May the Best Man Win

This past summer, I finally took the time to sit down and write the book I had talked about forever. Today, I realease that book to anyone who is interested in reading it. I am very lucky to know people that show so much interest in someting that means a lot to me.

If at any time you have a question or just want to talk about the book, please don’t hesitate to. You can reach me on Twitter at @MTBMW or Facebook at May the Best Man Win.

Thank you again. And enjoy! :)

“The search for truth is difficult & often filled with pain,

the fear to continue overpowered by what there is to gain.

God’s love and the spirit within help our wounded hearts to forsee.

The peace and pure love that will be ours, when, at last, we are

FREE.”

In Loving Memory of

Christine Olson

Dedicated to my mother

For always letting me be who I wanted to be

No matter how crazy it seemed

I Love You

This shit is original.

Don’t copy and paste me.

Respect me.

Tell all your friends about me.

I’M FREE!

Thanks for the endless support.

Thanks for dealing with all my facebook posts and tweets.

Thanks for taking time out of your life to be a part of mine.

Don’t hate me if you don’t approve of some of the things discussed.

If you hate my writing style, oh well.

Enjoy!

Chapter One

     When I opens my eyes. Nothing will be different. I can feel it. Sense it. A gut instinct. I’ll still be in the same room. Living the same life. I can’t look forward to a new day when nothing has changed. And you still have yet to come back.

     Ever since you left. I’ve been losing more and more sleep. Those tiny dots of images no longer dance upon my eyelids. Even though I could hardly remember what I saw, that was the highlight of my day. A time where I was able to leave the entire world behind. A time where I could be anyone and anything I wanted to be. A time where I could say without crossing my fingers. I was happy. Those tiny dots are called a dream. They were motivating. Now I just see them as reminders of what could have been our life, had I not been such a fuck up.

     Ever since you left. I have mastered the art of counting techniques. I have won every staring contest versus my ceiling. The empty space sleep would fill is now consumed by cigarettes and alcohol. Crutches. All because of you.

     In five minutes my traditional morning will start. I will still hear the same soundtrack playing.

     Alarms buzzing.

     Birds chirping.

     Water running.

     Doors slamming. 

     Kids laughing.

     Engines rumbling.

     The everyday life noises I could usually sleep through. I now rely on to help let me know the sun is rising.

     If I could play an instrument. I’d write a song so you could hear it my way. If I had to paint a picture to describe the scenery I now live around. I would not be compared to any great artist. I live in a clutter of empty bottles and failed aspirations of ‘What I want to be when I grow up.’ My most prized possession is an ashtray filled with five minute suicide attempts. If I decided to put my story into words with hopes someone would read it, I’d probably win an award for ‘Most Dust Particles Collected.’

     In short, the life I lead without you is pathetic. I’m a waste of a design. I do nothing to stand out in this life. I will not be someone who gets remembered when I die. No one will read about me in history class. That’s why someone has the job to  write history books. To credit those that actually made a difference. I will be skipped over by the one that judges everyones life to determine if I get to be remembered for generations or not. How many people can say something different? Death creates legends. Options. The only war I’ve been in is against my friends and you. I’m not a celebrity so no one gives a fuck what I have to say, but if the media ever spotlighted me, social networks would curse my name to hell. And I’m okay with that. I don’t need someone to measure my life and tell me it wasn’t worth shit. So I guess there’s really no use in complaining. The only proof that I ever existed will be my name on a piece of paper and a stone. Sealed with a time span that shows years of oxygen someone important could have used.

     I’m typical.

     Average.

     I gave up on my dreams. I believe love was not meant for me. I manage to survive. And I do it unnoticed. I won’t talk. No one will listen to me anyway. I have mastered the art of keeping my mouth shut.

     This is not a guilt trip.

     This is not a sympathy cry.

     I suppose I’ll open my eyes. There’s no use in pretending to sleep. I lost track of the last time I did.

     Days?

     Weeks?

     It’s all been a blur.

     Together we used to believe that medication meant we couldn’t control our body and life. If we needed to rely on something or someone other than ourselves to fix something, We weren’t paying attention.

     Apparently, I haven’t been paying attention. Or else I wouldn’t be in this position. I’m waiting for the day when these eyes stop feeding this brain visions, just to say I took a wrong turn somewhere.

     Somewhere between the tossing and the turning, I must have changed the channel on the television. The screen is full of those black and white dots. Blaring the sound of static. For a second I feel like God. I’m sure that’s what He sees and hears. Which explains a lot. Not that I’m affected by that. I stopped praying years ago. When my life took a drastic change and He didn’t do anything to stop it or help. Although, now that I think about it. I take the blame as to why God never listened to me. I haven’t done anything to stand out in this mess of dots. I’m not even supposed to be here. I was a mistake. Which is fine. It gives me more control on shaping who I want to be. I learn from every mistake I’ve made. Maybe God will do the same. I will learn from myself.

     For years, I tried to advise my friends on life. I can give advice. I just can’t take it. My friends are very good at pretending they are listening. I can talk until I’m blue in the face and they still will do what they want. Maybe that’s why we’re all friends. I do what I want. Even if they don’t approve. I like finding things out for myself. Even if it involves a consequence. My friends don’t understand. That’s why ever since you left, they started leaving too.

     I find myself wondering why they even stuck around this long. All I ever did was drag them through hell. At least that’s all they ever made me feel like I did. I’m known more for my negatives than my positives. Frame that. I also wonder what they say behind my back. Probably something along the lines of someone who needs to grow up and stop drinking so much to cover up my issues. Bad friend would ultimately sum it up. I know I’m not any ones best friend. Which is a good thing. Putting labels like that on people isn’t fair. Everyone contributes something different in life. Why should one get the higher pedestal? No one is the best.

     I fuck up. A lot. Look at it this way, with all the fucking up I do, at least I know when I’m doing something right. Even if I haven’t done anything right since you left. Still. That has to be worth something.

     Four minutes. Time is always against me. I owe it all to you for keeping me sane. You taught me how to explore my brain. I could get lost in that thing for weeks. I never knew how many memories I had until I actually dove into the cracks. Sometimes I find it can be difficult to surface. I’ve come close to drowning. Wanting to stay at the bottom. I was happy. A feeling I’m not very used to. Not saying I’m depressed or anything like that. I’m perfectly content with where I’m at. I’m just saying in a day and age where people smile for a camera more then at each other is incredibly disheartening.

     Fake.

     I want to smile for all the right reasons. Everyone relies on photographs to assist them in remembering things. I liked your method. I want to believe you used to be something. Important. Worth it. Instead you left. I could have been something. Important. Now I’m just terrible. I’ve rolled my eyes into the back of my head to keep an eye on my past rather than looking for my future.

     Downfall.

     You taught me that if I knew what was going to happen next, life would be pointless. I wouldn’t take risks. I wouldn’t give my dreams a run for their money. I wouldn’t do anything. Each step I take. Each second I stay alive. Brings me closer to the bigger picture. The one I’ll only be able to see with a view from heaven or hell. Which is determined by whether or not I’m on the ‘Naughty List’ made by Santa Clause. I mean God. I’m convinced God and the Devil have some sort of deal in order to make this all work.

     Imagination.

     You used to tell me that no matter what we see in front of us. We are still blind. I think God made earth spin slow for a reason. Everyone else just lives too fast to notice. They live inside this kaleidoscope of color and events.

     Bleeding.

     Crying.

     Fighting.

     Struggling.

     Only to be diagnosed with a disease, tragic event, or the glorious murderer named Age.

     No matter what great things I do in my life. I can’t live it up for too long. I used to believe you when you said nothing I do is worthless. Somewhere down the line I will impact someone else. I’m just blind.

     Three minutes. I’ve never been able to rely on this heart. All that thing ever did was lead me on. Weigh me down every time I found attraction in something or even someone.

     Have I ever been in love? Tough question.

     First. I have to be able to define that word. People find that extremely hard. They just tell themselves they are in love. If I ever was involved with that word, I was either let down or the let down. I know that for sure. Part of me wants to say I have. But then the other part reminds me of all the shit that accompanies love. If it’s love, should it really hurt?

     You tried telling me love is pure. But I haven’t witnessed it.

     I stomp.

     I break.

     I twist.

     I stretch.

     I scratch.

     (All other abusive words here.)

     My heart to shit.

     You said never judge a book by it’s cover, but when it comes to love, they do. Everything I am. Could have been. Is at stake.

