The Letters to My Friends I Will Never Send: Vol 2

I am so outside myself today.

The pit of my stomach is rising like I’m falling from the cliff I couldn't jump from. It's an infinite drop, and anticipating the end seems inevitable.

In moments like these, things become difficult to verbalize. Words don’t form the way I’d like. I turn quieter than I am. I become someone other than me. That person is a skeptic, riding the waves of panic with no sense of direction.

I’m laying on my floor, looking up. What a thought it is: Does anyone ever notice the ceiling? White, dusty, textured. I reach for it; my arms are heavier than I remember. I can’t move. She falls abruptly, but I didn’t feel her meet the ground. Am I floating now?

I am here. My body is here, but it is without sensation. My chest is weighed down. I am out of breath and so calm. The ceiling is getting closer to me, but I’m inviting. The dust sprinkles my eyes. There are too many things to think, and no thoughts ready to present. I always wondered what a clear mind does—It lays.

The phone rings. I wait, but she rings again, and air circulates my body. I’m gasping. I mustn’t’ve been breathing this entire time. How long? Where might I have gone—where breathing was choice; a luxury provided to those who afford it.

I’m speaking to you, in a voice even I don’t understand. Do you hear it as I do? You ask me how I’m doing, but you don’t mean it. I’ve tried to steer clear of you, and you caught me this time. So much time, I realize. I need to move. I’ve missed two classes already, and I’m unsure how you know that. You speak clearly, and you ask again. Is everything okay, and do I want you to come over? I don’t. You invite yourself. I guess it’s just some allotted time. Pay per slot.

I’m dreading any interaction. I want to be alone, but I’ve avoided you so long, my anxiety wedges itself between my thumb and the call button. Your location gaps the space steadily, and my stomach rises again. I’m over these cliffs. Who keeps pushing me?

I stare, straight for the door, knowing your fists are coming to assault it. I don’t enjoy the sounds of others right now. I want to silence the world. I can’t even drown the world in music. I can’t drown without water. I don’t have a fucking tub.

I hear you stomping around, and the world is crashing at my fucking feet. PLEASE BE QUIET. I answer the door.

STOMPING LIKE AN ELEPHANT YOU’RE SO LOUD AND IM SO EXHAUSTED.

How is it possible that you’ve come here on your terms and not mine? What was I thinking; opening a tiny door for you, knowing you would smash your entire body through the opening. I tell you I can’t talk anymore. I tell you I need to watch something to take my mind off of things. I tell you this to shut you up.

I turn it on, and I still feel that I’m spinning. Walking is a stupid hard today. You’re asking me for advice. You keep opening your mouth, words running faster than I can catch. Any other day, I would brush your sides and whip up my magic. I am so good at reassuring you. I am so good at telling you the worst is never the worst. You are always kind in those moments. You are the easiest when you’ve settled into my words. I never mind in the moment, but I feel the need for sleep after every time. There is no one else on this earth that can make me as exhausted as you can; I close my eyes to the thought.

I’m watching this like its a film, and we are the subject matter. We are the problem to one another—a mirror reflection—the worst parts of us visible only when we are together. I’m boiling somehow. I can really feel the heat in my cheeks. I’m so angry with you right now. I’m always quiet and welcoming when you need it. Why are you so blind? I thought you were my best friend, but you don’t recognize a panic attack when you see one. Is that even what this is?

I suppose perhaps it’s unfair of me to expect so much of you. I am considering your thoughts this day too. I know you had things on your mind. I just don’t see the connection to this gap. I didn’t invite you over. I didn’t need you today. You needed me.

You wanted more of my words

More of me to give more of this energy

That I am void of

And more of this light that I’ve already burnt out myself

And more of the softness

That I’ve hardened to

And more of the kindness that I’ve been sucked dry of.

But you get it from me. I don’t know how, but I say it all for you. I show it all again, back and forth we go again and my body stalls and kicks into overdrive. I’m bucking, but the sounds spill out the way you love. Joyful baby-like appeasement. I’ve slapped my hand directly onto the stovetop. It’s searing. You are satisfied.

You leave, and I cry.

I can’t pretend I can do it anymore. Not after I’ve seen you. Not after I’ve seen so much of myself in you.