I’m messing up again, no not in the heroin-arms-call-me-baby kinda way, but in another if not more significant way. I’m messing up with the love of my life.
Mostly, I feel out of it, oblivious to his pain, knee deep in my own night sweats, my own anxieties. I know he needs me more than I need him right now. But I keep pulling him into my rib cage, he holds onto th bone bars and cries out, again, I feel nothing. Too medicated to realize I’m the one killing my only hope.
I need to get a job, but nigling doubts hold me back. I’m scared I’ll fail. He’s riding his hopes on this. He needs me to make the moolah because we’re stuck, he’s being sued, we might lose ththe car, wait wait I can’t crack, I need that job, I’m too weak, I’m sick, wait no I’m screaming inside screaming at the top of my lungs, my bones are cracking, I’m in doubt, were gonnna lose the car, were going to die without my job. We’re not going to make it this time.
I’ve built a wall around my mind, so not a single person may find me. I can’t read him. He can’t read me. We need to break the walls, bring out the trumpets, marry his kingdoms ruler to my queen, build trust. It’s so simple ain’t it? Ain’t it?
I can’t hold the details together, I can’t sew them into my seams. You said what? When was that? I forget. I don’t know. I’m going to hide now.
There must be a way to return to normality. To a time when he kisses me, touches me again, instead of me forcing my desperate lips onto his reluctant, miserable ones. When we can look with laughing eyes at each other, instead of tearful ones.
how do I go back? Or is it forward?
Knock me out every time they touch me
I wanna feel a kiss just crush me
And break me down
I haven’t written about Kevin yet. Steve and I broke up in December and it was really really tough. I cut my arms terribly and now have long, pink, puffy scars. It was the literal worst. I thought I was going to die so many times. I fantasized about it constantly. Then something incredible happened. My life was saved. I met Kevin online – I noticed him immediately on the site and messaged him. It was like magic – we connected instantly. Now we have been dating (in person) for about 2 months.
I’m scared of how hard I fell for him. I constantly question my feelings – are they real? is this really happening? I don’t know anymore. He cares about me like no one else – I don’t think I have ever been cared for so much. Sometimes I still think about Steve but it’s becoming harder and harder to remember him. It’s like Kevin is erasing that whole disaster. I remember bits and pieces. Foreheads touching, toads, flashes of memories that make me smile sadly.
I feel kindof sad today. I haven’t really been seeing things but I have been doing a lot of heroin. I don’t think I’m an addict yet though. I love it so much and I love that Kevin and I can get high together. It’s the absolute best to be able to be totally honest with someone. I’ve never had that in my whole life. really. I lie to everyone constantly. Even when I don’t have to, I lie. I don’t even feel bad about it.
I also haven’t been eating or sleeping. The eating isn’t really an issue though. I can live without eating much. I actually hate eating. It’s a waste of time, money and calories. I like sleeping though and not being able to sleep is really fucking me up. I stay awake in limbo for hours. Shock waves in my chest keep me from nodding off. The heroin helps immensely though. It’s the perfect drug. I don’t feel like I have an eating disorder but sometimes I really think I do. The amount of thinspo on my dash is proof enough.
Back to Kevin. I can honestly say I love him. Which is weird because I never thought I would be able to love anyone but Steve. Kevin literally swept me off my feet. He became everything so soon. I don’t quite trust it yet – but I want to oh I want to. We also have the best sex. Which helps alot. We haven’t really been doing anything because of all the dope and work and such but when we do it’s amazing.
I feel like I’m chasing something – like an idea or a ghost. I feel crazy a lot. I haven’t felt myself all week. I feel broken and bent and disordered. I feel like this is the consequence of some brain chemicals gone haywire. I feel especially moody. I feel like I should be writing poetry all day but I have homework to do that I have been putting off.
i like to think that no one knows what i am but i can’t hide forever. i want to be a teacher eventually – i think. it could just be the line i’ve been fed for so long that i believe its what i actually want. whatever. it’s not like i can ever even be that – one look at my medical records and i’d be fucked. the hospitalizations, the rehab, the (prescribed) drugs alone – it paints a picture of sickness that i can’t ever escape. i can’t ever escape it because it’s true. i am a mess.
