lethe

She wrapped her arms around my waist. And goddamn, I never wanted her to let go. I don't know how to make poetry out of this because the experience was poetry itself for me.

The night fell with a heavy clang, so beautifully out of tune, so harmonic to me. We drove miles and miles, into a familiar, sketchy downtown area, my old stomping ground, yet here I was with new people. The contrasts of the new and the old struck me harshly as we wandered the broken city streets, I remembered walking down these lanes with a different slew of people, people no long inhabiting my life. My new friends have taken their slots, the spots have been filled, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Last time I entered the dark, dingy hookah bar, I was with two distant friends, close in relativity, yet really we could not be further apart from one another- just an ex and a false acquaintance and myself. Months before this I entered the bar with two of my closest friends whom I haven't spoken to in months, maybe that's a good thing. On this night, though, I entered with three new friends, I've known them for two months, and I like them better than I ever thoug...

I remember nothing more than some meaningless cuddling, hands held with hesitation, and vomit soaked into cheap carpeting. Secrets spilled faster than the vodka on the floor, I held my breath listening, afraid of being infected with her trauma. And then a dream came, a scarier nightmare than what took place during the night itself. Stumbling, a skeletal bag of bones, drunk and high and sick and sorry, so fucking sorry. The sobs echoed through the wall. I fell asleep realizing that I love the girl next door more than I love the girl lying in bed with me.

I woke up feeling nothing but pangs of regret. Text messages of concern filtering through my phone, I wish I had saved some of the messages from last night, but perhaps it's best that I didn't. I should know better. I do know better. Yet I found myself still talking to him as if we were still together, nothing but sparse memories lingering every time his name pops up on my phone. I wanted to cry, I wanted to swallow myself whole, I wanted to die. My friends looked after me instead, taking out the garbage bag as I threw up all of my stomach's contents or lack thereof, caring for me as the acid in my body began to loathe me. My entire chest began to burn, it still burns, perhaps it's making up for not burning the previous night. I say "never again," but I know I never follow my own advice.

"Chug, chug, chug." It poured down my throat, but I barely tasted it still. I was already emotionally numb, this alcohol couldn't burn me any more than my insides already were. The first one was long, we didn't time it, but perhaps we should have. The second one was thirteen seconds, perhaps a bit longer. The third was barely worthy of counting. The fourth was a shot and nothing more. I was gone, I felt gone, I knew I was gone. I didn't plan on this either, and perhaps that's the most disappointing part of it. I told myself just a chug, just a sip, just a little bit. I didn't think I would spiral so downward, so fast, so out of control, everything spinning and I spun along with my own destruction. I curled up on the bed, everyone danced around me while I was dancing with my own personal demons.

An hour-long excursion to a grocery store. A shuttle that never came. Posing for a fake picture that I've only posted in one place, otherwise, it'll lose its specialness. Cuddling on an uncomfortable couch, itching to be closer to her. A horror movie from my early teens, a bad comedy, my eyes closed shut for a majority of it. All I cared was that I was next to her, that was where I wanted to be.

I wish I could say the tears have passed for good, but my mind is hellbent on thought and trapped in a cycle unable to process. Distractions are always good and lucky for me, they're plentiful at a place like this. The days go by so quickly, filled to the brim with friends rushing in and out of my room, on nights like these I miss them so much when they finally have to leave. But I let them go, as I'm still learning to do. I let liquidy throw up filter down the shower drain, rinsing carefully every time, trying to get some of the badness out of me. I've gone downhill in the worst way possible, I just want to keep purging to get everything out but it's so hard here when I hardly have alone time as is, nor alone time to throw up all of my stomach's contents until I'm satisfied. Not that I'm ever satisfied when it comes to this, to be fair. I miss my old body, the one I had when I was happy, when I was with her, when things were alright and good and lovel...

