Sometimes people die, and continue to live. You may think you’re alive. You breathe. Eat. Party. Work. Sit alone in the dress you wore to your high school graduation eating fake Chinese. I wish I could focus on more than one emotion at a time, but I can’t. To function like normal I have to allow myself to feel nothing. Picking at my stringy chow mein, too lazy for chopsticks. All of a sudden I only have a stomach for alcohol and espresso. Now that I think about it I only had half of a veggie sandwich yesterday, and a shit ton of alcohol. Isn’t it odd that ingesting anything, but these crutches that keep me awake seems to make me sick to my stomach. I’ll just stare at it, and hope that whatever’s next comes faster. Maybe the Panda fortune cookie will have some insight. I have this superstition that if you don’t eat the entire cookie first the fortune is void, so I eat it quickly. There’s no flavor to it anyways. I have the time. No where to be, no one else to worry about. How does Patrick stay so happy go lucky living under a rock? “People find it difficult to resist your persuasive manner.”
Thanks Panda. I guess that’s what you get when you beg for some sliver of hope for any positivity from a free cookie.
When an umbrella blocking the amazing weather from your eyes can be seen as a tool to end it all, have you hit rock bottom or does it only get worse from here? If the only reason to live is a fear of death, and I’m not afraid then, what’s next? Good and bad are relative terms, but my mind is concrete. My instinct is to apologize for giving up. The only other option to kill you off.
I apologize too much.
Dead to you. Dead to me. Wrecked. Hung up on this feeling in my throat that makes breathing feel like there’s an actual noose around my neck.