the house with history

i am waiting for sleep when the walls start to fall down.

my leg kicks out an involuntary spasm and then two more. i count the pills i have taken. i think maybe it is anxiety but it is not. my sugar is crashing.

my body looks so whole. the parts that are missing were on the inside and looking at me, you might not guess that my appendix is gone, and my thyroid too.

i was whole once. i did not have nightmares.

they should take the pancreas, i think. it does not work anymore; occasionally it sputters out the insulin that everyone else's body makes without issue. it is frustrating when that happens because i have taken replacement insulin and so now my body is filled with too much insulin and i have to eat carbs and fat to absorb the overflow. i shake and sound drunk until i find food.

i never know the days the pancreas will want to work. i do not yet understand. is there an algorithm, a method? i do not know. i chart it, i count, i keep track. i use math and my body laughs.

tonight the walls fall down. the foundation lets out one last whiff of dust and so the house reacts. and i get dizzy and i crawl my way toward the refrigerator, full of juice and cheese and peanut butter and i eat the recommended amount until the dust settles and the numbers on my meter say okay, okay now.

i know this is no cure.