     You said love is neutral. There is no right or wrong in love. That’s the catch. That’s when I’ll know I’m actually in love. When I know the person and myself are capable of handling anything that comes our way. I don’t hate love because I believe I haven’t found it yet. And I’ll know when I find it. I won’t question it.

     Ever since you left. I’ve been changing more then a chameleon at the end of a rainbow. And I don’t need a mirror to prove it. I will not describe my appearance. This isn’t a fucking dating website.

     Ever since you left. I won’t talk to anyone. I don’t want anyone getting attached to me, or viceversa.

     They all change.

     They all leave.

     Commitment is for the strong at heart. I wasn’t given the ability to control this heart, just this brain. I think.

     Ever since you left I’ve been excavating the insides just to see what kind of diamonds someones heart can produce. Greed is what they are all about. I’m giving it a try. This heart is on trial and there’s a gavel giving out convictions for all of my vices. It makes no sense to me, but that’s where I’m at. I’ve heard of the lucky ones. The ones that had everything fit just right. I’ve also heard of the pretenders. Being content is understandable too. All I know is. The shape you used as a heart to draw around your lover’s name. The one that makes a heart look beautiful. Is nothing like the real thing. The real thing is an ugly violent organ. Locked behind a cage of ribs. Mine is.

     I still give positive advice to all my friends though. My friends deserve it. Especially after all the shit I have put them through. Even though these hands are capable of the worst of things, I still find a way to do good with them. Hands can fix anything better then a bottle or drug. I just have to know how to use them. You taught me that.

     I tell my friends the same thing you told me. How our ‘one’ is out there. Loving all the wrong people and making mistakes so that when we meet, everything fits and feels right. My friends don’t understand that when I see their hearts break, I can feel it too. Just because I don’t believe, doesn’t mean I’ve never been there. And just because my decisions are not those you would choose, doesn’t mean I believe in them either.

     I’m lost without you. I’m slowly giving up on everything. You repeated to me on a daily basis how love is more powerful than life. Now-a-days, I can choose when I die. I can’t choose when to fall in love. It’s another cruel joke. Brought to me courtesy of God himself. I would hope I could cry for it. Laugh. Smile. Even die for it. But without you I can’t feel anything. I want love do what love is supposed to do. Sweep me off my feet. Not drop me to my knees. God made love because he knew how life would get unbearable. Lonely. His only flaw was that he gave humanity the ability to give up.

     I’ve been looking at love like a consolation prize. If I deal with all of the obstacles, I can have this for free. Kind of like that free gift on the infomercials. All I have to do is make a few payments and it’s mine. Funny how love and life can be compared to a fucking infomercial. I’d buy it.

Two minutes. If time keeps up the pace, pretty soon there will be another ‘X’ on the calendar. I can see the sun crawling slowly out of it’s grave. Must of had a rough night because it’s bleeding. And I know what you said about a red sky morning.

     Shitty day.

     Just my luck.

     Not like I had anything planned in the first place. Still, it would be nice to have some sort of positive outlook. I always thought I should sum up this life by the amount of good I’ve done. Until I realized I’ve impacted and changed more people’s lives with my mistakes.

     Ever since you left. My new outlook is I want to make sure to live this life by sin. If I’m not good enough to be anything. I at least want to be something. I want to be an example. I want to fuck up. But I have to suffer. They have to suffer, I will learn from it. They may never learn a thing. They’re stubborn. They’re more addicted to money and blood. I could change. I’m just scared of change. Escpecially without you to guide me. They are scared of change.

     Has anyone ever thought age itself was a disease? Or am I the only one.

     You never accepted death. You never thought something bigger and better was waiting six feet beneath our feet. That would make us an easier target for the devil to drag us down. And I said to burn me down to ashes, but you said that has Hell written all over it too. I understand this body is just a shell, a costume. Where I go after this is an even greater mystery. I’ve heard people say that before they die, they see their life flash before their eyes.

     What if I don’t have a life to flash?

     I can’t say I believe in heaven or not. Just like I can’t say if I believe in God. I know what I do believe. You’re not ready to hear that. You’re not here to hear it anyways.

     Sixty seconds and counting. The only thing worth keeping the television on for is some show talking about the year 2012. It’s always intrigued me that the world could end at any moment without warning. Tomorrow is never promised, and maybe that’s why people always break their own. I’ve made promises and people have promised me. All a promise is, is a wish on a star. 

     How can people commit to love, but not something as simple as a promise?

     Everyone needs to learn how to survive by themselves. That’s the only way I might be capable of caring for someone else. I’m beginning to realize I’m exactly like my words. Invisible and silent. Traveling at gut wrenching speeds. Going in one ear and out the other. I’ve become that meaningless. I am that empty.

     I find the note you left. The one you taped to the front door. The one that only had a few words written in your neat hand writing. Those words that haunt me. Taunt me. I still don’t understand why you left. No goodbye. No warning. Just this fucking piece of paper that says,

     ‘If I’m not back in 5…DON’T COME AFTER ME!’

     I’ve been contemplating whether or not I should look for you. Fight for you. Even though that’s not my style. It’s what you would want me to do. Am I capable of doing this for you and not for me? Can I make that sacrifice? I’ve never jumped into something without you by my side. You gave me the confidence. The strength. You said not everything has a clear cut benefit. Not everything we do makes sense at the very second it happens. It takes time to sink in. Do I have that kind of time to wait? I always find it better to prepare myself for the worst.     

     Unfortunately without you involved, the worst I’m prepared for is nothing like what actually happens. I should try to work that flaw out. I know there’s nothing out there for me. Behind these walls. Maybe this is all over my head. What I do know is what you told me. Constantly. Over and over and over. Like a broken record. Like the song in my head.

     You said there is more than this. There is more to it then just birthdays and paydays. There’s something better then love. There’s something better then life. And one day I’ll find it. No matter how much shit I leave behind in ruins, I will fit myself into a scenery.

     Earth is just a room for me.

Chapter Two

     I instantly regret my decision to leave the house. It’s cold. I can smell the rain filling up in the clouds. Waiting to overflow onto the streets. What’s even worse is the gray sky helps illuminate all the neon signs of this city. Advertisements litter the skyline and sidewalks with everything you can think of.

     Make-Overs.

     Obesity.

     Anorexia.

     Sex.

     Drugs.

     Religion.

     That last one pisses me off the most. Churches with posters that say, ‘The Son Always Shines Here.’ They shouldn’t have to sell God. But more and more people are losing faith, and the church has no other option. I have always believed religion is just another form of control. A list of commandments. Right versus Wrong. Religion is to the Government as God is to the President. We’re all expected to believe in someone other then ourselves. Mainly because most of us are too afraid to step up and take charge. And it’s easier to point the finger at someone else if they mess shit up. You taught me that when I point the finger, I have three pointing back at me. If I do mess up, which I always do, I always expected you to fix it. When was the last time I fixed one of my mistakes?

     Eye contact is not in my vocabulary. It’s an invite for some stranger to get under my skin. We all are strangers. No one pays attention to complete strangers. It’s how I was raised. It’s how they were raised. Everyone was raised to never talk to strangers. How does someone meet a friend? A spouse? Doesn’t make much sense, but they never question it. They just tell their kids the same things their parents told them and it’s a cycle. A cycle of neglect. A cycle of cold shoulders and closed minds. They don’t care if the guy who just bumped into them by accident at the train station is the paramedic who will save their life one day. At that moment, he’s an asshole. Gotta love how humanity has turned out.

     The only thing I’ve been good at so far is judging. I feel a thousand pair of eyes looking me up and down trying to read me. It’s uncomfortable. Maybe my image is worth the stares. I never would have thought I wouldn’t enjoy the attention. I’m being noticed, but again for all the wrong reasons. I don’t have a clue as to where I’m going. My feet seem to have an idea or a plan. If I had the energy I’m sure they would be running. I weave in and out of the rush hour crowds. Briefcases and cellphones. Newspapers and coffee cups. A sea of robots. Programmed to do the same shit everyday. Most of them probably hate their jobs. Their life at home. Themselves. I never wanted to end up walking in those shoes. Somehow I think it’s all catching up to me. Destiny? I do believe everything was planned out before I got here.

     My friends.

     My talents.

     My abilities.

     My love.

     My death.

     Nothing is coincidental.

     The deeper I get into the city, the more my brain starts to wander. I catch myself staring into the sky calculating my chance of survival if I jumped from one of the rooftops of the massive steel structures. Suicidal? No. Just looking for a rush. An escape.

     Freedom.

