I haven’t been writing enough lately.
Or at all, really.
I could probably come up with a lot of reasons why.
To be honest, I’m not sure why I’ve stopped.
-
The rain today has been welcome.
The air tastes like fall, cool and crisp.
I walked by a scaffolding on my way home,
and heard water drip-drip-dripping.
I remembered when I used to climb on rooftops.
I remembered when I used to climb on rocks.
I breathed in, and my lungs felt so full that they’d burst.
Pangs of loneliness and longing built up in my chest.
I miss people.
I miss my friends, my old friends, my closest friends.
Loneliness like this, in a lot of ways, is like picking at a scab.
Sometimes you forget that it’s there,
but other times it itches and you can’t help but scratch.
You scratch, and suddenly you’re bleeding again - hurt again.
The injury is made new and you find yourself awash with feelings.
I miss him, and her, and him, and her, and him, and her, and him and her
etc, etc, etc
Like the first few water droplets in a rainstorm, it starts slow.
And then it just starts fucking pouring.
I missed Brian. He’d messaged me, and I’d forgotten to respond.
I’ve been forgetting to respond to just about everyone for years now.
I’m an asshole.
And then Jubilee, and then Danny, and then Jordan, and then Corey, and then Audrey, and then Ian,
and more,
and more and more and more, so many more,
spiraling, spiraling,
dozens and dozens of friends or lovers or family members,
and fuck.
Fuck, that feeling sucks.
My feet picked up their pace.
My breathing picked up to match, but I was lost in my head.
I wanted horizon, I wanted sky, I wanted space and distance.
A minute later, and I was home.
I pulled my keys out of my pocket, spinning the key-ring on my index finger.
“You’re home now, Alex. Calm down. You’re okay”
Quietly muttered to myself.
Inhale through the nose, exhale through an exhausted sigh.
Down the stairs, open the door, and I’m home.
-
The door opened more easily than usual, maybe because of the cold.
Something strange always happens when I come home.
And, yeah, I mean always.
I open the door and, for a second, I’m filled with dread.
I hope that Cora is home, that she’s okay, that she’s safe,
that nothing happened while I was gone.
I step inside, close the door, lock it closed, and yell out my “hello”.
I don’t know why I panic every fucking time.
I’m probably terrified of being abandoned,
or maybe of being alone.
To be honest, I don’t fucking know - but I feel so damned desperate sometimes.
I see her and I’m hit with waves of relief.
Sometimes I’m so tired that I can’t even muster up a smile.
What a terrible partner am I that I don’t even smile?
But seeing her makes my heart slow down and calm.
It’s pathetic, but sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night
and I’m terrified that something horrible has happened to her.
I’ve checked her breathing while she’s asleep so, so many times.
I’ve never been like this in a relationship before.
Maybe it’s because of her past health issues. Maybe I just feel vulnerable now.
She asks me how my day was.
She’s at her work desk - inking something.
Her ability to create can seem like magic or witchcraft sometimes.
Even when she’s sick or exhausted or depressed, she can create.
Cute things, silly things, serious things, scary things, amazing things.
I don’t watch her while she draws or paints or anything. It makes her nervous.
Maybe that adds to the mystery.
I told her that I got a raise today, that I messed something up at work, etc.
She’s tired and sick and... sad?
I think that she’s sad.
She always seems so sad when she’s tired.
And she’s almost always tired when I get home.
I feel guilty for getting her sick, for not being around more, for not helping more.
I want to make her feel better and happy, safe and warm, loved and appreciated.
And...
God, you know that feeling?
When you want something SO BADLY but don’t even know how to start?
That’s how I felt tonight.
I wanted make her feel loved, to pour love out of me.
I held her, kissed her, spent time with her, made her laugh, tucked her in.
And it just didn’t feel like it was enough.
She’s still sick and sad and I feel so ineffective.
I appreciate the irony that I must make others feel this way about me.
I know that my depression can cast me in her role so often.
-
It’s 4:40 in the morning and I’m writing this.
I don’t really know why.
It felt important, in a way.
I was talking with Jubilee while I was at work, telling her about the weather.
She told me to take photos.
Why the fuck haven’t I been taking photos?
I love photography - even if I’m only adequate at it.
Why haven’t I been writing?
Why am I always so fucking tired?
Cora has been asleep for about four hours, and I’ve been trying to do...
Something. Anything.
Nothing is sticking.
Nothing is fun.
Nothing is satisfying.
The writing in movies/tv shows is problematic.
The youtube/twitch channels I watch are annoying.
The music that I like isn’t sinking into me.
The games that I like are stale or buggy or shallow.
The projects that I’ve worked on are amateurish.
It’s just one of those night, I guess.
