damned

August 15th, 2013




“My God... Life... Who can even understand one minute of it?”

I didn’t tell anyone I was going to kill myself. I wanted to relax, take a load off in the bathtub. Xanax, Percocet, meth pipe and an ice cold beer. The darkness had begun to take over my mind, it didn’t take much convincing myself to just end it all. 23 pills and an ice cold beer. 

I woke up the next afternoon, naked, right foot with sock in the kitchen, of all places. Celeste and I are sitting on top of her couch, I’m staring down at my shaking fingers, my vision blurred from salty tears. She tells me how upset she is with me, my behavior, my actions, the way I treat her... I didn’t call her for the past two days. 

“You don’t even think about me.” 

The words pricked ever so slightly into my bleeding flesh. Selfish. I am. The words rolling off her tongue were thick, fiery. I pull my knees up underneath my chin, tucking my head down into my legs. Sobbing. Rocking back and forth, back and forth. 

My mom used to rock me back and forth when I’d cry as an infant. I wish I was... only now, comfort doesn’t set in. I want to tell her how much I love her, how much I need her, how perfect she is and everything she does for me... I mean if this is love, this is love. I suppose I don’t know what that really feels like and she does it so perfectly. 

Always sacrificing, for me? Why would anything sacrifice for me? 

 My voice raspy, meek, “I’ll work on it.” I lied.