The French have a phrase for this (of course they do, who better to describe malaise?): ne pas être bien dans sa peau. I first encountered it in my HS French class reading Camus or a North African author whom I have forgotten in a ridiculous bout of shallow callowness.
"Je ne suis pas bien dans ma peau."
I can just hear her saying that. "My skin hurts." I think Joplin had the same pain, and Hendrix. Morrison as well. And Cobain. All dead at 27. Such a fucking waste.
Rest in peace little girl. I am choosing to imagine you and Pearl with your arms thrown around each other, open-throated and comfortable in your skin.
5 comments:
Whatever. She got exactly what she wanted. We should all be so lucky.
How oddly unkind of you, Ben.
Hardly. I have little sympathy for a drug addict who had every opportunity, ability, and resource to improve herself who refused to do so despite lots and lots of people pushing her to do precisely that. Like I said, she got exactly what she wanted. That's more than most people can say. I feel bad for the people who cared about her, which she was clearly not one of.
I hear ya, Ben. This is a beautifully written little post, Aine, I like it a lot.
Haha, James! You outted me! But thank you, you've been an incredibly supportive reader.
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