Sick, but took 5 minutes to do this.
The train jostled him from one lonely moment to the next.
The train car was quiet. Just about everyone was a sleep or was falling into it. There was nothing outside the windows. Darkness and the occasional flicker of light. He was empty.
The open-ended feeling in his stomach was the pain of loneliness. He clutched his bag as if it would hold him back. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough the bag would absorb his sadness. Regrettably his efforts were no reciprocated.
How? How did he continually end up here? Close. Slam. Shut. The doors to love, companionship, affection, repeatedly shut in his face. Is it his karma? Is he unlovable? Is he simply unwanted?
The train doors are open. The air is warm, but not inviting. Where would it invite him to anyway? Further sadness? Deeper disappointment? Ugh, never mind.
The bed is soft. The darkness familiar. The loneliness his own. Lights out. Again.
(5.11.19)
My aesthetic is crying in beautiful places.
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That’s what I felt myself starting to do. Spin. Emotionally I was unraveling and I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. The spiral of separation anxiety and depression was now unvavoidable and it had pulled me in.
Nothing I was feeling mad any sense. Dance. Die. Dance. Die. How is that I simultaneously wanted to dance and die... Ah, I get it now. Both of them looked like freedom to me.
I was flying, right down the highway. My music loud and my body swinging around behind the steering wheel without a seatbelt. Maybe I’ll crash. Maybe I won’t. But maybe I will. Why are these thoughts plaguing me, when all I want is to feel better?
“Come to the door! Let’s go to a wild bar!” I couldn’t decide where I wanted to land. I just didn’t want to feel. First glass of one, chugged. Second glass of wine, chugged. Third glass, never finished. At this point I was dancing to the appropriately leveled music, wanting it to be louder so I could drown myself out. The last voice I wanted to hear was my own. I never made it to the bar, but I was clearly trying to turn this living room into my own dance floor.
Finally I was coming down. The concert inside me was on its last performance, which was going to be a somber ballad. My eyes were wet, but no tears were making it down my cheekbones. “Don’t forget me.” Last text of the night. An indirect reminder that I might leave it all behind. I’m tired now, and this couch is wide open... I’ll just rest for a bit.
Morning came in cool and forgiving, the same could not be said of me. I felt the pangs of sadness floating around my chest. I didn’t want this feeling to consume me, so I rushed home. No mistakes were made last night, but I certainly didn’t feel good about how it all went down. At this point I just want the spinning to stop.
(10.20.17)
I'm so proud of this!
Here it is!