I’m in the middle of self destruction. I've been home for a
couple of hours already and frittered the first 40 minutes on the toilet going
through facebook...everything. Just everything. Status updates, George Takei's
videos, how someone found a needle in Halo clementines from walmart, and thank
god their child rips it apart instead of biting in because, well, fuck. I keep playing covers of "Sunday
Morning Coming Down" into my imovie, hoping to perfect my sadness. Since I
changed my facebook settings to public since I defriended you before you could
drop me, I hope every now and again you might creep my profile without me
knowing and catch the songs I'd written and posted, or this cover of the song
you told me you felt an affinity for when we were high. Or drunk. On apple pie
moonshine? I can't remember either way. But I miss you. You called me a
goddess. And I felt like one in my black roller derby t shirt and red hi top
converse as I straddled your lap. And oh! The genuine amazement when I played
guitar for you. I've had people pay me compliments before, but they were never
whole hearted as yours. You can tell because they don't really care, and it
comes across in tone, and the way their faces look unimpressed and the words
and expressions aren't congruent. But you! There's no way for me to describe
the way you make me feel other than something else. But you don't believe how
much you're worth to me. And it's so frustrating. I want to be your best
friend. I want to share everything with you. But you make me so nervous. But I
kind of relish it. And I kind of just want to glue my hands to your hair and
follow you around through your day. And write crazy things like this. Because I
don't care how crazy I am. I know it. Everyone else will too. And I don't give a
fuck. My thoughts race and I'm privileged enough to be able to write them down,
and express, and that means EVERYTHING to me, and has since I was 17. I don't
care how inane, or vacuous, or just plain fucking dumb. If there's a thought or
feeling you've had, chances are someone else has too and you’re helping give
them a voice in your fearlessness. So just say whatever with a genuine heart. I
do that. I'm proud of it. I'm
typing like a madman. READ ME READ ME READ ME. But I can TALK TALK TALK all I want, and it's so ineffectual,
bouncing off your eardrums and out of your head because you don't want me. And
if you did, it would show. You'd talk to me without me talking to you first,
you 'd want me around, you'd feel confident in the uncertainty of things
because at least you'd have me and we'd make it okay for each other. But you
don't. I don't think you even miss me. And I'm confused. Because you run
through my head every minute, every hour on the dot, and I hope you're doing
okay, and I hope you're missing me. And I hope you speak up sometime so you
actually get what you want. And I'm so mad at you if you were only mirroring
what I felt back at me like it's what I expected of you. I expected you to just
be you. To have your own voice. But you parroted my own back at me like a
cockatoo, until you realized it wasn't your own voice. I wish you would've just told
me what you were thinking. Genuinely what was coming from you and not what you
thought my expectation of you was. I still like you. You know I still love you.
And it will never EVER be a secret. Because I have a big mouth. Because why
would I keep that a secret? I'm not ashamed. Why should I be? But don't panic.
Please don't. This is me. Not you. And that's okay. As long as you realize that
being you is always what I'd wanted of you. As panicked or messed up as you feel. I'll be
waiting. Like a crazy person. Not with an axe or anything terrifying that way,
but with a beer and a song, and a hope in my heart that you'll come back
around.
