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No More “Friends From College”

I don’t feel like I’m missing out. I don’t feel like there is somewhere I’d rather be. I find myself letting go of who I think other think I should be. This part feels better. This part feels healthy. This part is hopeful.

The Drowning You

You're swimming in a pool. We're all there with you. You're surrounded by us, your friends. Let's play a game. Okay. Why not? Let's see who can hold their breath the longest. It's all fun and games. It's exciting. Anyone could win. One. Two. Three. And you're under the water. You're better at this than you thought. But you're scared to open your eyes underwater. You start to lose track of how long you've been submerged. How many are left? You don't want to be last. But do you really want to be first? No one likes first place. But everyone wants to be first place. So then what's more important? Envy or likability? The longer you're under, the more you realize that maybe second place is the best of both worlds. So you wait. But you can't wait too long. You know you have to peak. But what if the water gets in and you go blind? That doesn't happen. Everyone opens their eyes underwater. You can do it. Just real quick. You peak. There is many more of us than you were hoping to see. Shut back tight. What's the plan? You pull yourself into a ball. Hang on. Just a little bit longer. You start to get a little bit dizzy. It's okay. It's just part of the game. Hang on. Just a little bit longer. You let a little bubble out. A little water in. But it doesn't hurt. It actually feels a little bit good. Hang on. You're getting closer to the finish now. A bigger gulp. You start to sink down. But it's okay. You're surrounded by us. Someone will notice. Someone will do something. And another big gulp of water rushes in. Do your lungs feel funny? Can you leave now? You open your eyes again. You have to. It's urgent. But the pool is full. We're all still under. Can you last long enough to beat us? You close your eyes. If you weren't under water, you might be crying. But it's okay. It's just a game. Hang on. Hang in there. More water rushes in. You're losing it. You're losing consciousness. You wave your arms in a last desperate attempt. Up. Up. Up. The seconds seem longer as you get closer to the end. Up. Up. Up-

You burst out of the water, hanging on the edge of the pool. Heaving up so much water. You can't keep anything in. The water turns into heavy breaths. You can breathe. You're okay. You look around for us. But we won't look back. We all stand far away. You call out. Can we hear you? We couldn't say. You ought to know it. You ought to have someone tell you up front. No one wants to be friends with someone who's willing to drown themselves.

Ready or not.

Terrified and at peace. Maybe I just care too much about what other people think. Are we forcing too much? Maybe I just never thought I'd fall this quickly. And I'm ready for forever. But how soon does forever mean rings? I think there is so much more to say. I think there is so much more to live. But even if timings off, even if we jump to fast or too slow, at least I'll be off with you.

Enough.

And no one is. And I know. And it’s nothing about me. And I know. And it’s not a big deal. And I know. And it’s not cause I’m boring. And I know. And it’s just relaxing. And I know. And it won’t be a problem. And I know. And it’ll end if I want. And I know. But you already know how I feel.Do I know? And you’ve watched several tears. Maybe I don’t know.

Tippy Toes

Could you stop by to say hello, cause I've already let you in. I'm falling to find myself closer than your arms have been. Your kisses mean so much more than just your lips. Every day could be the first of my very last sip. You are so much more than the half I thought I would need. Can you promise that your with me? Cause I promise I'll concede.

I was depressed so I got a cat.

I joke about being in the midst of my quarter-life crisis. Hell, maybe I really am. As someone who has dealt with waves of anxiety and depression since puberty, it’s all business as usual. This crisis didn’t start when my head began spinning endlessly. It didn’t start when the tears rolled down my cheek. It didn’t start when I stood alone in the dark on top of a mountain. It didn’t start when I looked down at what appeared to be nothing but blackness or when the count began in my head. One, Two-- No, this, this part of my life began when I turned around and got back in my car. When I decided it was better to live without vision or hope than to just give it all up. Which perhaps is hope after all.

I don’t know if I can read another book about God.

I don’t want to hear about what “god” is like. What things “he” hates or what things “he” loves. What traditions help you experience “him”. And why anyone who thinks differently won’t make it to heaven. I don’t need a list of “his” rules. I am no longer at the place where I can believe in a “god” who sends the disagreeing to their eternal doom.

alliebabwa

Mess.