I remember we almost died the night we drove out west to get you. My dad told us it was a terrible idea, he told us we shouldn't go, but we did. We took wrong turns, we were pulled over by cops, we ended up in a motel for the night where you pissed on the bed, but seeing your face in the morning was well worth it all. Once we were home that was it, we were home, and you were too. Ten years later I come home to find out that your home isn't here anymore, it isn't our physical house and I can only hope that your new home is somewhere celestial, where the rest of the stars are. Thank you for everything. I really can't thank you enough. I'll see you soon, Bella.

Stress. So much stress unlike ever before. She stayed in my bed for four hours straight, nothing but an endless flow of conversation and tasks put to a back burner. The longer we sat there the more I began to realize that I felt nothing at all. Perhaps that's a good thing.

I feel like I’m searching for a high I can’t find anywhere else. My eyes lit up at the mention of magic white powder, only to be disappointed. My head rarely hangs in the tool yet anymore, I spend extra time rinsing vomit off of the plastic shower curtains in hopes that no one will notice. My friends don’t listen to me. I don’t think they like me at all anymore. I’m too afraid to voice this thought because I don’t want to jinx myself more than I already do. I don’t blame them— I don’t like myself. Will I ever? This loneliness is a cavern I keep returning to, excavating meaninglessly. I’m surrounded by people until the very last minutes of the day, yet there’s still a hole that their comedic relief cannot fill. I fall asleep to nothing and awake to nothing. I send good morning texts in hopes of one day receiving it first again, but it seems that trend has gone out of style as it usually does when she grows sick of me. I’m growing sick of me too, in perfect timing because he’s ac...

11:48 AM. The shrill, metallic screech of tears caused me to bolt out of sleep, sit upright, automatically wondering who died. In a second I was taken back to that day four years ago when sobs were the only force powerful enough to awake me out of my summer slumber. So I stumbled out of bed in a panic to find that the tears were from a heartbroken girl whom I can relate to, no death involved, not here, not today. I did my best to console her, despite not being able to console myself. Then I went back to sleep, on a clean pillow with no dried tears, not here, not this time.

I danced along the edge today.  The angel on my left whispered, “Jump.”  But the demon on my right pulled me back, “Stay a little longer.” 

I closed the door behind me, locked it, and unleashed the flood gates.

I want to throw a dart at a map, and go wherever it lands. I don't care if it's three hundred miles away, or three thousand miles away, but I want to go. I want to pack a bag, whatever will fit, take the two hundred bucks in my pocket and the clothes on my back, and just get out of here, out of this small town, out of this place I don't care about. My heart yearns to tie strings to new places, places I could connect to with a definite tug. I want to drive for hours on end like I did this summer when I drove down the east coast with my best friends in a great escape to someplace new, if only for a few days. I want to drive and keep driving, but I want you to be by my side- by my side when we make stops at a gas station where we fill up and buy gross energy drinks at four a.m., by my side when I miss the exit and have a breakdown that only you know how to calm me out of, by my side when we reach the final destination, knowing very well that this isn't even the final d...

Happy Friday the 13th. Genuinely, happy Friday the 13th because I'm feeling the best I've felt in a long time, which is surprising considering I've been home alone all day, am missing my friends dearly, and have been jumping aimlessly from activity to activity. Thus far, I've watched several episodes of a TV show I'm currently obsessed with (how many? I can't even tell you because I've barely absorbed an ounce of information from any of the episodes), applied for two different jobs, read a few chapters of a book I've been stuck on, and now here I am, ready to sit down and write sporadically in an attempt to keep myself occupied and the anxiety at bay. Tomorrow holds an early morning at the ice rink, watching a friend spin circles around amateurs at a public skate while my fingertips collect snowflakes, numbingly grabbing at the pages of a book I'm desperate to finish. The evening holds a two-hour drive down the turnpike, into a bustling city I...

