Two Years.

Saturday was the worst day.

I’ve spent a year trying to get him to admire beauty, just to acknowledge it. And the one time he does i’m trying too hard not to cry to even look at him.

Saturday marked two years since the worst day of my life and I had to pretend I was okay and I was certianly not.

And as we drove through town and he admired the beautiful sky just like I did two years ago I cried and screamed inside and tried to agree that it really did seem unreal and perfect and beautiful but nothing was beautiful to me right then.

And as I walked through the store I felt like everyone was staring at me. And maybe I was imagining it but maybe I really looked as horrified and scared and confused as I felt and so maybe they were.

When he left the room to get me a glass of water I couldn’t help but stare at the dager sitting in the corner and want to grab it and hold it to my own throat, only for a second. Thank God I don’t need that.

I have to be okay now. And I will be. But this is not how I thought things would be.

I miss you Freddie.

and it still hurts

I can’t explain this feeling. But I don’t want to feel it anymore.

I’m not sure if it’s pain or numbness or nothing of the sort.

Almost two years have gone by and maybe it is easier now. But it isn’t any more understandable. It still hurts like Hell.

If only we had been the same age. Because I’m the same kind of person now that he was. And I’m going through the same things now that he was. And maybe I could have saved him…

And maybe we wouldn’t have all died that day. And maybe we wouldn’t all be so lost. And maybe this wouldn’t be so fucking hard! And maybe I wouldn’t have let him walk out that day without asking him to come with us. Or without telling him that I loved him. That we all loved him so much…

I don’t think we can ever go back now.

The Joy I saw

The joy that I saw in their eyes was incredible. I wondered if my face was shining like that as well.

A couple weeks ago we were a bunch of misfits. We were lost and hurt and broken into pieces. We we not okay. 

But safety pins and razor blades don’t define us anymore. They have no grip on us. All the pain and the weight of it has been lifted off of our shoulders. Only joy remains.

Only peace. Only love. Only grace. We are alive and we are free now.

At first there was pain. There was shame. And we had to bring all of that pain and shame and sin out into the open before we could get rid of it. But once it was out there, we didn’t have to get rid of it. Suddenly, it was already gone.

It was taken away. And joy remains.  

Safety pins and Razor blades

A little more, a little less. Moderation is the key. Or so we were told. But moderation means nothing when you’re dying.

Or when you don’t know if you’re dying or not.

They said you had little time to live. So you gave up.

You needed more sex, higher sex, drunker sex, and even more twisted sex. That’s what you needed.

You needed more drugs. Drugs drowned out the pain.

You said everyone has their demons. And I can never figure out if you really realize that they are demons indeed. And you go to church and say that only God can save you now. And you’re so right. But what if God can save you, and you’re too high to care?

Every day you want to give up. Every single freaking day you’re just up and down, high and low, and you just want to throw in the towel. The towel was soaking wet anyways. It was no use.

You say you regret it. Safety pins and razor blades. You regret the pleasure it gave you. You say…you say you needed it. And maybe you did. And sometimes you still go back. You remember how it feels. So cold against your skin.

So red.

If you knew how it hurt me. You probably wouldn’t care. But I care.

You say sometimes you’d like to end it all. Only sometimes you say…

But sometimes is enough to break my heart. Broken hearts break more. Broken love kills everything.

Thursdays are the worst.

Sometimes demons are memories. One thing you see or hear or smell can bring it all back. All the pain, all the ecstasy, all the fear. All the times you tried to escape but couldn’t do it. All the times you fell to the shower floor and cried out in sorrow. All the times you laid in bed wishing that tears would come to comfort you like they used to.

Sometimes demons like to play with you. You know you can’t let them. But sometimes you do. And you regret it every time. But you always go back.

Addiction. I wondered what it was really like. I always said you could control yourself. And you can. But you don’t. You can tell yourself all day and night that this is the last time. But you do it again the next time. And it hurts. But maybe you like the pain.

An addict is just someone who needs an excuse for their sin. Sure. But it’s not all in the heart, it’s an awful lot in the head. And the head doesn’t like to be told what to do. It thinks that the telling is its job. Right now it is.

All these words…I don’t know where they came from, where they are going. We want to be done. We want to leave and never come back. But the smell…

The sound of it, it reminds us. 

The feel of everything brings it back and we say that we need it. We need it. Just this time. We’ll work on it later, but right now we have to have it. We can’t live.

But we can’t die either. Not like this. Not now. 

We need one more chance.

I am tired.

My heart is broken. Beyond repair it seems. I know that isn’t true…but my heart hasn’t heard that yet.

I want to cry but my eyes have run dry. I want to run away but my legs would fail me, I know. I want to go back and try again, but this isn’t a choose-your-own-adventure book. I want to go back and tell her that she is more loved than she could ever imagine.

My soul is torn to shreds. I don’t know how this happened. I wasn’t ready yet. None of us were. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

We weren’t ready! Don’t you understand that? We aren’t ready to live without her! We can’t do it! 

She would want us to push through. She does. But I am tired. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I can barely breathe without choking. I wish I had told her that I loved him like I wanted to. I wish she knew I wasn’t just playing. 

I wish so many things. Grieving makes you think too much at times, and not enough at others. Things that I thought were important seem trivial. Things that I thought were trivial are now everything. Like saying I love you. I have to tell everyone that. Always. I have to. Oh my dear…

How can I go on?