PS: THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION
There's this burning in my chest that I just can’t free myself from. A hollowing in my soul, a heart rugged with scars. How do I put this aptly – I’m dying. Slowly, I’m sinking into the abyss that my life has become. The pain I’ve been trying not to feel for so long is coming down hard on me. I must’ve been a fool to think that I could’ve remained forever numb. It runs so deep in my veins I just want to let it out, let it flow, and so if you come across cut marks on my arms or slashes on my wrists, do not be surprised. Pain flows in, blood flows out. Or maybe anorexia. Or bulimia. Or shit that actually works, say cocaine or heroin? Maybe even crystal meth.
Where am I going with this? Quite frankly I do not even know. But one thing I do know is that pain scares the life out of me. It’s not even logical. How can a human being living in pain be so afraid of the one thing that confirms her life? Pain stops me from doing all those things. I cannot fight fire with fire, that’s just creating more fire. And so here I am, in the lonely hour, alone, trying to fight insomnia and get at least two three hours of sleep before the rude awakening. Which brings me to the question, why am I doing this? Day after day, going through the same damn thing over and over again, bearing the pain, wielding the glue that holds everything together, putting on a brave face and a brave smile, why? I could try taking the easy way out but it’s never worked for me for the times I’ve tried it. Am I weak, cowardly? I beg to differ. As many stay alive for they are afraid of death just as many seek their death for they are afraid of life. Who’s the pot calling the kettle black? There is certain bravery in seeking the world of the departed for who knows what follows; the happy hereafter of rainbows and leprechauns and candy canes and pots of gold and unicorns or the doomed hereafter with hell fire and lava springs and nuclear fission and tripods and all things red and flamey? Or maybe even none of them? Or reincarnation?
I don’t know why I do this, every single time you ask me, my answer is the same. You found me broken. You found me "psycho". You found me with an innate passion of all things dark, like my lifelong dream of being an assassin. You found me like this. I understand why you would want to "fix me". It’s a cruel reality to wake up every morning to the fact that the person that could easily be the love of your life is all these things. Correction – the person you believe to be the love of your life. And so you keep your quest, every single day trying to make me better, trying to make peace with the voices in my head, trying to make peace with the different people that I am, trying to answer why so you can make it stop, trying to take me into the abyss of candy canes and all things nice in the here and now, trying to heal me/help me heal. I get all that. Yes, we did hit it off. We connected, a connection deeper than I have ever had with any other person. You have seen what you think are all my demons. Yet that’s not even the half of it. It takes a lot of love and commitment to keep up with that craziness. Unfortunately, you cannot come out of it alive. And you know it. You can see it. I see it too. It’s eating you away. It’s rotting your very core. Soon your lungs will give way. You cannot keep living like this. This is my curse not yours. And in as much as you try to label it as ‘our curse’ in the spirit of oneness, I just can’t let you. It kills me inside to see you do that. It adds to the pain. It’s not fixing me; it’s pulling me apart quicker. And I know you’ve run out of options. But you’d never give up. We live in the moment, cherishing every bit, till the tornado sweeps forth and topples the boat. And though we’re in the same boat, the tornado leaves me a board to hang onto, what do you get? Nothing! It drowns you. It sinks you. You cannot resurface. Like the scene of Titanic where Rose is on the floating thingy and Leo (I forget his character’s name) is in the freezing waters. He dies. And yes, there was enough space for both of them on the floating thingy, but that's not the point. How you even resurface, I do not know, but one thing is for sure, you get weaker each time, and we both can see it. But still you hang on. You’re dying and we have to face it. Correction, I’m killing you as I die.
So why not just end this. Say the word because only you can. I’ve tried, doesn’t work when I do it. It wasn’t meant to be after all, you were ready for the plunge, I wasn’t. You are in love with me, I love you, but I am not in love with you. I said yes because I couldn’t say no, because you couldn’t stop asking, because I figured, “What have I to lose?” Well, I have you to lose. I might also be gay, not sure though. Though the right way to put it would be bisexual. It’s not like I haven’t been to the other side of the vineyard. I know I said I put it behind me – the truth to that is…not so much, not even close. Let’s just call it questioning for now, I mean, whatever the case I am definitely a member of the LGBTQ community and sitting on that just sucks. But it’s better to sit on it than to not sit on it because not sitting on it would mean I’d have to prepare myself for an exorcism. In fact, not sitting in any of these things would need me to prepare for an exorcism. But you already know most of them, don’t you?
I lie to you. That you know too, but you only know the lies that I let you know. Guess you lie to me too but hey, I trust it’s for a good reason. Why do I lie? Sometimes a lie is better than the truth. For instance, if you were to read this, you would break into pieces that would never fit back together. Because some things in it I just can’t tell you. I should, probably, but how do I get around to it? Maybe it would be better if you read it. Maybe it would be better if you don’t. But one thing’s for sure, this was never going to work.
Am I trying to hurt you? No. Am I trying to make you look the fool for love? Definitely not. I am lucky to have you. Blessed. But I can’t keep doing this anymore. You know it, you said it, and I said it. The voices in my head tell me to tell you the truth, tell you how I really feel. I just wasn’t ready for commitment, probably never will be. I can’t even commit to finishing prescriptions. I have never committed to a promise, not even one to myself. And I love you. And I care for you. And now I’m stuck here, not knowing what to make of the end to our story. Maybe it doesn’t end. Maybe it goes on forever. Maybe. But the truth is, in my head, in my heart, it doesn’t go on forever. It ends. It ends when you break.