wrote this without realizing it's the 3 month anniversary
i write this with tears in my eyes and i don't know if it's from the thought of writing or from the sun that's blinding me through the window of this cold, empty house
i end the sentence and a tear rolls down my cheek as if it's performing for someone.
i don't really cry loudly when i'm alone, it's always when someone else is near. im allowed to feel when someone else can share the feeling with me. i've felt so alone for weeks. maybe i should listen to the voice recording of g and k and me driving through the altadena ruins crying. the last time i watched someone else feel something.
[seven minutes later after listening to the recording and uncontrollably sobbing so much in a shaking, ugly mess]
well, i guess i can cry alone
[fourteen minutes after a roommate walks in and i compose myself to ask about her day and laugh about something insignificant that happened in mine]
what was i saying? the numbness is back.
this is what it feels like every damn day and i want to fight and i'm mad as hell and i want someone to cry too but only to catch me in that rare moment where I let myself cry because i'm also tired from watching others cry while i'm consoling them like i always do and--
heather, my therapist, asked me today why i'm always reaching out to others and why i'm trying to get the community together for a dinner / a call / to make art. and, why i'm never able to say i need this for myself. why i'm scared no one would show up then. why i want people to care so damn much that their care can take care of me and themselves and the greater issue at hand and--
i don't want you to do it just for me. i don't want you to feel just for me. i don't want you to cry just for me.
sometimes i think if i disappear how will things change -- and no, not in the way you're thinking, but -- just, disappear. would people feel lighter ? i know some would.
i wish i didn't want to control things as badly as my dad and my sister and every perfectionist in my lineage likes to control people
and i wish i didn't want to store all the ugly feelings as deep as my mom has
i don't know who i'm writing this for anymore. it's not for you, and i hope you don't take it as that. i'm not asking anything from you.
i know I've been showing you the worst of this ugly, angry mess and i don't do it because i want you to pity me but because i can't show anyone else anymore
i talk about friendships more than i talk about fire.
a lot of things have burned recently.
should i listen to the voice recording again?
[it's been twenty three minutes]
the house is full now. full, in a no-traces-of-my-tears-full. full, in why was I writing this, again? full. my face is dry. my body is empty.
i'm so sorry i'm such a mess right now. i don't know when i'm going to be myself again. i'm so scared this is it.