     I remember as a child I would sit in my room and play sad music, pretending it was my funeral. Even then I knew I was a let down. It was my fault my mom was never happy or home. It was my fault my dad was angry and aggressive. It was my fault they weren’t able to stay in love. I don’t have any memories of them together. I was introduced to their world too soon. I am a living mistake. It’s in my DNA. I don’t have much of a relationship with my parents. I talk to them, but only casual conversation. And the only reason we do speak, is because we are related. I’m sure if it wasn’t for the rest of my family, we’d forget the other even existed. Like the strangers I walk in stride with. Everyone lives their own life. Everyone shares words with only the people they accept. Everyone will eventually create a family. And everyone will continue to act as if the strangers they walk in stride with, don’t exist. Blocking out the world. Focused on their life. Forgetting who they are and who they wanted to be.

     Settling.

     Me.

     The clouds start to tilt from the weight of evaporated tears. Making the concrete a canvas of polka-dots. The steady pace of the streets turn into chaos. Umbrellas sprout like flowers. The news on the paper starts to bleed. Car horns blare out of tune to the increasing color of red. Everyone acts as if they are blind with the company of the clear drops. The prepared curse the unprepared. While the unprepared curse the skies. Thousand dollar suits turn to tomorrow’s thrift store prize. Puddles start to drown the lucky pennies the homeless missed.

     I’m trying something new today. My pocket is full of pennies and my mouth is full of wishes. I’m interested to see if this whole penny in the fountain thing really works. I doubt it. It sounds like praying, only this involves money. At this point, I’ll pay anything to have my life change. To get you back.

     There’s over a hundred drowning wishes on the fountain’s floor. And no one in sight. No wonder they never come true. They’re all dead. Forgotten. A spur of the moment idea. I dig in my pockets and pull out about thirteen pennies. I don’t even have thirteen wishes. I don’t want money or cars. Love or fame. I just want one thing.

Stranger: Penny for your thoughts?

     I look over and this guy is just staring at me. Typically I wouldn’t be bothered. But his stare is cold and it almost feels as if he isn’t looking at me, but trying to read me. I try to look away, but our eyes are locked. I’m trying to figure out who the hell he is and what he wants and why he wants to pay me a penny for my thoughts. The more I look at his features, the more I realize he looks oddly familiar. I can’t put my finger on who it is though. I’d describe you his appearance, but again, that’s not important.

     My head starts racing. Contemplating on what I should say. Where did he come from? I didn’t see anyone when I got here. Has he been following me?

     Silence.

     I’m busy thinking of a proper introduction since you said names are not important. While he’s busy trying to figure out what’s going on inside my head. I’m pretty sure I have the upper hand in this situation since it’s impossible to understand my brain. But as soon as that crosses my mind, the silence between us is broken.

Stranger: You need help. I can see it in your eyes.

Me: Excuse me!? I don’t need help. I’m perfectly fine.

Stranger: You have trouble sleeping. You’re missing something.

Me: Who are you? And why are you bothering me?

Stranger: Are you haunted by something?

Me: No…I can sleep. When my body feels like it. When my brain lets me. Just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I need help.

Stranger: So you have too much on your mind is what you’re saying? You and I can talk about it if you want. Maybe we can solve whatever is going on. I’m sure if you talked about it, you would answer a lot of your own questions.

     That’s what you always told me.

Me: Look. Don’t come over here acting like you know me and know what I need. You’re probably as clueless as I am towards life. We don’t have any answers on life. All of our science and answers are just a pile of hypothesis’. No one can prove shit about life. And you can’t prove shit about me.

Stranger: I don’t have dreams anymore. I gave up on the only thing I ever wanted for a shot at what I thought was love. Needless to say. It wasn’t love. And my dream is dead. I shot it point blank in the back of the head.

Me: What does that have to do with me needing help? Do you need help!?

Stranger: I was only trying to open up to you. I thought if I shared a problem, you would share your own. And to politely answer your question. I don’t need help.

Me: Well you thought wrong. I’m not talking about my problems to a complete stranger. I think you need to respect that.

Stranger: Do you have a heart? You act as though you have no feelings towards anything.

Me: I am not heartless! I feel. I feel a lot. I just don’t express it like everyone else. If people knew what made me weak. They could take advantage of me whenever they damn well please. Like all my friends. All they ever did was point out my weaknesses. They would tear me apart. I opened up to them and all they would ever do was talk shit. I have a heart. I have feelings. I just choose to keep everything to myself.

     I start to walk away. Shoving my hands in my pockets. Keeping my head down. If you were here. You would know how to handle the situation. You would know exactly what to say. Even though I was able to get the last word in, I still feel defeated. He had a way with his words. They linger in my brain. Maybe I should go back and talk to him?

     No! Who am I kidding? I’m not inviting some stranger into my brain. No one is allowed in there but me.

     I’m almost in the clear. I’m almost out of ears reach. When the stranger yells out to me. And what he says gets to me. He found a way under my skin. I stop dead in my tracks. Take a couple deep breaths and turn around. He’s already walking towards me. And repeats what he said.

Stranger: There is more than this.

Me: What…?

Stranger: You’re weak! You’re too scared to face your problems. You NEED me! I can help you through this if you just give me a chance.

Me: Why don’t you go find someone else to insult? You’re just like everyone else. People are obsessed with insulting strangers. Fat. Ugly. Too skinny. Fake. Gay. Retarded. The one thing we all have in common, is how well we are capable of insulting someone we have not and probably never will meet.

Stranger: I know you hurt!

Me: You don’t know the definition of pain. You probably haven’t even experienced an ounce of negativity in your life.

Stranger: That’s not true.

Me: Then you’re one of those people who try to hide their own pain, by pointing out other people’s issues. You’re making it more and more obvious that you need help. You hurt. You’re pretending your life is full of positivity. When it’s not. You’re at the same damn fountain with the same amount of pennies in your hand. I know what’s wrong with me. I don’t need a stranger to tell me.

     He proceeds to tell me how even to this day he still hurts. How everyday he wonders what his life would be like had he not succumbed to love. Lust. He told me how he spent months, even years, trying to make something work. Only to find out they weren’t compatible. Only to find out love is just a word used too much.

Me: I don’t believe in love. I can’t do it right.

Stranger: We have something in common. I look at love as a mirage. When I get too close, it just disappears.

     He makes sense. He doesn’t give off the impression he regrets anything. He doesn’t act like he knows it all. Just enough. We start walking. He tells me he wants to take me where he goes to hide. Where not even his problems find him. He tells me he wants to be my friend. He wants to help me. I’m getting annoyed with him repeating that. If I wanted or even needed help, I’d get it on my own.

Me: You have no idea who I am, or what I’m capable of. I don’t need a friend. I’m content on my own. The friends I did have gave up on me and left. They couldn’t stand my views. They couldn’t and wouldn’t even try to understand where I was coming from. I’m not simple. Some of them even tried to tell me how to live my life. That is not a friend. That is not advice. That’s them wanting me to be someone and something I’m not. And here you are, pulling the same shit with a complete stranger. The friends I had would only comment on my mistakes and never my benefits. Because they always made it seem that the mistakes I made. That effected my life and my life only. Somehow. Some way. Impacted their own. It’s bullshit. And then they turn around and bitch about their lives and how this person treats them like shit. Some of them never learn from their mistakes. Some of them think they are perfect, but they’re worse than me. Although I can’t say that about every friend I’ve had. I too have up and left. I too have neglected friends in a time of need to be selfish. Some of the ones I’ve lost, taught me a lot and helped me become who I am today. I’ll forever be grateful. I just can’t stand the ‘friends’ that say they want to help, or criticize my ideas and thoughts because it’s ‘not who you are’, or ‘I know you better then you know yourself.’ You don’t need those people in your life. You don’t need the people who try and bring you down. You don’t need the people who constantly bring up the past. No one knows you better then yourself. You’re always changing. The you two years ago, is not the you today. For anyone to tell you different. Those are the people who can’t stand change. Who try to hold onto every little thing and make it their own. I am not yours. I am mine. Don’t control my life when you can’t control your own. Advice and criticism are two different things. I know which of my friends gave me advice and who criticized my every move. I know who to turn to when I need it and who to avoid at all cost when I fuck up.

Stranger: Everyone comes and goes. Life and death. Nothing lasts forever. Everything is temporary. Some friends can become what feels like family and outlive the others. Friends are a living and breathing lesson in life. Hands on so to say. A small piece to your life puzzle. They teach you who you can and can’t trust. They teach you when and how to give advice. They open your eyes to see what’s necessary to survive. The friends that become family, are the ones who even though they might not agree with your choices, will never criticize, judge, or talk behind your back. They allow you to live. To learn and fuck up. Without having something to say about it. Ultimately, we’re all scared to death to be alone. That’s why I’m here and that’s why you’re still here.

