Sometimes he disappears for days.
Stops replying, won’t answer calls, just
Then he’s back like it never happened at all.
Constantly around, hyper, sarcastic, goofy, normal.
Following me from room to room like some lost puppy.
And I love his attention, God, I live for it.
But then he strips it all away; leaves me empty handed and bored and alone.
He won’t respond to a knock.
I haven’t seen him for days, I wonder if he’s been eating, I worry.
I wait it out, like I usually do, and when I’m laying down staring at my screen I hear the door creak open.
Small in my oversized sweatshirt, tangled chocolate curls matted to his forehead, standing shyly like he’s waiting for permission.
And he looks tired, and unkept, and maybe, sad?
Still pretty. Always pretty.
“Hey?” I gently ask, “you good?”
Just keeps his head down and shuffles his feet across the floor, across the room, headed towards me on the bed.
Without a sound he slowly crawls onto the end of the mattress, and over to my side, where he rests his head against my chest and closes his eyes.
I do not know what is happening. At all.
But I notice his eyelashes are damp, and his cheeks rosy pink, and again I prod,
I wait in silence for anything, anything from his lips, just to ease my mind.
But he simply shakes his head, curls in closer, keeps his eyes shut.
I wish he’d feel safe enough to be vulnerable with me.
I wonder if he’ll fall asleep.
“Are you going to sleep?”
Rejoice, he can create sound!”
A low chuckle, maybe? A scoff?
“...It’s..difficult..” he begins a sentence but trails off, his voice barely above a whisper like it hurts to speak.
“To talk? You sick? Throat hurts or something?”
George shakes his head slowly and opens his eyes in a groggy trance.
“No..not sick? No your throat doesn’t hurt? What George, come on, spit it out.”
He takes like a minute to blink, to sigh, to sit up from his spot on my chest, to stare at his hands, to hide under his hood, I don’t know, hide from me?
I’ve never seen him like this.
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
He finally finds some words, “Yeah, on purpose.”
Another sigh, “I don’t let you. Anyone. See me like.. Like this.”
“And what is ‘this’ exactly?”
“I don’t, I guess, I, I don’t really know either it’s just, sometimes everything is exhausting, and difficult, and I’d rather, or, it’s-- I don’t know, easier. It’s easier to just shut down for a bit. Reset. Rest.”
“Yeah.. I just, I’m tired or, whatever..”
“So for two days you’ve been asleep? 48 hours. Just, sleeping away.”
“I mean essentially? Yeah, or I guess laying down with my eyes closed but still awake?”
“You’re tired? That’s all I get? Tired?”
“Not like.. Sleepy tired. Like.. uh, idk like-”
“Exhaustion? Emotional exhaustion. Melancholy. Depressed.”
He scoffs again, rolls his beautiful coffee eyes.
I just want him to look at me, talk to me like we normally do, about everything. But he’s still staring at his hands, picking at his fingernails, clearly uncomfortable.
“I don’t have anything to be depressed about.”
“Mental illness doesn’t really work like that. It’s not picky.”
He sighs, he shuts down, almost defeated.
“You have been consistently randomly disappearing since I met you 5 years ago, for sometimes days at a time, no contact, could be dead for all I know. During that time you: don’t eat, you sleep all day, and if you’re not sleeping you’re lying, unmoving, in a dark locked room.
My turn to sigh. To stare at the ceiling and exhale slowly.
He lets out a heavy groan.
I knew he’d get lonely, before he got here, before I could see him all the time, message him in discord and a second later be in my room, but I never thought about the implications.
How there was no food in the fridge or utensils in the drawers, how he’d only shower before a stream or on the rare occasion he’d leave his house, how he would just go radio silent for a few days or just act aloof and distant on call.
He sinks back down to his previous position, his head on my shoulders, burrows closer into my chest and shakes his head again. His hair is overgrown and messy and I can tell by the oil and the texture that he hasn’t washed it in a while. He doesn’t smell bad though, just like Gogy, just normal George scent. Besides the tears I can feel wetting my shirt, he’s still normal Gogy. I pull him in tighter and give him a squeeze.
“George you can tell me literally anything, don’t you know that?”
He lifts his head and fixates his eyes on a spot on my leg. He starts to fidget with the hem of my shirt, tugging at a loose strand.
“Yeah..yeah I know..I just don’t really..ya know..”
“Talk about your feelings, ever?”
“From my years in therapy I can tell you one thing: talking about it helps.”
Another big sigh, a slight groan, and he’s thrown himself back against the pillow, my arm finds its way around his shoulders, he’s never been this touchy before.
“There’s nothing to really say.. I just get overwhelmed by it all.”
“All of what? Streaming? Editing?”
“What’s overwhelming about life?”
George covers his eyes with his hands and groans again. I poke his stomach and he gives me the most pitiful look I’ve ever seen.
“George,” I whisper, “What’s so overwhelming about life?”
“I don’t know” He whispers back, and now the tears are visible on his pale skin.
“Oh Gogy..” I pull him closer to me in an awkward hug that he just melts into, then he sprawls the top half of his body across mine and just silently cries. I’ve never seen him cry before. He's still beautiful though. As always. Maybe more.
We lay like this for a while. Until his breathing slows and his body relaxes and I know he is asleep.
I want to help him, to make him happy, but I don’t know what he needs.
Maybe just this. Just a warm body to cling to. Just a friend to sit by and wipe the tears away.
For now, maybe I can be enough.
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