i lost my boyfriend, the good boy that loved me once. i’m not sure if he does anymore – i don’t even know if he still thinks about me. he won’t answer my calls but the last thing he said to me was that if i finished rehab then we would be able to talk about “the possibility of getting back together.” but who knows, it’s probably a ploy to give me hope so i don’t kill myself on the spot. he probably thinks that me going to rehab will fix me and my dark thoughts but it wont. ill make sure of that. i have it all planned. as soon as we talk and it goes south, as it probably will – that’s it. i’m done.
i’d like to have hope but i just don’t. i’m going to rehab to check it off the list. i still smoke cigarettes but i have been clean since i ODed two or three weeks ago. i want to say i almost died, but i don’t think i did. i just lost my boyfriend and scared everyone. but next time won’t be a fuck up. the next time i go for suicide – i’m not going to fail. i’m sick of failures. it needs to be perfect, and it will be. gah i wish i had some acid and a locked colorful room for the rest of my life. i don’t want to go on without escape and i don’t think i can. someone at rehab is bound to have connections, they always do. if there is a time to do drugs its now, while steve is out of my life. now is the time. there is no salvation but there is escapism and that’s all i can go on for now.
i can’t even put into words how much i despise myself. i am worse than an addict, bipolar, ocd, rape-victim, eating disordered individual who probably has daddy issues. i am a girl who hurts literally everything in her path. i want to change that, but i fear it’s too late for me. one last desperate act will seal the deal and show the world the ugly little child i am and always have been. i just need a way out of this mess i call my life. i need to get out.
I’m sitting in class, foot tapping the floor while I scribble aimless words, shapes and faces in my notebook. I don’t think I’ve written a legitimate page of notes in this thing all semester.
I look out the window and the trees burn orange and bleed red. They look like skeletons and the grass is straw-yellow. It’s only a matter of time before winter reigns. Everything is so beautiful. The colors are so much more saturated. My eyes are fixated on this one couple smiling and laughing. Everything is lovely outside… But ugh this class is so…
“… and that means what?” I jerk my head up.
The teacher is staring at me.
“Uh … um…”
“Pay more attention to class and less to the window!” she scolded me.
I try to reply but suddenly I’m drowning. I can’t breathe, my mouth tries to form words and my tongue is thick and heavy. Knowledge of my inhaler pops into my head. Inhale. Exhale.
And stop. The sensation goes away. Too fixated on themselves to notice, the class proceeds forward, dragging me along.
I sneak a final peek out the window before returning to scribbling nothings in my notebook.
“Late teen girl. Found unconscious on the bathroom floor. Possible overdose. Heart-rate sinking to 52. Very pale and diaphoretic”
The gurney sped down the hospital corridor.
“She’s comatose. We’re intubating her now.”
It must have been muscle memory that walked me down the stairs and out of the building because I have no idea how I got here. Yes, indeed it had to be muscle memory. The very same that put this cigarette in my mouth and lit it.
Two shapes are talking, over each other, to me – so I end up unable to decipher either of their words. Things come back into focus. Elaine stands in front of me, alone.
“What happened to the other person?”
“No one was here but me…” she replied as she cocked one eyebrow up and rested her hand on my back. I felt obliged to agree. All my questions seemed to melt into oblivion as she blathered on about her psychological medical science class which amounted to a mess of spinal cords and behavioural patterns.
She calls me “Lexi” like an old friend. She calls herself nothing and the more I look at her, the more unfamiliar she becomes.
She looks over the edge of the bridge. I hear the words “Wake up” whispered close to my ear like the voice of God. Yet, feels like an earthquake. My body resonates, my shoulders ache and my feet are numb.
I’m not asleep. I can see her perfectly. She looks like a pale angel. Then I notice how she’s not Elaine, far from it. She has dark hair, a frail frame, horizon-blue eyes descended from Caribbean waters.
She looks exactly like I want to. The more I openly dissect her features, the faster she walks and the more I come to realize that she is my vision of perfection incarnate. I am following a trail of valium, ecstasy, Xanax, speed to catch up, to push forward, and to be like her. I haven’t realized yet that she’s not real, that I am. I’m losing my mind as I try to walk as fast as her, but I slip and fall. Hard. Balloons lift into the air. They spelled things like ‘Get Well Soon.’ Something smelled like dead flowers.