     When he says that I realize out of my group of friends, there are only a few I would ever consider family. And I realize if he has the courage to say all of this to me to my face, upon first meeting, he must be someone I can trust and rely on. Right?

Stranger: Here we are.

     I forgot we actually had a destination in mind. I didn’t track my steps. I have no idea where I am. I don’t even know how long it took us to get here. I was so enthralled in our conversation I stopped paying attention to everything else around me. He tells me to look around. Take it all in. I’m surrounded by water. We’re standing on some sort of pier. The city is far off in the distance. He points towards the city and tells me that’s where my problems are. Lost between the steel walls. And he’s right. I don’t feel anything. Just peace. I take this moment in because I know it won’t last forever. I try to force myself to remember this feeling so I can go back to it when I get home. I close my eyes and listen to the waves because that’s all there is to listen to. They are waving me goodbye. The sounds of the city are too far off for my ears to pick up. It’s beautiful. I’m grateful.

     Whoever this guy is, he really does want to help. He came out of nowhere, but has already calmed me down. I want to be friends with him. I extend my hand for a proper greeting.

Friend: Handshakes either mean ‘Hello’ or ‘Goodbye’. And if you say hello to someone, you’re going to have to say goodbye at some point. Lets leave this open. No hellos. No goodbyes.

     I never thought of it that way. If I never said hello to anyone, I never would have had to say goodbye. Did you ever say hello to me? Maybe that’s why you never said goodbye. At this point I’m done caring. Done getting myself worked up over it. I can replace you. I am replacing you.

     Knowing this sooner would have made things in my life a whole hell of a lot easier. Goodbyes have to be one of the hardest things to do. Especially when even though people tell each other it’s not the end or that they’ll see each other soon. In the back of everyones mind sits the truth. All of the ‘I’ll write’ ‘s and ‘I’ll call’ ‘s. Rarely last. They’ll do it for the first few weeks or even months. Then they move on.

     New people.

     New places.

     New dreams.

     Maybe that’s what I need. Just forget about you and leave my entire life behind. Start from scratch. A new me. I can be anyone where no one knows who I am. They won’t call me dangerous. They won’t say I’m full of shit. Here. In this city. All I am is inside out.

Friend: Lets make you feel new. Lets help you learn the truth. Lets finally discover, you.

     I can’t say no. I want it. I need it. I think back to earlier when I stood at the fountain with a handful of pennies. Waiting to make a wish. I never was able to. But something is coming true. It’s just too small of a picture to make out. We walk back towards the city and just like a storm, everything I left behind was waiting for me the second I step back onto the street. I can only imagine what I got myself into. Imagination can only take me so far. And imagination doesn’t give me feelings like reality does. That’s what I lived for the most.

     You used to tell me never create things. Unless I want to feel alone in the end. Imaginary friends as a kid. God as an adult.

     You said don’t talk to immobile objects even though I know they would listen and tell me what I wanted to hear. Never create something I can save so I can feel like a hero. Like I’m important. Needed. Don’t create anything unless you truly believe in it.

     Ever since you left. I don’t believe in anything. Not even myself.

Chapter Three

     The past couple of days can be compared to a bomb. An explosion. The days no longer exist as a whole. Fragments are scattered across my brain. And I stumble upon the pieces from time to time. More so when I’m sober. It’s the only time I’m balanced enough to walk across my brain without falling into the cracks.

     My friend has introduced me to new outlets to escape the troubles in my life. You would not be proud of me. You would not approve. But I’m letting go of you. Just like you let go of me. It seems fair. I’m done thinking you’re going to walk through that door any minute and put my life back together. I’ve plugged myself in to these new outlets. And like a surge of electricity I feel better in an instant. I don’t need you anymore. I’m making that clear.

     Purple.

     Pink.

     Blue.

     This has been my hardest decision of the day. I can live like this. This is easy. I weigh my options between which one I had last.

     Blue.

     Then I try to think which one makes me feel higher. Takes me farther away from my life.

     Purple.

     See how easy that was? I put the purple pill on my tongue. It has no flavor. Just a chalky feeling. I pick up the bottle of alcohol next to me and take a drink. This is what you call killing two birds with one stone.

     In ten minutes all of my senses will be on their toes. Everything I’m supposed to feel will be highlighted. And the shit of the world will be blacked out. This pill creates smiles. This pill produces laughs. This pill designs a blueprint of happy. And digs holes into my brain. Excavating things I don’t need to remember. I don’t need you anymore.

     Freedom.

     Ecstasy.

Friend: Try this.

     I don’t ask what it is. I don’t care what it will do to me. My friend hasn’t let me down yet. He’s not like you. He’s better than you. He lets me explore life and I handle the consequences. It’s a system. We work well together. I’ve been questioning myself lately. Wondering why I thought I couldn’t live without you. I’m still alive. My heart is still fighting to escape the cage it’s locked in. It wants someone to hold it. Take care of it. Love it. Then it wants to show it’s teeth. Rip the flesh off the bones. Change the way their eyes see the world. Expose the true colors. Spreading the disease. All it took was one fucked up heart to change the world. No one knows where it all started. No one cares enough to stop it.

     Addicted.

     I inhale what my friend gave me. Hold it in my lungs until I set my lungs on fire.

     Repeat.

     Repeat.

Friend: We’re out of booze.

     Hearing that should bother me. Instead I laugh. I packed my feeling’s bags and sent them away on an airplane. They won’t be back for quite some time. Anything goes. And I won’t feel it.

     I sit up from the couch. The weight from my body left a dent in the cushions. That’s the closest I’ve been to see what I’ve turned into. I still avoid my reflection. I walk over to the front and slip my bare feet into a pair of shoes.

Me: Lets go.

     My friend gets up from the chair he’s been glued to. Exposing the same results. An outline of his body. I could trace our outlines with chalk and pretend we died there. But I’m still alive.

     We exit paradise and enter prison. All on our own free will. The city streets aren’t as crowded at this time. It’s late, but not late enough. Some buildings are still glowing. Adding to the speculation that from a distance. The city is on fire.

     In a few hours the only thing that will need oxygen on on these streets are the homeless, the insomniacs, and the rats. We all have something in common.

     We approach a bar that has promise. The walls are worn down from all the drunks forgetting toilets exist. And from those who forget they have a stomach. The neon sign has half the letters out. The other half are on their way out. Flickering. In here I won’t have to worry about questions. If anyone is even there, they either work here or are regulars. And if you’re a regular. By this hour your already warming yourself up with the piss that drips down your leg or you’re throwing up a paragraph of things you shouldn’t say.

     I open the door and my eyes have to adjust to the dark. It’s dimly lit. They do that so people don’t have to see what they’re turning into. My friend and I take a seat at the bar and order our drinks. The bartender could pass for a retired hooker who had sex for drugs. Not money. Her skin has a leather look to it. Her wrinkles look like they were ironed. That’s about the only description I’m willing to give. I don’t want you to know where I’ve been.

     The bartender slams our drinks on the counter. She doesn’t look at me any different than the other three people in the bar. My friend and I are just new additions to the family. We’ll call her the mother. The guy at the very end of the bar passed out with a lit cigarette being put to waste in the ashtray can be the father. The couple attempting to play 8-ball are the kids. They stagger around the pool table. Laughing when the other one fucks up an easy shot. This is my life.

     I down my first drink and nod for another. My friend keeps up the pace. Sometimes we race to see who can get drunk first and make the first mistake. I don’t know if he lets me win or not. But so far I’m that champion. And I’m not losing the title tonight.

     As soon as leather face drops off our next round the bar doors open. Out of instinct and routine. Everyone turns to look and see what the city is spitting in now. It’s a girl. Roughly around my age. Not the most attractive looking human being. But I don’t judge. She has that ‘I just moved here,’ look. She has no idea where she is. Probably just moved in close by. Needed a drink. Secretly wanting to meet someone that could show her around town.

     I down my second round. Look at my friend. All he has to do is give me the eyes to signal that we’re ready to play.

     Game on.

     Now there’s three scenarios that can take place. And they go like this.

Scenario 1: I can stare at this girl all night. Pick her apart with my mind. And try to figure her out without ever saying a word. I can have a few more drinks to see if that changes my mind on whether or not I want to talk to her. But if I don’t feel it now. I won’t feel any different later. So I’ll leave. Go back home and pop a blue pill to ensure I make it through the rest of the night happy. Occasionally thinking about the girl and whether or not I should have talked to her. Maybe I could have learned something.

