Q&A: Interview

Q&A: Interview

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? turns out i do, it just took me a few minutes. i just gessoed over a canvas of you. that was enough.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? turns out i do, but it took me a while. it wasn’t your face that pulled me in, it was your shirt. i have the same one.

i just gessoed over a canvas that put the last shovelful of dirt over your grave. i am now covering it in things that actually matter to me, with exactly one implication of you.

(i don’t want to disrupt the flow, but if i really didn’t care, why am i trying to rub it in? what am i trying to prove? and to who?)

that was a lifetime ago, was it not? the feelings i had at the time were okay to feel,(thisisgrowth) but now i don’t know why i was ever sad. angry. upset. empty. whatever the fuck.

(i have since learned that all emotions have been hidden and obscured)

i shoved you in a therapy shaped hole, diagnosed with bpd, (probably,) at least that’s what they told me in the hospital last march when they found me bleeding out and overdosed on the floor.

i shoved you in a therapy shaped hole, undiagnosed with bpd, because that psychiatrist didn’t know me for more than ten minutes, and she didn’t even write it down.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? i asked myself that for years. i’ve changed so much, yet you might notice that nothing has changed. at all.

would we recognize each other if we saw each other? i hope my face was only familiar in a distant way, desperately trying to put a name on it. you don’t even know my name.

i had my closure forever ago. but i always wondered. if we’d recognize each other if we saw each other again.

he told me that we’d spend the rest of our lives looking for each other in new lovers, and then he said he was joking. i can think of twenty reasons why this is not the case and about three reasons why it is.

how have i been? i’ve been sitting here trying to type up a pretty way of saying i’m a wreck. so here it is, straight up, i’m at the lowest i’ve ever been. i was in the hospital because i sort of kinda tried to kill myself, i’ve gone a month and half without therapy, and in the meantime i’ve bruised the shit out of fists, i walk around in tshirts and everyone sees my wrists, i haven’t showered in who knows how long, everyone has asked me if i’m okay, (i’m not but i’ll always say i’m fine because i don’t know what help i need) i hate everyone i know i’m miserable to be around but its a fucking miracle i haven’t completely lost it yet. it is a fucking miracle that i am laying in bed doing nothing when all i want is to get blackout drunk and walk around downtown until something kills me.

vendetta, wi

i keep my eyes glued to the road when i start seeing the exit signs for you. like i might accidentally start sweeping the town for you. not that we'd recognize each other. politely turned down i-love-you’s. the pit in my stomach faded into the fluorescent bulb buzz. the face of my grief changed to some other kid desperate for a body to sleep with. i keep my eyes glued to the road, and i repeat, what does it matter anyway? because its all i can think about. every impala, straight piped, navy, broken bumper, black, dented fender, tinted windows, doors that don’t lock.

i never cried for you like i cried for him.

to hyperventilate in his room. to cry as i hug him goodbye. to watch 300 miles of highway lines pass through my tears. to call my friends to come to my room, because i’m shirtless, laying on the floor with blood thinners in my right hand and a knife in my left.

thats not the same as forced tears on your couch, as you tell me i’m not a good person. hell, we were sixteen. fourteen. twelve. what did we know? you never cared for me like i cared for you, like my friends care for me now. i pity anyone who ever crossed paths with you.

here's the thing. you know that every time that pops up, it was because of me.

they're not you.

you don’t need god, you need a single general admission ticket to a semi-rowdy crowd. you need the bass pounding in your chest, the push of bodies all around you, dry mouth, shirt stuck to your back with sweat, screaming along with strangers you have never met and will never meet again, that is healing you cannot get anywhere else. you need to take a minute to realize its safe to be yourself, howl along with the crowd. i don’t know how we synchronize up like this.