to the sound of the vibrating needle. The way I try to focus on what’s happening, or not focus on it, or count to ten, or try to breathe, or hold my breath, or do just about anything else — it doesn’t matter. Nothing helps.

Pain is weird. Pain always covers a greater surface area than you think it does. I feel pain fill every pore. I feel it stretch across my tongue and squeeze between my toes.

“80 chickens,” my artist says to me.

“What?”

“That’s how many chickens you need to cure your depression.”

“Okay.”