To You; But I Guess To Me

To you, in hopes that you never receive this. 

I go to write this because the thought of actually doing it made my stomach curdle. Reality was always more palpable once it hit paper.   

I know who I am, I know where I am.  

These words sound harsh yet I can’t be held responsible for the physical symptoms my emotions decide to play out. I feel like I have nothing to say but everything at the same time. A generic, cheap trope. So vague and empty. Typing these words has made me anxious but I think as the lines get longer my breaths become shorter and the correlation is frightening. I write this because I yearn to ramble indistinctly but shout on deaf ears at the same time. I want my words to have no meaning, to be the equivalent of a crude drawing on a spiral notebook. Derived from the mind sinking in between thoughts. What is the exact image? I’d say it used to be me. It seemed a lot clearer a few days ago. I seemed a lot clearer a few days ago. 

 I want to be left on a table, or in the bottom of a second priority backpack. Mashed leaves that happen to have lines on them. I don’t want to be of importance. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. If I could just shout out the shape of the weight that has taken place in my chest then everything would be a lot easier. I’d have a start.  

Man, break-ups can be hard and I can be dramatic. Focus.

Who was I dating? 

Should I plead for vacancy? Have I disassociated so far that I find myself handling things? I am not able to differentiate. In the beginning of this I thought that I was writing a letter, but I’m realizing that I’m writing out an identification. It’s not to you, it’s to me. If I can describe who I am and what I see before me then there are more steps to come after that. What am I touching?  

Cold glass. 

The tactility of life is so fragile when the ground you step on brings you closer to nothing. What direction can I go if I cannot distinguish between forward and back? Identify, identify, identify. Admit your confusion. We don’t have to know and understand everything that happens to us. Who are we? Your eyes look tired. My eyes look tired. It does not make the situation any lesser than what it was. It is not your job to make excuses for others actions when they pertain to you. You are not responsible for fixing others or providing a reason to their wrong-doings. However, it is all subjective. Do not pause. Take your thoughts and stand by them, feel strong.  

The conflict behind here resonates. 

A glare catches my eye, my attention lead elsewhere. 

Your cheeks seem sharper than what I remember. You weren’t known to have kind eyes. Innocent maybe. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.  

We don’t keep in touch anymore.  

Except today we do. Your skin looks soft. Have you gotten thinner?  

It upsets me when you make those faces.  

I wish I had more to say but the longer I sit here the more unrecognizable you become. I’d say I think we have a lot in common but I don't even know what you like to do anymore. It’s been a couple years and I’m unsure if we’ve matured. If we’ve grown. I wish you could tell me more as I race between the thoughts flowing through my mind and the lack of energy in your eyes. 

 In fact, I feel myself becoming hot as I try to find words to describe you. 

What was your laugh like? Do we have wrinkle lines yet? Who are you talking to? 

 I know where I am. I know who I am.  

I’d like to take a break but I’m close.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I said this before. You’ve said this before. I just want to reiterate that I didn’t ask you to leave because I wanted you to, I asked you to leave because it would have been selfish of me to have you stay. It would have been selfish of you if you had stayed. I don’t know if you see that yet. I want to take a step forward but then I know you will be too close. I don’t know if I can handle that. Or is this the direction towards nothingness? I’m almost there but it’s on the tip of my tongue. You used to be quite... what is it, happy? The wrinkles near your eyes. They’ve been there for a while. They’re not new. 

Oh, I know where you’re from.  

I feel myself coming to as I put my hand forward once more, a reach instead of a step. It’s glass. I look up suddenly and lock eyes.  

Surely, I haven’t been talking to myself this whole time? Where is she. She was just here. When did I wake up this morning?  

My mind draws blanks as I reminiscent on brighter times. Brighter times. Fluorescent lights creep into my memory. I look around once more and notice the now buzzing dim pale yellow light. 

I wasn’t here earlier. I was in my office, on my computer. Writing in my journal? I saw my roommate walk by just earlier, I know she was there. He was just here. What was my roommates name again? Jo-.. Jenni-.. Was it a woman? I can’t be sure now. What day is it? 

 I know where I am. I know who I am.  

I lock eyes with the woman across from me again. Panic starts to set in.  

How long have I been here? Why am I not in class? Where is she? I’m supposed to be in class.   

I grasp my wrist in an attempt to lay down the medical paper wrapped around it. This can’t be right. This is dated four years ahead. 

 I lock eyes with myself in the nearby reflection again.  

Oh, how good it feels to be back.  

I let out a cry as I crumple up the paper in my lap, a moment of clarity after an amount of time I’m unsure of. I toss it toward an ever-growing pile of paper. For just a few minutes, the lucidity of the room matches the lucidity of my mind.  

I’m finding it difficult to gather my thoughts and figure out my timeline. My will to savor the moment seems to be lasting longer than normal. I know where I am. I know who I am. Was my diagnosis that long ago? They said it wouldn’t progress this badly. 

I thought I had more time than this. 

 It doesn’t help that this person keeps staring at me. 

That damned glare hits my eye again, while her glare meets mine. 

God, what is this person looking at?