Scenario 2: I can completely ignore the entire situation. Mind my own business and let my friend handle this one. In the meantime I will intoxicate myself and reflect on memories of you. That will in turn make me go home and pop another purple pill to assist in digging more holes in my brain. Hoping the memory of you is hiding underneath one of them and I can completely remove you and forget you forever. I don’t need you.

Scenario 3: I can approach the girl. Turn my charm on and hope she’s desperate. Lonely. We’ll talk about life in a positive way while hiding all of our negatives. Just to make us sound good. Impressing. Even though in the backs of our minds we can give a shit what kind of mess the other one is in. We’ll laugh. We’ll smile at each other. We’ll touch each other’s arms in a gesture to say we’re interested. We’ll leave and go back to her place. I’ll make her pop a pink pill with me. To heighten the experience. Make our senses stand on our toes. I’ll explore every inch of her body without clothes in the way. I’ll tangle the sheets. I’ll make sure God hears his name being called. And when she falls asleep with her head on my chest. Listening to my heart that she wants to hold. Care for. And love. I can do one of two things.

     Option 1: I can lay here and twirl her hair in my hands. Run my fingers down her spine. Tracing my name on her skin so she remembers my name when she wakes up. Because I’ll still be there. We’ll get breakfast at the cheap diner down the street. We’ll skip lunch by keeping our mouths shut and watching T.V. We’ll order dinner from some Chinese restaurant. Watch a movie. And then repeat everything. We’ll call it a relationship. We’ll say we’re in love. Up until my heart rips the flesh from off her bones. Changes the way her eyes see the world. Expose the true colors. Spread the disease. Then we’ll leave and go back to separate bars to avoid seeing each other. Continue the cycle.

     Option 2: I can convince myself I’m protecting her by leaving before the sun hits the horizon. Never leaving a sign I was there. Maybe she’ll think it was a dream. I’ll walk home without looking back. Without having regret. And when I get home. I’ll take a purple pill to dig the memory of you out of my brain. And when she wakes up she’ll feel used. She’ll spend the next few weeks wondering if something is wrong with her. Even though there’s nothing wrong with her. I’m the fucked up one. She doesn’t need to know that. I want her to feel how I felt when I woke up and you were gone. She’s a victim of my revenge. This isn’t my fault. It’s yours. This is on your shoulders. I won’t carry the blame. It’s that easy.

     Now which scenario I choose all depends on which one I think would piss you off the most for leaving me. That doesn’t leave much room for argument. Scenario 3 with a side of Option 2 leaves the best taste in my mouth. It’s the biggest middle finger I can give and hope you see it wherever you are, I really wish you were here to see this. I want to see your face.

     The disgust.

     The failure.

     I want to watch as all of your feelings are crushed. Like a glass bottle in the path of a bulldozer. I want to watch you turn to dust. I don’t need you anymore. I get up from my seat at the bar and walk over to the girl.

     Game on.

Chapter Four

     I never expected to end up where I am. It took my friend a week to convince me that the pills we’ve been taking aren’t doing the trick anymore. I’m still thinking of you. And that makes him worried. I know he’s just jealous. I don’t want to hurt him though. I tried to keep your words on my tongue. That I didn’t need to rely on someone or something else. I think he might have tricked me into it.

     You would not approve. But you’re not here to stop me. Fuck you.

     Now I’m sitting on a leather couch. Nervous. I’m cracking all my knuckles even though I just went through that process about two minutes ago. There’s one small window in the room behind the chair I assume is for the doctor. Psychiatrist is the proper term. I can see the storm is only getting worse outside. The walls are covered with expensive wood frames with plaques and certifications inside. Doctor this. PHD that. I’m very uncomfortable and out of place. Had I known this is how I would feel. I would have never agreed to this.

     My friend told me he’d wait in the waiting room. He said this session shouldn’t take long. Just an introduction. A screening.

     This is the last place I want to be. Especially knowing I have to talk about myself to a complete stranger who knows nothing about me. And only pretends to care. But that friend of mine is so convincing.

     ‘What’s the harm?’ he said.

     I started to list things off as if I had this speech planned for years. He just cut me off and said everything would be fine. I believe him.

     My knees won’t stop shaking.

     My mind won’t stop racing.

     Where will I start? What will they find wrong with me? If they can’t find anything wrong with me, will they still diagnose me with something I’ve never heard of. Just to keep me coming back. If there is something wrong with me, will they tell me the truth and do their best to fix me? Or follow protocol and go by the book?

     This is a bad idea. I stand up from the couch and look for a way out. I can’t go through the door or else my friend will make me come back in. I’d go through the window, but we took a few flights of stairs just to get up here.

     Freedom.

     Always so close, but still so far away. I peer out the window to measure my fall. Then I notice the locks on the window. I’m a prisoner. I’m a prisoner against my own free will. That’s when I start thinking my friend isn’t a friend. He’s a fake. He did trick me.

     I need to get out. I start breathing heavy. My palms are sweating. I feel my head start to spin. I can’t take the pressure. I can’t take the fact knowing my secrets will touch my tongue and then the open air. Free for all to hear. Free for all to take and use against me. It’s all about upper hands. Benefits. I work my way to the door, but it’s too late. The doctor is in.

     I stay quiet while she introduces herself. Giving me a background I’ll forget by the time the next sun rises. I analyze her actions, her words, her body language, her tone of voice. She’s calm. Professional. I can’t decide whether she likes her job, or if she’s just in it for the money. I can’t decide if this is someone I want to open up to, or if I’m going to have to lie and convince her me coming here was a mistake. It’s not long before she starts asking me questions. My name. My age. My lifestyle. What makes me happy. Sad. Trying her best to sneak into the cracks of my brain and pull out what she thinks is causing all my problems.

Me: No offense, But I personally don’t want to be here, My friend in the waiting room put me up to it. He thinks I need help. We just met a week ago. I feel like I’ve known him for years though. I think he was able to read my mind. I’ve never met someone who could do that. Especially with how distorted my brain is.

Doctor: Do you think you need help?

     I avoid the question and continue to tell her the same thing I tell everyone else.

Me: My name is not important. Age is just a measurement to remind people how much of our lives we have actually wasted. My lifestyle consists of not sleeping. I find other things to pass the time like cigarettes, alcohol, television, writing and most of all, exploring my brain. I try to get a better understanding of everything on the inside rather then follow suit and pay attention to only the outside like most people do. I hate it when people say they only care about what’s on the inside and five minutes later they judge someones outfit. Liars.

Doctor: What makes you happy?

     That’s difficult to answer. Only because ever since you left. I can honestly say I don’t remember the last time I was happy. I’m not saying I’ve been sad all the time. Just content with what I’ve been given. You always hated how everyone always wants more and more and more, even though they can’t even handle the little they have. Then all of a sudden it’s too much. And they start forgetting what was most important. Replacing the old with new because it gives them a sense of freedom. That word is starting to annoy me.

Me: I don’t have an answer to that question.

     I must point out that the entire time I talk, the doctor doesn’t say a word. She just sits across and listens to me. So far, she’s playing the immobile object role well. The true test is whether or not she tells me exactly what I want to hear. I’m placing bets she doesn’t. Occasionally she writes something on the pad of paper that sits in her lap.

Doctor: Calm your shaking hands.

     I hadn’t noticed they even were shaking, Her voice is soothing. Calming. She proceeds to ask me more questions about myself. I find it weird she hasn’t asked me what my problem is, or why I’m here. Just question after question about who I am. She tells me to elaborate on my writing.

