We talked. After about 72 hours of crying and yelling at people and hating ourselves, I got a maybe after telling her the same problems about the responsibilities and overwhelming problems won’t be a big deal if she were to move out and keep the relationship. At the least, we can always sleep over each others’ houses. The only thing we’d lose is each other in this lonely desperate planet.
I understand her pain of not knowing where to go in life and keeping up with work and classes and even depression, even though she may push people away who try to understand, I at least understand the emotions on her face. We are also the best of friends, always waking up and willing to tell each other what’s going on and what happened. We cry and and we laugh together.
We have great friends. Some want us to fix up and see something good come out of it, they all want us to feel better. If they can see the good in this, then it can’t possibly be as world-ending as people would think. Then again, luck is a double edged weapon.
I can at least say I did all I can for myself. And she can say one person didn’t give up. She won’t have to look back and feel so hopeless…
When firefighters want to extinguish a blaze, they often douse it with water. Astronauts on board the ISS, however, are experimenting with a form of water that does the opposite. Instead of stopping fire, this water helps start it.
"H2O: I’m sorry, but those carbonic links? It’s a bit low brow compared to simpler compounds." (starts flame war)
I’ve realized I’m the type of person who goes in cycles. I can’t have the constant on switch people at work like to have. Staying at the same job sucks for a year never mind the career twenty, and the worst parts of school never filter or drop out of the education systems. All I do these days is sit in the middle of things.
I suppose I’m essentially a thing these days.
Some of us have demons, the rest have issues. It’s a snapshot of small life on a dirt clot in space. Superficial. A pretty blue surface.
But I’m not that.
I don’t see today and tomorrow. I see next week in piles of dust and ash, sucked up and smoked away in the trays of waste with the glowing regrets standing out among the grey memories. I clearly don’t remember yesterday and the high school days of running away and being disowned by my own friends and my own family and my own thoughts. In time, everyone became the walking dead and I ended up chasing bodies to bury.
I’m a confession box with headphones stuck in, a pile of laundry I need to clean with only rain to seal the soil.
I don’t understand this eggshell-white wall shadow puppet play. The act I feel people put up with their powdered faces and lacquered lips doesn’t sit well with me. The fact I don’t sense something ugly underneath is disturbing. I’m nauseated by the drama-play of taking the ugly things and pretending like it’s memory and fable—as if it were dust and husks to blow to throw to the wind. It’s as if people were marked once and decided to work on the rest, hollowing out themselves until they were filled with an irreparable void. As if there was no substance and the ash was never some thing before it burnt away.
So as people burned up in the sound and fury, it was all just ash in the end. It became as nothing as dust on the surface. So I saw it.
I saw the letter in my girlfriend’s hands. My parking citation coming back in double. How the fuck am I going to pay rent, car insurance, and a citation on a part-time worker, full-time student, all-time indentured citizen? My body moved on its own as my mind wandered elsewhere.
Everything I owe based on snap judgments coming back to not haunt me—but to pull me by the hair into a basement of pressing walls and black residue destruction. This is where it all starts. Where someone asks for too much all at once. All this time I’ve been trying to stack myself up on decisions that would get me off the ground, away from people, away from nature, and away from the gravity that tethers us.
The next few moments were snapchat pictures on fast-forward. Where all you see are bits and pieces of sped up video footage where I floated up some flights of stairs to my dead end apartment. Where my foundations would burn leaving me choked before my choices decide to take me whole before destroying my insides first. Hurting all the things important to my heart.
Here I felt every struggle of a college student plus the struggle of 25+ year olds who couldn’t save themselves from drowning under the surface of smog and a corpse of society that may move and live and make noise, but is—in reality—shuddering before its timely death. Here I could only guess how I’ll simply leave my apartment and leave this life behind me—again—and leave for the sympathy of my sister or to take my pride and pack up for a road where many weary people go.
Sometimes pride disguises the guilt.
It hides the ashes of my dad and living on only to secretly hate myself for letting him go and bullying my humanity into the back of my skull while I shoved dad’s body into the cremation furnace. Defending myself to hide how threatened I feel on a constant basis. Always working to be a leader, never satisfied in feeling like he’s earned to be be reliant. Swearing to protect and take care but always feeling powerless. I’m just not here for the pity party. I want to know when the debt is gone.
Sometimes I think I do believe in a God, except that he just hates me and completely leaves me forgotten in time like children abandoned at a playground.
Or did I really shove my savior into that furnace myself?
Because I made those choices. Whether I really knew what was right or wrong. I did not pay for cancer treatment nor did I plan to be familiar with mistakes. I never knew how much money made me feel like my biggest mistake.