And if I’m a mess I have to know you are too. And I can’t stress when I don’t want you too. But I can’t guarantee I’ll make it through. And quite frankly, neither can you. But if you fall I can’t pick you up. And if I’m already down, was there never an actual chance? Am I just biting my time. But if my hearts as far as I think, I’m not sure I’ll be able to figure this one out rationally. The words you can’t say first. I don’t want to stay just to prove I can. Am I asking for more than I can have?

Tiny.

Minimize. Downplay. Reason away. Repeat. How do you learn to not see yourself so small?

Head.

I’m going to beat this. I’m going to get there. Why is focus so hard? What am I really so afraid of? But if I can learn to get better, I can help others get better too. Or at least that’s what I hope. I’ll stop scratching and start applying. I hope.

Pride.

I’m not really sure how to explain my thoughts. Or exactly what they are. I guess in the end I find myself creating my own cookie-cutter religion after all. They say you can’t pick and choose. They say we could never understand God’s full plan. But I won’t believe in a God who doesn’t pick us. A God who picks the few he predestined to be righteous. Or the all-knowing God who knew and still let it happen this way. And if God can’t love people, then I can’t love God. But I don’t think God condemns on the basis of out-dated rules. Call me heretical. I call it contextual. But if you’re taking it literally, what do I even know? I’m a woman. Rape me, then buy me, then marry another as well. Have our slave do our laundry, cause that’s okay too. Can you tell me I’m wrong?

Lips.

And I smile. And I laugh, And I forget I need to breath. It’s a phase. But I like where this is going. I don’t know how long. But I know I’m already knee-deep. I know I’ve lost my footing. I’m falling quickly. It’s the things you laugh at. And where your stories tend to go. The amount you consume. They way you watch things. The scent you left on my pillow. Your drive to win. How your eyes light up when you’re excited. Your big hands. The way you kiss me. And then that’s it. I’m yours.

Esteem.

Am I not enough to keep myself going? Is that true? Is that who I am? Or more really, what I think? I need to be able to say no. And I need to be able to sort my shit out. And maybe I am good enough. But good enough for what? For existing? I’m not big on esteem. Actually, I am lacking a lot more than I should. I could never believe a god would love me in particular. And I never wanted to believe he would love me more than anyone else. I can’t believe in that. I want us all to have a shot. But do I have to make me so small to fit in everything else? Can I be a big deal too? Can I be okay for me? Just me. Not you. Is it really the worst if I’m not the reason I didn’t off myself? They always said to find value in god, but then he’s the one who abandoned me first.

Spiders.

In my bed. On my ceiling. Small, but big. Black and furry. I’m 21 and I won’t be scared away. I might be scared away. I’m not sure how to make things okay. Maybe it really is better to never talk. But I don’t think so. And I wish we could just talk. And I wish things didn’t have to feel strange. I’m scared of falling again. I’m scared of being tossed aside. I’m scared of when that feeling goes away. And I have more trust issues than I would like to admit. But maybe that’s because I’ve spent my life in my head. And everything I do is subtext.

Graduate.

The season in your life where you question whether or not it was all worth it. When anxiety hits like a mother fucker and every word you begin to write for the next cover letter ends with a nap. It’s harder and harder to get up these days. And the worst part is I’m not sure what I want. And on top of it all, my house flooded. This is being graduated. I’m happy for those who have had better luck endurance than me, but I can’t stop freaking out. I’m just a mess.

Paper.

A blank piece. A pen. A few minutes. A few more. Still a blank piece. I've been thinking and rethinking and over-thinking. And a blank piece of paper. I can't guarantee anything. Maybe that's what I'll say. My heart is still breaking. I want to believe this is more than just an effort to be okay. Is it against the rules to be honest about where I'm at? But I like to laugh. And smile. And feel good about myself. I like that when I think about just you, my head stops. But life is so much bigger than just two. And I can't promise I'll fall in love with you. But I know I want to find out.

Faded.

The girl who can’t write her paper cause she’s stuck in her head. Who cried at her own party cause she was worried you’d make out with her friend. The girl who didn’t graduate on time. The one who’s nowhere near having a job. Who still hasn’t gotten around to working out again. The girl who’s newly dyed hair has faded back into blonde. They say no one will love you until you love yourself. And I think it’s more about picking the things that are best for you than believing you’re the shit. But I’ve become so comfortable where I am. And so very scared of getting better only to get back here again.

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