Me: Well ever since I met my friend, I’ve been writing a lot more. I don’t talk much about what I write. I leave it up to others to figure out what I’m trying to say. There are times at night when I come home, throw on a random song, and I get the feeling to write. I spend half the time staring at the computer screen wondering what I should write. All I can think about is how I want to make it worth wild. Make it worth everyones time when they read it. But I know, half the time it’s boring, and half the time people are just being nice with their compliments. I hate compliments. All they are is an ego boost. Something to make you feel better about yourself. I often wonder if anyone even wants to read what I write. I’m not famous for my phrases. I’m just someone who writes what he feels. People tell me I’m good. Anyone can write something and someone will like it. It’s not hard. I get myself in trouble writing. In order to feel exactly what I want to write about, I have to put myself in the situation. I have to make myself believe it’s happening. So I can understand the feelings. I’m able to make the scene. The script. And everything in between. And when I come out of it. I’m stuck believing it’s all happening. My mind is so complex. My vocabulary isn’t. I hear words I never knew existed, but people use them as though they were well known. Just goes to show how much I fucked myself in high school. All I did during class was write my songs that I would show to people. If we want to get technical I would say I’m pretty pathetic. I mean come on. I put myself into situations that have me worried. If I have a nightmare I wake up wondering when it’s going to happen. Writing is my only way to express myself and say exactly what I want to. I’m too shy to just come out and say it. I have to hide behind a freaking screen or a pen. I’m pathetic. Writing keeps me sane, but I hate being a writer. If you could even classify me as a writer. I don’t follow the rules or guidelines. You’ll never find quotation marks or paragraphs. I’ll use run on sentences and fragments all I want. Because the way I write is the way I think. This has all just been a ramble that has clearly done you nothing, but know I’m nothing special. I’ve come a long way for myself though. I hate to actually think my memory is partially fucked after all the drugs I’ve been dong. All the alcohol I’ve consumed. But at least I’m still alive. I hate being a writer, I try to drink my words. And when I sober up I write abut how upset I am with my actions. Even though I know what I’m getting myself into. I have a constant dilemma with myself if I should show anyone my work. All it will do will start questions and add distance. Distance. Always happens to me. I tell someone something, and the next thing I know, I’m never talking to them again. They call me selfish. They say I think too much. I don’t think they think enough. Most people saw the hyper side of me. The side of me that tried to live.That only lead to me annoying people or going too far. I keep quiet now. I’m horrible at this whole living thing, but I’ll do it the way I want. Live my life without regret. I don’t regret anything I’ve done. I’ve learned from it all. I’m always reminded people come and go. Times change, but I never forget. I never hold on either. Holding on to something that is over is just begging for a night of crying. I’m never the one to leave any ones side unless they push me. Half the time I wake up and they left overnight. And I’ll stay locked in my room as I did when I was kid. Pretending it was my funeral. Only now I don’t play dead. Now I write it all out. I hate being a writer. I know where I go wrong. Not only do I write what has happened in my life, but everyday I breathe, I’m trying to write what I want to happen. But sometimes it comes out wrong. I forget there’s so many ways a story could go. And I get too far ahead of myself and start worrying. And even when I’m not ahead of myself. When I’m far behind. I’m caught off guard by something that never makes sense. I hate writing, but it’s the only way I can release what I feel inside.

Doctor: What do you feel inside?

Me: I feel empty. I feel like I don’t have a heart. Something beats against my chest, but I feel it’s my soul trying to escape this shell I’m in. I’ve can’t sit well in my own skin anymore. I don’t like who I am. Although I don’t know who I am at all. I’ve been trying to figure that out. The farthest I’ve gotten is, I’m a puddle of mud with a hundred different footprints. A mess. A wreck. I have tried so hard in my life to be something, but the image I’ve given myself has prevented me from ever getting close to who and what I want to be. I’m in my way. My friend expects me to act a certain way because that’s who he’s used to. My creation. I drink to cover up the person I’ve become. Hoping the next morning I wake up to the person I want to be. It’s a sick fucking cycle that won’t stop. And I’ve done everything I can to try and stop it, but then he thinks something is wrong with me. I lose my personality. I’m afraid he’ll end up leaving my side. I want to hide and put the focus back on my life. Better myself. For myself. And everyone else. But I’m afraid no one will be there when I come out. I’ll be alone. I don’t want to be alone. But I’m a continuous letdown. I’m a failure at this whole living thing. I’m a failure at everything. Friendships. Relationships. Writing. Working. Sleeping. Dreaming. Living. I’m even a failure at dying because I will never take my own life. I’m noticing I’m worse then the parade of people I walked with on the street this morning. Even if they aren’t enjoying their life, they have more going for themselves than I do. My brain is my best friend and worst enemy. It supplies me with all these outlets to escape the life I’m ruining, but never lets me just focus on my damn life to fix any of it. There’s no fucking solutions. Just scenarios after possibilities after expectations after dreams. Nothing is ever simple. Nothing I ask is ever answered. That’s why I gave up praying. That’s why I gave up wishing. That’s why I let go from caring. There’s a difference between giving up and letting go. And I am capable of both. The difference is, is that with giving up, you can’t take any more of the bullshit you’re involved with. You give everything you have there is to give. And there’s no way out. Nothing will get better. Nothing will change. With letting go, it’s all the same. Except things do get better. Things do change. Anything is possible. You let go for moments. Not for lifetimes. Giving up is forever. Letting go is only temporary. When I feel nothing, I feel everything. I absorb everyones feelings and they clash inside of me. I am a mirror. I will reflect you. I will fall weak so you may gain strength to survive. So you may become everything you want to be. I will be the reflection of failure just for you.

Doctor: What are you afraid of?

Me: I’m suffocating. All of my problems I can’t handle. My life has become just one big gamble. I don’t fit in. I’m alone. And dying. Dying has more then one definition. I’m not only talking about the stopping of breathing and beating hearts. I mean everything from that to lost friendships and forgotten relationships. My house is covered with picture frames of ‘dead’ people. Just so I never forget them. To remember those feelings. Those memories that get lost in the clutter of bullshit we fill our heads with. There’s a funeral in every living room. We’re all dead to something. Someone. When people find out you’re actually dying, that’s when people start to give a shit. Otherwise, you can still be alive, but be dead to someone and they won’t give a shit about you. I’m afraid I will never be able to fit back into the scenery with my friends and family. Like I’m dead to all of them for what I’ve been putting them through. I enjoy being alone, but only if I know there’s someone I can talk to if I need to. Being completely and utterly alone is unbearable. I wouldn’t be able to survive if I didn’t have anyone. Even though the way I treat people, I’m on track to gaining just that. I’m afraid to look at myself. I don’t want to see the mess I’ve become. I don’t want to see what hell I’ve put myself through. I know I’ve changed. I know I’m different. But I want to be better. Above all else though. I have a greater fear than everything I just said. When you ask others that question. They say things like death, fire, lightning, thunder, spiders. You know, the usual fears. My greatest fear though is my dreams. With my insomnia lately I’ve thought about this more and more. If I am capable of dreaming something beautiful. Something that when I wake up leaves me wanting more and feeling miserable. I’m doing something wrong in my life. If I am able to create all of this beauty while I’m asleep. Dead in a sense. Then what the hell am I doing while I’m alive? I want my life. My reality. To be more beautiful than my dreams ever could be. If I accomplish that. I know I’ve done right in my life. I want to be healthy. I want to be the me I know I can be.

Doctor: What are you waiting for?

     I have no response. I’m speechless. She’s proven a point. My problems aren’t keeping me from getting better. I’m in my own way. She looks at the clock and a disappointed look covers her face.

Doctor: I’m sorry, but we’ve run out of time. Please though. Please. For me. Come back next week. You did a wonderful job handling this new situation. The worst part is over. You should not leave here and get down on yourself thinking you didn’t accomplish anything. You took a giant step in the right direction coming here. We still have a lot to talk about. To discover. I am going to give you a prescription of sleeping pills to aid in getting you back on track to a normal sleep pattern. You must take only one pill one hour before you want to go to bed. If you do not fall asleep within that hour. Do not take any more pills. Call me. There’s so many instructions for something that should come naturally. I just want to sleep now knowing that I might actually have the chance to though.

Me: I’m afraid to go home. If they took a picture of everything that goes on in my brain, the inside of my house is exactly what it would like. Clutter. Destruction. Memories. I don’t know if I can take the pain anymore.

Doctor: It won’t hurt. I promise. Think positive. You are a very strong person. You can. And you will. Overcome all of the obstacles life has thrown in your way. It will not happen overnight. It will take time. If I said that you had it in you to change. You know you would find it in you. It’s the things in life that you do. That make you, you. We can do this together. We will get to the bottom of all of this. I swear.

     She says so many things to keep me calm. To comfort me. Except the last thing she says. It stabs me. It hurts. It boils my blood. And for some reason, I feel like I’m never going to see her again.

Doctor: Goodbye.

