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Saint Louise Was Listening On
3:22 a.m. || 2004-04-15
In my bed, next to Eric, and I started to think, and I started to wonder if I died tonight if he would cry. I thought about how we work, more like friends now than like the passionate lovers I thought we always would be. I thought about how empty the house would be without his laughter, and then I thought about how I might feel slipping away on a drug overdose. I wondered if I would know that I was slipping into a coma, I wondered if it would be more uncomfortable than life is already, I wondered what it would be like after, or if there would be nothing but blackness forever, or maybe there would be someone there to comfort my torment and let me know that it was okay that I had failed this time around. I thought about how surreal life already is, and how I thought when I was a child that this age was impossibly old, and now I cannot reconcile with myself how I came here, how I became this. I thought about seeing ribbons of red on my body, and I thought about how temporary that solution feels in the long run. My pain, my only true friend ever, who never deserts, never betrays, never stays flacid and wary when I advance in on it, never condemns, only sits there, like a compassionate saint, inviting, and familiar, my pain. When everything is gone, it will be here with me, knowing. It is the only thing stable and insurreal, constant, steady. I wonder sometimes if the pain would really end if I ended it. I wonder if the joke therein lies, and if the pain is never ending. I wonder how I got here, how I faked it for so long, how I could partition so no one believes, how I could lie to so many many people.
If I don't wake up tomorrow, I want you all to forgive me. I wish I could have explained, but everything was in my head, and I smiled for too long, and now there is no hope. I smiled and you all laughed with me. But I was never happy.
I was never real to begin with.