prose

druglove

I’m addicted to you.

I would think that those are the words I would want to hear from my beloved, my lover, my soulmate. But I really, honestly don’t.

Because I was (am still) addicted to you.

Your touch, your scent, your voice, your eyes, your hands, your gait.

Kill me softly, tenderly, violently, explosively, I must be whispering.

On the inside, I really don’t want that at all. I am just an addict trying to wean myself off of you and I am deathly afraid of relapsing.

I’m addicted to you.

But that doesn’t mean I love you.

A Song to Taste: “Hotel Andrea” by blackbear
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poetry

video

i'm trying to fill this void by
constantly losing myself to poignant lyrics,
         (everyone feels this at some point)
endlessly scrolling through snapshots of acquaintances,
         (they're always frozen in happiness)
laboriously piecing together words,
         (am i really doing it for me?)
slowly going through my day at my desk job,
         (i couldn't be a workaholic even if i tried)
feverishly distracting myself with too many conversations,
         (some are better than others)
repeatedly filling my days with anything and everything,
         (it's okay to want to feel)
casually dancing with sweaty strangers,
         (and barely sipping booze while doing so)
completely avoiding any real intimacy,
         (i may actually be repulsed by it now)
just so i can finally find my way back to
you
me.
A Song to Taste: “Visions of Gideon” by Sufjan Stevens
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prose

me after you

Here’s what I’ve learned:

  • Sometimes it’s better to have fun and not think so much about everything I’m doing
  • It’s easy to be callous and much harder to stay honest
  • It hurts when I embrace spiny and uncomfortable truths
  • It hurts even more when I believe in soft and warm lies
  • Sometimes I don’t need to write something poignant and luscious
  • Sometimes I just need to write for myself, simply and blandly
  • Even if I fill my days with activities and other errands, it won’t stop me from feeling the void
  • It’s important to look at that void and talk to it with compassion and loving kindness
  • Some days I need to cry
  • Other days I need to smile
  • I can choose either one and I can still love myself for it
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prose

sangre

I slashed my wrists. Both of them. Still feeling pain, still not seeing enough blood. I don’t think there’s any blood at all. It feels great though. Something against my skin. To distract. Maybe even to get rid of the agony. Still slashing and scratching. No one’s here now. My ex is downstairs upset with me, washing dishes. My roommate is next door. No one would know. It seems like no one cares, and why should they? There’s too much of life going on and I’m powerless to it all. They say I have power. What if I don’t want it? I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know myself. I don’t know why I’m here. Some people say don’t question it and go with the flow. For some reason, no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I’ve slashed enough of my wrists to bleed out my entire body. But I’m still not fainting. Not in and out of consciousness. I look down and see I’ve grabbed a red pen instead. Took the knife upstairs but somehow put it aside and used a pen. I read that somewhere in some article. They say I don’t have healthy coping skills. I’m still slashing my wrists with the pen. Maybe this time it’ll work. It doesn’t.

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prose

friendly

You decided to do something different. You were going to sit across from me instead of next to me. You said you wanted to make it convivial—(of an atmosphere or event) friendly, lively, and enjoyable. You are very pleased with yourself. ‘I wasn’t aware of this plan,’ I say. ‘I don’t need to let you know,’ you reply. I don’t see it that way for some reason.

You wait by the bus stop and I stand next to you. You tell me not to hide how I’m actually feeling. I feel like I’ve been showing everything to you this whole time.

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prose

into the black

This whole time I’ve been trying to avoid all things negative. Negative feelings, negative situations, negative people. I don’t know how to deal with negativity. In fact, I’m absolutely terrified of what I’ll become when I’m faced with negativity.

I know this reflects on what I remember from my childhood. Expressive angry father, silent meek mother, volatile headstrong grandmother. Watching from the crack of a door my older sister being beaten by my father. Freezing in place while my ex-stepfather groped me one night. Learning that he cheated on my mother with a woman who also had three daughters. I guess I felt abandoned one too many times. I guess a stable foundation wasn’t built when I was a child.

Now my twenty-three year old self must deal with the aftermath. I haven’t been dealing with all feelings, “good” or “bad.” I haven’t been giving myself permission to feel how I’m feeling, to let it all happen naturally, because I always felt that I was losing control and I couldn’t accept that. It turns out I’m not actually controlling anything (never have been). All I can control is how I’m feeling and accepting that I’m feeling that way.

So how am I feeling? No judgments here.

I’m feeling in despair. I feel like my heart has been torn out of my chest and shredded into a thousand pieces. I feel crushed, like I’m suffocating from my own weight. I feel grief because I’ve lost you. I feel alone but I keep misconstruing it as being lonely. I feel like an open wound, one that continues to reopen every time I look or talk to you.

That’s how I’m feeling.

A Song to Taste: Love is Rare by Tom Day & Monsoonsiren
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