     I have no idea what gets into me. But I bolt out of her office. I slam open the door to the stairs. Pills in hand. I take the stairs two at a time. My friend behind me screaming after me to wait up. I’ve waited too long. I’m done waiting. I need to get home. I need to get to bed. I need to get back to dreaming. So I have the motivation to cure this disease that has stolen the beauty out of my life. I open the door and the rush of the city hits my face. It’s rush hour. It’s still pouring. Everyone wants to get home to their families. Their life outside of their careers. I just want to get home to sleep. I run. I dodge. I knock into people. Swear words and middle fingers. Nothing matters. I don’t give a fuck what these people think about me. I never said hello to any of them. I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to be afraid what they think of me. They won’t remember this face tomorrow. I could stare all these people in the eyes tomorrow and become their good friend. Part of their family. And they won’t know I was the person who just knocked their briefcase out of their hand. Documents falling everywhere. Soaking wet. The sky lights up as a streak of lightning pierces the clouds. I start smiling. If someone is taking my picture, I want them to know I’m happy. I want to frame this moment so I can remember the feelings I feel. So I can come back to this day in case I forget how to feel this way. Happy.

Chapter Five

     It felt like forever, but I finally arrive home. I put my key in the lock and take a deep breath. Change starts now. The new me is created the second I walk in this door. I will be brave. I will be smart. I will dream. I will love. I will do everything I’ve always wanted to do. I will be free. Without you.

     The lock pops. I take one more deep breath and I’m just about to open the door, when I hear my friend’s voice. He’s out of breath from chasing after me. His words are stuttered as he tries to catch his breath. I gave him a run for his money. For smoking as much as I do. My lungs can still carry me.

Friend: I almost. I almost lost you. You. You wouldn’t stop. I know. You. Heard me. Yelling after you. Why wouldn’t you. Stop? Are you okay?

     I show him the container of pills the doctor gave me.

Friend: How did everything go?

Me: I think this is the answer. I’m finally going to be able to get rid of all of my problems. To get to be the person I know I can be. I have to be honest with you. The lifestyle you have introduced me to is not me. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.

Friend: Look. I know you’re happy. I know you think this is all going to work out. And tomorrow will be a brighter day. But please. Don’t get your hopes up. High hopes only lead to greater letdowns.

Me: Don’t try and bring me down. Not now. I am not about to listen to your bullshit. You told me to go there. I went. Now let me believe this is all going to work out. You have no idea what it’s like to be a letdown. I’ve dealt with letdowns and being the letdown all my life. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever again will I be involved with letdowns.

Friend: All I’m trying to say is that the medicine might not work right away. You’re body might reject it or not react to it at all.

Me: Impossible. Just leave me alone. Let me live this moment. Let me believe. That’s all I want right now. To be able to believe in something.

     I open my door and fall to my knees before even making it in. It’s overwhelming. What I see. What I feel. Complete silence. All of those pictures in their frames feel as though they’ve come to life. This house is contagious. The smile wiped. No. Ripped from my face. Look at what I’ve done to myself. I’ve locked myself away with misery. Guilt. Failure. All of these pictures behind their frames remind me of nothing good. Just what I did to fuck it all up. The doctor said this wouldn’t hurt. What a liar. I hate liars. I hate myself. I lied to myself. I said things will get better. Not at this rate.

     Where are you? This is all your fault.

     My friend picks me up from off the floor and carries me to a chair. He sits me down and hands me a tissue. Tears are pouring out of my eyes faster then the storm outside. I yell. I scream. I just want to belong. My friend does his best at trying to calm me down.

     I remember when you said in order to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I need to be surrounded by dark. You’re not here to see me through it. You abandoned me. My friend has stayed with me. Why didn’t you? What did I do wrong to you?

Friend: Everything is going to be okay. Tomorrow when you wake up. Everything will be just the way you want it.

     He’s right. This is only a test. I still feel sick to my stomach. I walk into the kitchen and fill a glass with water.

Me: Half full or half empty?

Friend: Who cares? Empty?

     You would have said it’s infinite. I never understood. But you said it would all make sense one day. When I least expected it. I don’t want to think about that now. All I want is to take one of these pills and fall asleep. I want to remember what it’s like to dream. Dreams are motivational movies. They push me in a direction that’s for the best. For the rest of the world.

     I hate child safety locks on medicine. Lining up the arrows just to open a bottle. A five year old can still figure this shit out. I shake a pill out of the bottle and into my hand. I look at my friend who is displaying worried eyes.

Me: Here goes nothing.

     I put the pill in my mouth. Obviously the medicine doesn’t kick in right away, but my heart is racing with the excitement. I start day dreaming of what dreams I’ve been missing out on these past few weeks. I walk over to my bed and light up a cigarette. I realized that with everything going on today, this was my first cigarette since I woke up this morning. That’s not like me. I chain smoke. It’s the only thing that keeps me calm and assists me in thinking. My bed feels extremely comfortable. The pillows are cold. My friend sits in the chair across from me.

Friend: I want to keep an eye on you to make sure nothing goes wrong.

Me: At this point. Nothing can go wrong. I’m medicated.

     I try to be as patient as I possibly can. My nerves are on end. I’m shaking with excitement. Although I do have doubt in the back of my mind. My brain kicks in to try and prepare me for the worst. That’s when I start to worry. What if this doesn’t work? What if the doctor just gave me sugar pills to try and trick me into sleeping? What if there’s something seriously wrong with me that’s incurable. A new disease. That would happen to me. My friend notices my anxiety and tells me to lay down and close my eyes.

Friend: Just relax. Take deep breaths. Clear your head.

Me: Easy for you to say. You’re not in this position. You can leave whenever you want. I’ll be fine. I’ll be passed out in no time. Dreaming.

Friend: I’m not leaving.

Me: Suit yourself.

     Time goes slow whenever you pay attention to it. I try to pass the time by calling all my friends to tell them the news. I’m finally getting myself help. Taking initiative. Acting my age. All I get is their voicemail. They’ve moved on. Left me to fend on my own like I’ve left them so many times before. You take things for granted when it is in reach all the time. Something new comes along, you lose focus. You lose touch. We’re all fascinated with new things, even though they all have the same fucked up ending. I don’t feel tired and it’s already been almost an hour. My worst fears are starting to come true. There’s a lot more wrong with me then what I thought. My friend notices I’m losing faith.

Friend: If you don’t relax, you’ll never get to sleep. You look worse then when I first met you.

Me: That doesn’t help. First impressions aren’t everything. People go out of their way to impress other people all the time. Even when I look at myself I’m not impressed. Mirrors lie to everyone. I can take you past the mirror. Mirrors don’t show people your insides.

     I contemplate on calling the doctor to see what I should do. It’s late. I wouldn’t want to wake her up. I look at the bottle of pills. Remembering what the doctor said about only taking one. Maybe my condition is worse then she thought and I need to take more then one.

     What would you say?

     I don’t care what you would say. I’m willing to take the risk for better side effects. I pick up the bottle and line up the arrows. I pop open the lid and pour a couple into my hand.

Me: I’m going against the doctor’s orders.

Friend: Do you think that’s a good idea?

Me: I’m all out of ideas. I did what you wanted me to do. I went and got help. The doctor prescribed me medicine. Obviously my condition is in a worse state then what the doctor thought, and one more pill should do the trick. I just want to sleep.

     My friend looks nervous. As if he knows something I don’t. What is he hiding from me?

Me: Maybe I shouldn’t. The doctor did say to only take one.

Friend: Yeah. It’s best to not go against what she said. Who needs sleep when you got me and this to keep you awake?

     He shows me a bottle of alcohol. Negative things I’ve done start entering my head. Positive things you’ve said in the past start playing in my ears.

Me: You don’t understand! You’re blind! Don’t you get it? No matter what we see in front of us, we are all still blind.

Friend: No. You’re wrong. It’s a bad idea. Put the pills back. One is enough.

Me: Is it? Why not two? Or three? How would you know what’s good for me? You’re not a doctor. You’re just some stranger I picked up off the street because I felt bad for you. You’re worse than me. At least I don’t go around trying to point out other people’s problems to earn a friendship. You’re fucking pathetic. I will do whatever I have to do to help me get to sleep.

Friend: If you take another pill, I’m leaving!

Me: Good! Get the hell out! I never wanted or needed you anyway. I was perfectly fine by myself before you came along. I can handle myself. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. If anything you made this worse. You gave me something to rely on. You made me build my hopes up thinking I would come home tonight and finally be able to sleep. It’s not working. There’s something wrong. This is the only solution. I want to sleep. I need to sleep. If you don’t like my decisions then you don’t have to watch me carry them out. This is my life. I’ll do whatever the fuck I see fit. Whether people like it or not. And if something goes wrong, I’ll learn from it. All I’m good at is learning lessons from fucking up. If this is a mistake, then let me make it. So I know never to do it again. So I have the knowledge in case someone is ever in this position, I can guide them out. You don’t understand what I’m going through. You never will. You think your some fucking hero. A saint. You’re not. You don’t mean shit to me. And you probably don’t mean shit to anyone else.

