dear phoenix
(2:05 AM)
If you’re alive in the morning and wish you weren’t just remember you still have to come back home
(2:06 AM)
Better you die here with me
i find it remarkably funny how our cataclysms managed to line up. just a week and a half ago you'd told me you were taking a break and i worried for you, like always, and i wished i could be there for you, sad, nervous, but i told you i loved you and that i'd be waiting for you when you're back. only i didn't realize that i too would fall apart just a few days later, like i have been for some time. i suffer a degenerative disease of the soul, where any holes that break it open never seal right, where i can bandage and dress my wounds but my spirit-flesh doesn't remember how it held together before, and sags and bleeds anyway. and i just haven't noticed until lately. maybe you relate to that.
i understand now with perfect clarity why you worded things the way you did when i came to your house the first time this year. "if things don't work out for you." i didn't realize that your elegant dancing around what you really meant to say was entirely by design. now we're two swans waltzing a miserable pas-de-deux of death and rebirth because it doesn't feel like things are working out for me either.
i'm really unsure of myself but in an emotional way lately, which is probably surprising to you when all i do is wax poetic about how i'm a freak loser with no future (that is to say, a more tangible, monetary fear.) but i'm not worried about that right now. i still have confidence i'll move back to our state and i'll be able to see you some more, and the job, the college, etc, that'll come later. but i don't know. more often than not i feel like today is the day i'll collapse or break for good. every day i feel this way. every day feels like the end of the fucking world for me. but you know the sad, pathetic thing? nothing's even happening. the world is spinning just as it always has. i go to work, come home with back pain, write on my computer or play games. but for some reason, everything is getting harder. it's the same, but incrementally more difficult. one more drop of water added to the bucket.
right, i said that i'm also experiencing a cataclysm. well, i've shut myself off from all forms of communication with people outside of my job. which isn't to say that i've lost much, you know i don't talk to anyone. but what few friends i do have, i've abandoned. they're all holed up in the summer cabin by the lake and it's winter now. i'm alone. i've replaced the time i usually spent with them with other activities... taking walks to the nearby park-ish thing, reading more, writing more. so it's the same pattern as always, go to work, come home, eat, write my stories, play games, take walks, read books and articles. it's nice. but worryingly, i don't miss them... the people. i used to go crazy with loneliness in the past, always wanting some sort of external attention to verify that i exist (you talk to me therefore i am), but now i'm at peace with my solitude. i really enjoy it. i want to be alone. totally. forever. crazy forest hermit living in the trees alone. and because i like it so much, because i'm so fucking maniacally happy to be alone, it worries me. i shouldn't breathe this great sigh of relief that finally i'm alone, finally it's just me in this awful world, finally i don't have to be anything, i can be nothing, i can be nobody, i can just go to work and keep myself supported, hooking myself up to life support, IV drip, and wait for the "real" to begin, later this year, abandon all that i know, forget it, not that i have memories associated with it anyway. it feels wrong. i shouldn't do this. it's "wrong". i can't just leave people. who care about me. who love me. but can't i? i want to.
it's this mental malaise that plagues me, this impermeable feeling of wrongness that came bundled with the human life experience. i've told you before that i was born wrong. like my body knows on a molecular, cellular level, that i was an accident and works overtime to remind me of this every chance it gets. thanks for giving me a thousand complexes by telling me i was unwanted, father. but it's not just him and his certain, unambiguous words. other people like to remind me of this, too. i'm treated differently by them. the world. i thought i could mask and pretend to be something else but i can't. i'm strange. and people know. i don't know how they know, but they do, and i try to be more like them, but i can't be. and even if they think i don't realize it, they really do treat me like the outsider i am. the only variable factor is my attitude towards it, whether i'm okay with being this or not. i don't know where i am right now. i don't feel like anything, and i don't feel anything. i'm not trying or not-not trying to be like them, i'm going through the motions. autopilot. on my back in the sea staring at the blank sky, being carried who knows where or how far. i used to equal-parts agonize over this and reassure myself i didn't care, but now i don't think anything. i genuinely have no thoughts lately. is it the meditation (yes i started meditating) doing that to me?
i feel like i'm losing myself, phoenix. i feel a lot like i don't know who i am anymore. i told you before how easy it is to lose ourselves in this semiotic world and, you know, i told you before that i have these terrible eyebags. didn't really have to tell that to you, i know you can just see them. they're so deep and i've had them ever since i was a kid. and i stepped out of the shower today, looking at myself in the mirror while i dried off, and all i could think of was how exhausted i looked. i look tired like it drains my energy just standing up, just existing. everything about my body sags. i was going to say it was a symbol of my exhaustion, but it's not a symbol, it's the direct result. god, i'm so tired. and i can never be honest about this. to people. to anyone. people don't really accept this sickness even if they pretend to. i know you do, because you're there. i like that it's just real between us. with others, it's different. people wanna remedy it with a diagnosis and pills. but i don't need a written note or chemicals, i need something to change. badly. i need something to shift backwards to the good times. it's a downwards slope that i see in everything -- yeah, THIS is the symbol, the negative spiral, the curl. the death. the death of all things, heat death of the entire fucking universe.
i used to think you and i were unkillable people but sometimes i catch the sun on my skin and i realize this isn't the flesh of gods, but soft animal tissue. other times i realize my past self, my self from last night, bought a donut for me to eat the next morning so i didn't have to make breakfast. and i feel a shred of relief. i hope you're finding relief too. wherever you are.
third visit's the charm, right? see you soon.
love,
winter