Drowning.

Although I didn’t mean to, I lost myself because of you. I molded myself into your world, desperately in need to find a place where I belonged. I changed shapes just to hide in that place. I thought I could live that way, convinced myself that I was finally home. I changed my way of thinking, argued with myself to let my many fears go. They disappeared; I shouldn’t have let them all leave. I should’ve held on. Although I didn’t mean to, I forced my way in, pinned myself to you, did everything I could to stay there. But that only got me pushed away. Exorcized, evacuated, executed. You didn’t need me there anymore. I was lost. I couldn’t get back to my original shape. I couldn’t bounce back. I wouldn’t. That was the last thing I wanted. You were the only thing I could see for awhile. You used to keep me upright; I crumbled. Soon you realized what was missing from your collection of beating hearts. I dove back in, so quickly submerged. So desperate to feel your fickle warmth again. I melted - you grew cold, backed away. I convinced myself that everything was all right, you knew that something wasn’t.
Another time, another place, another you, a different me. What would have changed if I said no? What would be different if we had never met? Every decision, every choice, leads up to today. Who I am, why I’m me. Who am I? Another time, I wouldn’t have given in. Would I? Was I ever that strong to resist? You always made me so weak. Would I go back and see where it leads me if I had said no? If I gave up much earlier? If I stayed in for the long haul? If you weren’t the mess that you created of yourself? Would it have worked? Would it be me? Would we be happy? Another time, another place, another you, a different me. Could I have changed it all?

I should let you know that your unwavering trust turned me into a liar. I should let you know that my revenge hurt me more than it could ever hurt you. That’s probably a lie though, it wasn’t entirely revenge, it was what I wanted (I thought I wanted). If you knew, it would cut you like a knife. Is that what I want? To inflict such pain on you? I could never hurt you like you hurt me, so what’s the point? I made it happen, I make every mistake happen. Was it a mistake? Or were you the mistake? Also, I should let you know that you turned me into a monster. I am living a lie. I should let you know that you filled a hole so wide and so vast, deep inside of me that no one else could ever fill. I’m addicted to the pain you cause me. I should let you know. But, you already know that, don’t you?
Another time, another place, another you, a different me. Could I have changed it all?