Two years and two days, I think it was.  There's that one quote about October, about how it's different each year.  Two years ago that quote was all I could think about because it was too relevant. Things were so different in the best way possible, in the best way ever imaginable for my sixteen-year-old self.  Now two years have passed and things are too different in the worst way possible because this October isn't the same as the one two years ago, when things were good, when my heart was falling like a dead leaf, headed for a vibrant new life. Now my heart is a dead leaf, stepped on and crumpled into heaps on the sidewalk. We wandered on the trail until coming to the shore, where I stood in amazement of the blues and oranges and reds and yellows dancing across the water's reflection. The waves were bluer than the sky, my heart was jumping for this beautiful place, leaping to be beside you.  I stood near the edge on this beautiful fall day because my h...

Shiny tiled floors that are all too familiar. The spacious elevator. The rooms, both vacant and occupied, are sending me bad vibes. I thought we were through with this, but apparently not. I suppose we never will be, that hospitals are a part of life and a fear I'm going to have to get over eventually. But today just isn't that day. Suddenly I am thirteen years old walking down this hallway, confused and scared and knowing who I am going to see. What I do not know is that a year later she'll be gone and I assume the frequent hospital trips will be over. Right now I am eighteen and they are not over and the fear is still all too real.

Sleep. So much sleep, it's almost too much. Clumpy mascara lining my eyelashes, they're falling out in bunches like dead spider legs trickling down my oily face. Until finally, I get it together, I write my essay, I get out of bed, I force myself to be productive. I can't stop thinking about her and I find myself wandering past her room just hoping to catch a glimpse. I hate that I've become that person, but I am and I can't help it. At the same time, my memories are haunting me. My past is coming back to seize what it originally hunted me for. I die a little inside every time I receive a notification from him. But the friendly anchor I'm tied to just won't let me ignore it. It's harmless, right? He's harmless, we're friends, it's fine. Except, it's not fine. I don't want to fall back down that path, that hole I spent two months in and crawled twelve miles out of. I'm teetering, finally in such a good place, but either I g...

I keep zoning out and I can't even concentrate on my own thoughts. Do I even want to concentrate on my own thoughts, though? Do I want to focus on death and decay and a comfy tombstone for me to sleep beneath in a coffin underground? Why do the thoughts of pills and medicine cups filled to the brim seem to follow me, even once I'm thought to be "better?" Why would I much rather take a dangerous number of shots of cough syrup, as opposed to shots of vodka? There's a cemetery across the street and there's a cemetery right next to us. There's one down the street too, we're surrounded in a way. Sometimes I think I belong in any of them far more than I belong over here. If home is where the heart is, then why the hell am I here? I'm haunting this temporary place, I'm haunting myself, I'm haunting everyone I love. Drive a stake through my heart and send me back where I came from.

I slept until noon, I woke up in a daze, hazy as I reoriented myself into civilization. My hair is greasy, last night's conversation is still fresh in my mind, and I want nothing more than to sleep for a few hours more underneath a blanket of drugged forgetfulness. I gradually gather the strength to blend green eyeshadows through my eye sockets and call it a day, as if applying makeup has become a necessary step in the art of pretending everything is okay. She texts me a link and it just about makes my day. I invite her over and my heart pounds while awaiting a response to the question that took far too much courage. She had been quiet, distant, she hadn't been snuggled in my bed for awhile. But then she comes in, takes her place, settles into her spot right next to me and I could feel my friends radiating good vibes from acrosss the room, silently encouraging exactly what my heart is. I want to radiate good vibes too, but I think I'm too poisonous to do so. How do I...

Bottle caps twisted off and dropped on the floor for the second night in the row. This time there will be no vomiting on her navy bedspread, no amount of spilled detergent all over the washing machine, no searching for a phone ringing from a washing machine at three a.m. Instead, there's just secrecy and limited shitty alcohol. We're all curled up, my head beneath a bunk bed, sipping the magic liquid from a water bottle. "What is it?" - "It's iced tea." I gag and I cough but neither of these reactions a result of my blatant lie. We're all curled up, but I wish I was curled up with her. I wish I was curled up with anyone at that moment. He texts me, lighting up my phone, the same light that used to send my heart into a frenzy. I used to be frantic, and now I guess I am in a different way. I ask you questions and your honesty startles me. "Back in the day." "Yeah, I miss it sometimes." Those pictures are yours now, and I...

