Yesterday I was made up of oyster guts.
Not a pearl, far from beautiful; I was the gooey, fleshy, tender, messy, undefined bits. It started around 4:00 pm, most of my responsibilities done for the day as the afternoon turned mushy and expired. I felt a little nauseous, I felt a little wayward, I felt a little sloppy.
Usually, as of late, I know how to navigate this feeling. But when it hit 5:00 pm, I realized I had spent the past hour scrolling every app on my phone, my insides feeling foreign and my apartment suffocating me with its unkempt monotony. So I resigned.
I would be oyster guts for the rest of the day. That was my choice. “Inaction is still an active decision,” the words of my therapist bouncing around my skull. I still don’t know if I fully agree.
Then it was 6 o’clock. I was meeting friends to go see a movie and I wanted to be anywhere but there, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to speak to other people, even close friends, not when I was oyster guts. When I’m this way, I don’t have the same social control. I don’t say things how I want them to. Other people feel threatening.
And yet, I could no longer stay in my apartment, because the walls were starting to drip with yuck and the bad taste in my mouth was worsening rapidly. My breath grew shaky, racing against the rattling in my ribs. Which part of me would vibrate fast enough to induce an explosion?
I did not want to find out the answer to that question.
So I scooped myself up, and it took several tries, as my arms were not quite effective at collecting the mass of me that had spilled out from the couch and grew stuck to the floor. It felt like I’d pick up part of me, then when I bent down to grab another slab, out slipped the first piece. After minutes that dragged, there I was, shell-less and oozing, held together by the fibers of my hoodie and sweatpants, squished into my running shoes. And I pleaded with my gelatinous body to firm up.
I walked to the train, past the same few blocks I always pass, and walking felt incorrect. Why were my legs moving like that? I was oyster guts pretending to behave like a human, but I hadn’t realized how unnatural it would feel once out into the world. I splattered into my train station, squelched out at my stop, and slunk to my destination.
Finally, I was at the movie theater. Finally, I could melt into the chair, no it didn’t recline, yes I had to hold my feet under my seat, because no I did not want anyone to trip over my sludge.
My friend next to me asked if I still felt anxious and I said yes and I smiled because I suddenly didn’t want him to be worried about me, I didn’t want anyone to be, I wanted to be flung into the ocean and enveloped by its vastness and unable to use any of the five human senses and be protected by a hard shell that could withstand an infinite number of tide changes.
My friend just saw my awkward smile, though, because I wasn’t oyster guts to him. And he took my hand in his, gave it a squeeze, and we turned to the movie’s opening credits.
oyster guts
❤️🦪
What a good friend