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August 14, 2016

It's hard to believe that this gray sky isn't endless. That if you just kept going, a universe would be revealed. Our sun, our moon. Planets in our solar system. Worlds beyond that, beyond all comprehension.
It's hard to believe that people have other lives.
Reality is hard to believe even though it's all around me. I have become so used to being in this body, listening to these people, feeling this sad. And being betrayed by my mother has left me in a state of constant shock. Happy people seem like an illusion to me. Or they seem to be mocking me.
I romanticize dying a lot, even though I fear it terribly. I think I can imagine dying. Another life, though? Being allowed romance without eventually being seen as a liability. None of that seems possible.
And I roll my windows up
Because I'm crying again

Please, whatever is out there, let this pain end. Let me be happy.
My talismans are disintegrating. My lucky plant lives in my car and seems to be rotting. My frightening protective rabbit mask has fallen to pieces from all the activity in the car. The gargoyle, I don't even know if it can truly protect me because it's from her, it lives in my storage unit. Guarding my things. But I need protection, too.

The vicodin seems to be taking effect. It seems possible to do things again.

These pills seem so insidious to people who don't depend on them.

But people who depend on them need something. We so desperately need something. To make this gray sky, this air breathable.

Please help me, if there is some compassionate force out there.

I'm surrounded by her. We camped near her for so long. We met near her. When I was less interested she was more interested. When I was more, she left. I wish she knew herself well enough not to ask for the things that would ultimately allow her to treat me like an infection. I wish I mattered. I don't have the strength to make myself matter.