You always told me lies, just with your eyes.
I believed you back when faith was tied.
Your words were sweet but laced with spite;
You broke my heart with all your might.
And now, I’m trying to conceal the emptiness I always feel.
The coldness that’s behind your kiss.
I’m sick of you, I’m sick this.
What did we do to ourselves? We wasted so much time thinking that we were in love. We dug ourselves a hole and naively buried deeper.
Too deep. I was never what you needed. I only filled your loneliness for a short while. I could never replace drugs in your life. I was never first place, never! Mind-altering substances were always more important.
I was dirt. I was the ash from the end of your cigarettes. Light on fire, drained of life, of everything useful, left to fall. Ground into the dirt, easily forgotten. I was useless, worthless, broken. You could always fix that. You could always pick up the pieces and hold them together, convincing them to be whole again. They never were, they never could be, but it sure felt like it. You put me back together. You didn’t even have to try. You never tried. Dealing, selling, using.
To me, you always were my drug. The right potency – exactly what I wanted, more of what I needed. Measured, cut with razorblades on mirrors – piercing the membranes. The more I had of you, the more I wanted you. A rush when I was near you, breathing you in, the smell of your skin lingering with the sweet smoke of cigarettes. Burying my face in your chest, listening to the heart inside of you, pumping once, twice; the flow of blood through your maze of veins. Once I grasped a bit of you I was fearless, limitless, …hopeless. You were my addiction. When I didn’t have you, when I wasn’t near you, I fell to pieces. I wished I had more of you, all of you. It scared me how much I wanted you. But that fear turned into power, my personal limits crumbled. You were my sweet, spinning downfall. A rush of blood to my head, the last lingering touch of your fingertips was hard to hold on to. The speeding roller coaster of you fueled me, got me through my mind numbing days. The promise of indulgence made me weak. The more I had of you, the more I needed you.
But you preferred a different drug. But this isn’t really about the drugs, is it? It’s about me and you. Are they two separate things? Could I cut the drugs and the bullshit out of your brain and find who you really are? My hopes were always too high, you were always too high.
This life looks like a sentence. A constant game of falling short, of feeling less than perfect. I felt myself holding back. You saw it all come crashing down.
I was always waiting. I would stay up later and later to hear your voice in my ear to crumble my fears. When I was with you, wounds began to heal, scars began to fade, hearts began to mend; I didn’t even realize that new tender heart was being ripped open. Damaged beyond repair. Doubts swirled in my brain, but they were never whispered out loud. “He’s probably somewhere, stoned out of his mind, laughing, and not thinking about you. He’s happy, and you’re broken. You’re pathetic, why are you still waiting? You’re in love with him? Don’t you know how he will rip you to pieces?” I probably did know; I refused to believe it. I am the weakest person I know.
…but most of the time I’m just drowning.
That night, I remembered thinking that there was always such mystery in darkness. The moon illuminates fear. But we were inside and safe with a single lamp dissolving the darkness. Back then I never knew what you were thinking, and curiosity killed me. I was full of doubt and everything was full of shit. The soundtrack of that one night was the cars rushing by on the highway outside your bedroom window, and your soft breathing next to mine. Your arms were around me, as I listened to your heartbeat pumping, constant, as if I almost asked too much. Then your voice would drift to my ears and I would melt from the
warmth. I listened to the cars flashing by and tried to memorize the sound. The sound you woke up to every morning when the sun was high and dew dripped from the trees. I know now, that those sleepless nights led to the mornings when you wished you were as high as the sun, because the sadness sparkled in the forefront and dripped like dew. I rolled over onto my back with a sigh and stared up at the gray cracks in the ceiling. They rippled and flowed across the barren landscape of white. And I wondered how something so broken could still be strong. I turned my head as you shifted your weight, and I focused only on your deep brown eyes. Now, I know that you are that ceiling. Your very existence is based on pain. You are broken; cracks rip through your heart, they tear you apart, and you are scarred. I remember thinking that you are the strongest person I know. You supported me; your walls held me up, kept me together. We may never had been in one piece, but we were always together even when we shattered, crumbled, and broke.
Or so I thought.
Lied to myself; almost convinced.
Another night when darkness masked your soft features and everything was black and white, leached colorless by the moon, you didn’t let go. For once, you kept my gaze, you pulled me in tight. Holding you felt better than right. It was the fact that I only got butterflies for you, I was myself again, not breathing walking dead. Alive. You took my hand, you didn’t let go. It was the way you reached out for me, for once. Each time I turned away, you tried a little harder. You never had to try before. Cars were flashing by, the earth was spinning, fast, too fast. And a horrible feeling was in my gut. It was the way it felt to kiss you again, soft, warm, content. I was home again. It was the way you wrapped your arms around me, tighter than ever before. Like you were actually afraid to let me go.
Ha! You never cared about letting me go. I was nothing,
I was a ragdoll tossed aside.
It was the way you asked if I was okay, it almost seemed like you cared. It was the way you said you missed me. You missed me. It was the way I wanted to cry, because I let myself do this again. I knew you were going to hurt me again, and I let that happen, again and again and again. It was the way I could never give up on you. I guess I’m just crazy, masochistic. But at least I felt alive again, the lung-crushing emptiness faded away, you melted it away. Even if it was just for one star-kissed night. You never let go, you never said sorry, you’ll never change. You only ever wanted me when you didn’t have me.
I was a ragdoll, tossed aside.
Cracked lips and bloodshot eyes.
Ripped seams and empty screams.
What do I look like? The wizard of Oz? You need a heart? You need a brain? Take mine. Take everything I have.
You didn’t deserve to take away the last bit of myself that I was desperately holding onto. You deserver to die. But at the same time, I want the best for you; I want you to be happy. I miss my best friend. I miss the boy who knew everything about me, more than I knew about myself. You were my everything. I wish you didn’t exist. You are my nightmare.
I should let you know that your unwavering trust turned me into a liar. I should let you know that my revenge hurt me more that it could ever hurt you. If you knew, it would cut you like a knife. Is that what I want? To inflict such pain on you? I could never hurt you like you hurt me, so what’s the point? Hating myself for going back to you, the trust was shattered, I was broken.
I was in mourning of you, the ghost who broke my heart. You still held me in your arms, but my guard was always up; not letting that go. You hurt me, never letting that go. I was so lost. That night, you were in the next room. And I was in his eyes, and arms, and heart. Fed the ache, minds were in a blur, and I was falling. He surrounded me, kept me safe, and sane, and satisfied. Wanted more, and he didn’t dare stop. You were in the next room. A rush of thrill raced through my veins. I thought he knew what he was doing, he did this before. But I had no clue what I was doing there, never thought that would be me. All I could see was swirls of blackness. It was everything, it was beautiful, it was a dream. I never thought I could do something like that. But it grew to be all I wanted, danger, thrill. Even though you were in the next room. Thunder shook the ground, but we couldn’t hear it. The rain washed away what was confined to embrace. Nothing could be foreseen, never dreamed it would happen. Even though we had reached the brink times before. Pristine and new. Raw and uncontained. Captivated, the pounding hearts were unwavering.
You would never know.
You still don’t know.
Another time, I wouldn’t have given in. Would I? Was I ever that strong to resist? You always made me so weak. Would I go back and see where it lead me if I had said no? If I gave up much earlier? If I stayed in for the long haul? If you weren’t the mess that you created of yourself? Would it have worked? Would it be me? Would we be happy? Another time, another place, another you, a different me. Could I have changed it all?
Sometimes I was not so blind, “No shame in crying. No shame in hating. Go ahead, hate him. He deserves that and more.” Dusk falls, insistent, intent. I watch it tumble down. How do you tell your heart no, don’t swell with magic, you’ll only burst? God knows I don’t need more pain in life. Why did I invite it in? Do I have to feel pain to believe I feel anything at all? I listen to the shallow in-and-out of his breathing from my memories; I reach out for the warmth of him, try to draw it into the bitter cold well in the pit of my stomach. I can’t grasp it anymore. I will not sleep tonight. I will cry.
Time passes. Even when it seems impossible. Even when each tick of the second hand aches like the pulse of blood behind a bruise. It passes unevenly in strange lurches and dragging lulls. But pass it does. Even for me.