For once, my head had nothing to say.
like a regular at a local pub,
if I ask for my "usual",
the result is my brain offering
a flood of it's cyclical thoughts
all clamoring to be heard at once.
But this time,
there was only silence.

It feels like I’m dreaming,
the atmosphere thinner than I remember,
while still trying to remind myself of reality
and I'm hoping to god
that the cliches concerning
the fleeting nature of life
maybe hold some kind of truth.

Every time there’s an upswing,
and my stomach hops up into my chest
because I’ve finally reached my pay-off,
something knocks me back
and clips chains that tether me to stability.
all the donations
all the condolences
all the "support"
don’t mean a ******* thing
if they don’t give me back my peace of mind -
and I'm scared that nothing ever will.

I always know when it's about to happen,
(an unfortunate foresight)
but I always neglect to prepare myself.
It's almost like
I look forward to the pain
because it gives me a scapegoat
for my persistant discontent.
Maybe I didn't love you,
I just need to be loved.
But either way,
I haven't been sleeping
and I'm struggling to find myself
outside the context
of someone else.

Today the high was sixty degrees
and I know what that means.
I feel foolish to have thought
that maybe this time
just maybe
it would leave me be,
and it almost did.
But I could feel it wash over me,
like a tidal wave of affliction
wrapping it's arms around me
rocking me to sleep
and reminding me how much
it feels like home.
It was building up inside of me,
bound to take over,
and now it's ready to explode.
This is the first you'll see of it,
and certainly not the last.
I hope to god
that you can handle
what it entails,
and I wonder how long
it will last this time.

There's this unspoken dichotomy
that exists in relationships
for those of us who struggle with their own minds.
And when I say dichotomy,
I mean there's absolutely no in-between
no third option
and no happy medium.
When you find someone who loves you,
and you love them equally as much,
this person will fall into one of two categories:
(because it can never be easy,
why the hell would it be easy?)

Category One -
they're mentally stable,
and you'll live in relative happiness,
but you'll never feel
like they truly knew you.
Or
Category Two -
They struggle just as much as you
and you'll always feel understood,
but you'll drag each other down
slowly but surely.

I don't know which is worse -
constantly living in fear
of scaring them away,
or learning to live in corresponding misery.
All I know is,
in the end,
everyone leaves,
so why wouldn't you?

Today is your father's funeral.
Part of me
feels guilty for not being there
even though I only met him once
and you spoke so poorly of your childhood.
The other part of me
screams about how you broke my spirit
and robbed me of 6 months
of this precious life.
I'll never forget
the feeling of complete loss of control
that you convinced me
was all my fault.
**** my empathic soul
and **** you
for making me believe
I wasn't worth the kind of love
that I have now.

I often think about the summer before I went away,
probably more than I should.
I was working that job I hated
and you were living in the house
that felt more like a home to me than mine ever did.

I think about all of the nights that my life felt like a classic teen movie,
with my eyes acting as the camera
and your lucid words writing the script in real-time.
Us and a few close friends sneaking onto a rooftop
in the town where we grew up and grew to love.
Laughing until our stomachs hurt
and yelling things at the unsuspecting people below.
Forgetting what time it was.
Forgetting that there was a whole world below us,
which we chose to escape for the night.
My heart was light, and it felt like floating.

Now friends are in different states,
becoming people I’ll never know.
The garbage can we used as a ladder
is no longer where we could always find it,
and the gate behind the bank,
which was almost always conveniently left open,
has been locked for years.

I remember how carefree I felt on those nights.
But I tend to idolize nostalgia,
whether the past was truly picture-perfect or not.
All I know is, I was lucky enough to have had those nights,
and the unwavering memories that they created.

I’m sorry I make us late for everything.

I’m sorry that my inability to make decisions frustrates you.
I'm sorry that I constantly seem distracted and detached,
and that I never have any good suggestions
or anything genuinely interesting to say.
I’m sorry that my irrational questions annoy you -
It’s just that I always get caught in these loops of anxiety
that I can’t possibly find a way out of,
let alone explain to you.
I get stuck,
like a broken record, playing the same part of a song
over and over.
My mind convinces me that you’re displeased.
I’m sorry I can’t look you in the eye,
because I know I must have done something wrong.
I’m sorry I withdraw and fall silent.
I’m sorry I consistently expect more, but continue to give less.