I cry the entire way home from a two and a half hour saga of forgetfulness, the beautiful distraction I had been waiting for. I curse myself for crying, sobbing, breaking down like this. Tears blur the road and I choke through sobs and screams. I'm a broke college student, mooching off of my family, nothing to show for myself, the absolute epitome of a disappointment. I don't understand why I haven't done it yet, what I'm holding onto when there's truly nothing here for me anymore. They're all fine without me, all living so peacefully without me by their sides, the skies are so much sunnier when the storm is away. I'm beginning to think I'm bad luck -- the physical embodiment of bad luck, a defective talisman that is completely, utterly, perpetually useless. The hunger pains set in and god I've missed this feeling. I thought I was getting to a good place but now my hands are shaking and itching for something sharp. Why am I like this? Why is ...

She sits on my bed, close, but not too close, I'm not even sure whether it's close enough. I'm fighting between whether it's good or not good, whether these feelings are great or horrible. Her touch sets my skin aflame. She touches my bare skin, gently, motioning to me, and I die a little inside. Am I dying because she's adorable and lovely and this could be exactly what I'm looking for? Or am I dying because I know that she's too good for me and I ruin everything and I would definitely ruin her? The room is crowded, I count the people - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Eight too many. I want to tell them to leave, to get out, go home, please just leave. I try to write an essay, try to finish it, scrambling to make words fit like puzzle pieces in particular places, trying to obtain some sort of scholarly flow. But my family has drained me of everything tonight and now my back-up life sources are depleting. I'm growing mor...

Same old habits in my new home. Stuffing vomit down a narrow shower drain, spending an hour rinsing everything, water pressure on full-blast, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing. Restless hands jabbing mindlessly at the keyboard, trying to make some sort of sense for the pure sake of a letter grade. The hours tick by, I'm surrounded by people, but I'm desperately alone inside. My heart jumps a little bit more each time I see her, I find myself looking for her whenever I hear the hallway door opening, like a dog, eager and excited to see one particular human. When her name lights up my phone or I see her standing in my doorway, it gets a little bit worse and I have to tighten my own mental leash because I cannot do this. I look like a puppy, but I'm a vicious dog and I don't want to hurt anyone anymore. The days are beginning to blur, I can't remember what happened yesterday and what happened a week ago. Today was a bad day, but I am so happy you are safe. I wish I...

It's night-- it always is whenever I choose to write. The write-worthy thoughts never occur to me during the daytime, or if they do it's only in small snippets, not enough to fully process or expand upon. The nighttime is when the thoughts come out to play, to unfold before me, to haunt the very space in which they were born and bred. And thus, I'm forced to write them down, or type them out, or do anything to get them fucking away from orbiting my train of thought and prevent me from functioning. So here we are, it's 8:20 PM as I'm writing this, it'll be late once I'm finished, finally satisfied with my thoughts and deem them ready to publish. I know nobody is reading this, but a small sliver of me hopes someone is, although no one cares enough to, I hardly do. I feel like I can't escape any of this, like everything from my past is hurting and I can't stitch anything up in order to move on. I see all of her Snapchats and am once again reminded ...

It's never too late to start something, right? I want to write something every day during the month of October, maybe I'll write twice a day to make up for the lack of writing I've been doing since coming to college. I'm not sure I know where to start, though, it should be easy enough considering my feelings have become tangled and angry and I should have more than enough material to pick through and write about. Even if it's not my romantic feelings that are currently suffering, my mental health is on the decline and my body is about to begin suffering more as a result. With suffering comes pain, and with pain comes writing, for me it does, at least. My writing tends to work the best while at one of two extremes- extreme happiness or extreme sadness. I'm not happy right now, and I'm not sure if I will be for a long time. I know I've said that before, and have been proved wrong, but my happiness has been in a drought for quite a long time right now, I...