Friend: So you want ot be alone?

     I swallow a pill.

Friend: I’ve been in your shoes. I know what you’re going through. I can’t help it that I care.

Me: Bullshit! You just met me a week ago. What was I even thinking listening to you? Allowing you to know the biggest secrets in my life.

     I down two more pills.

Me: The more you fucking argue with me, saying you know what’s best for me, the more pills I take. So if you care. If you’re my friend. Like you say you are. If you truly want to help me. Then leave me alone and let me get through this. I want to remember what it feels like to dream. I don’t want to watch the sunrise anymore. Why can’t you understand any of this? Why must you try and take away the one thing I have left to live a normal life.

     He stays silent. He stops eye contact and stares at the floor. Shaking his head in disgust. Hurt. I’ve never been this mean. My entire life is burning to the ground. I started the fire. A rush of guilt sweeps over me. I pop three more pills.

Me: Please! Please! Just put me to sleep! Let me wake up to a brand new day! I will fix all of this. I will snap out of whatever phase I’m in. Just let me sleep!

     I have no idea who I’m begging to. But my eyes are focused on the ceiling.

Me: You better start helping me now! I can’t do this on my own anymore! I’m failing at failing! Why did you leave me? Why?

     My friend turns towards the door and starts to walk out. He walks slow. Like he’s waiting for me to apologize. Waiting for me to say ‘you were right’. I keep my mouth shut. He closes the door behind him. I’m alone.

     I’m right. I’m right. I tell myself that over and over until he’s completely out of sight. I’m building my own confidence. I’m giving myself hope. I should have never let a complete stranger interfere with my life like that. I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the clock. Cigarette after cigarette. Waiting for the pills to kick in. Over and over I’m telling myself.

     I’ll be new. I’ll be new.

     Tomorrow.

Chapter Six

     I’m alive?

     I can move my hands. My feet.

     I can feel that I’m in my bed.

     I don’t recall much of last night. Besides fighting to sleep. I rub the leftover sleep from my eyes. I know I’m capable of sleeping the entire day.

     I should.

     I’ve been waiting for this day for weeks. And I’m not taking advantage of it. Why? I haven’t allowed myself to think that much yet. My brain isn’t functioning to  it’s full potential at the moment.

     I stretch.

     I look at the clock. 8:52AM. I’m not sure what day it is. I don’t think that matters.

     My medication is next to the clock. Closed.

     Something tells me I need to get out of bed. Something tells me I need to leave. I’ve never felt such an urge in my life. So I don’t waste any time. I rush to the door and swing it open.

     The sun is bright. Blinding. I can barely see what’s in front of me as my eyes adjust. The storms that have been raping this city have passed.

     Mistakes and regrets are being rushed into the sewers. Some of those mistakes and regrets never make it to the sewers. They evaporate. They stay in the atmosphere. Waiting to absorbed into someone else’s skin. Flow through their blood and attack the insides.

     I take all of about three steps and crash into something. Someone. This is what I get for not looking where I’m going. Keeping my eyes locked to my feet all the time. At any second, whoever I just knocked into will start yelling. Swearing. Unsure of who I am. What I’m capable of. Lucky for them. I’m nobody. Capable of nothing.

     I wait for the swear words. I wait for the volume on their voice to reach MAX. But it never does. And I’m caught off guard. I was bracing myself for impact. I almost feel betrayed. Am I not even worth the breath? The effort?

     I turn to look the unlucky person in the eyes. And what happens next is something I can’t really explain. I’ve only heard about it. It’s never happened to me. There are not enough words in the world to define it. No language has the ability to talk about it. People have tried. But no one has the same reaction.

     All I can say is all of the missing pieces in my life just started forming a barrier around the stranger and I. Like a force field. Protecting us from the rest of the world. Where these pieces have been hiding all my life is beyond me.

     They are in place now.

     I feel like the sun spotlights us and shadows the rest of the world. Everything else is just background music.

     She is beautiful. And that’s the only description I can give. Because I haven’t taken my eyes off of hers. I see my entire life playing like a movie across her blacks. She’s a magnet. Pulling my heart in closer and closer.

     I don’t know if she’s in the same moment. No two feelings are alike. But her lack of words makes me believe we’re sharing something special. I could be wrong. I have been wrong.

     Nothing has felt like this though.

     This is different.

     This is real.

     What is real?

     I can stay in this moment forever. Surrounded by silence. It seems that once people start talking, that’s when everything gets weird. The past is brought up.

     Your dreams.

     Your goals.

     They all just ruin things.

     I want to rip my vocal chords out. Never say a word. Lock myself in this silence.

     Can I fall in love like that?

     I want to take her back to my bed. Explore every inch of her skin. Point out her imperfections because then I know she’s real and has taken risks. We don’t have to make love just to say we’re in love. People forget that. They think sex is everything in a relationship. But it’s not. I want her and I to stay a keyhole to the rest of the world. I know we can’t. We have to expose ourselves.

     She smiles. My legs turn to rubber. My blood boils and melts my heart. My lungs are flooded with words that my tongue can’t produce. I want to tell her I can be her everything. I will take care of her. I’m in love. I think. I don’t know what comes over me by I grab her hand. I let my fingers fill the spaces between hers. I let her fill the space of you. You have never made me feel like this. This is new. This is pure. This isn’t some creation. This is real. All of these feelings are perfect feeling. I really don’t need you now.

     I’ve never been this nervous. I almost feel pathetic. Like a little kid on his first day of school. So elementary. Next thing you know I’ll be crying over a skinned knee. Only that skinned knee as a kid was all I had to cry over because my heart was still young and had never been broken.

     Now all I’m thinking about are my past relationships. Doubting myself. Do I have the ability to be good at this? Do you have to be good at loving? Or did those relationships just not work because we didn’t accept the other for who they are.

     Their goals.

     Their dreams.

     Their ‘Who they want to be’, ‘s.

     I believe it’s possible you can fall in love at first sight. But I’m blind. Their blind. Half the time people are falling in love with the timing. The moment. The possibilities. Not the person themselves. Then they learn all about the other through freedom of speech. The switch is turned off when the other says they travel. They have a kid from a previous relationship. They are vegetarian. Inconveniences.

     Love should not involve inconveniences.

     I snap out of the world inside my head. Back to our world.

     The sun is setting. Already? Where has the time gone? Has she said anything while I was busy digging up my past?

     We’re still holding hands. She’s still smiling. How is this happening? If I give away even the slightest clue that I’m not as stable as she thinks I am right now. She’ll be gone. Forever. Without a trace. Just like you.

     Inconvenience.

     I need to play it cool.

     I need to keep calm.

     I need to act casual.

     I can’t ruin this.

     We continue to walk as the blanket is slowly pulled over the sky. To tuck the city in for the night. Nightlights start turning on to illuminate the dark. Everyone is supposed to be afraid of the dark. Everyone needs to know what’s in front of them. Even if they are blind to the truth. Everyone needs a light to guide them.

     Streetlights.

     Neon signs.

     Headlights.

     Lamps.

     Candles.

     The sun.

     The moon.

     The stars.

     We arrive at the pier. Where my friend from the fountain first took me. It goes straight into the water and then loops around. Forming a ‘J’ like shape. At the end of the pier you can see the city in the distance. Nightlights. You can see the Ferris wheel spinning.

     First dates.

     Anniversaries.

     Only for the moments.

     Written on the cracked, decaying concrete are the words ‘Picture This.’ Graffitied in white spray paint.

     I would let my mind run wild with that thought. But instead I pull her closer to me and we lay on the cold concrete. Even our bodies fit. Like the last piece of a puzzle. You’re capable of knowing what the picture on the pieces are. But without that last piece. It just doesn’t look complete.

     Above us is infinite.

     Below us is infinite.

     The stars are bright when they aren’t in competition with the rest of the world’s nightlights. And the water is a mirror for the sky. The sky always looks perfect.

     I take her finger and point it at the sky. I then trace an outline. A blueprint. Our own constellation. No one else will know it exists besides us. I won’t even tell you about it if you ever come back. This is our secret.

     Before I have a chance to react she puts her lips on mine. Soft and warm. I can’t say for sure how long this lasts. My best description of the feeling can be compared to the seconds I would spend inside a wave. Where the wave wraps around me, but I’m not completely engulfed in water. It’s almost impossible. Like walking on water.

     She then gently rests her head on my chest.

     I kiss her on the forehead and wrap my arms tighter around her body. I never want to let go. This is not just a moment.

     This is real.

     I close my eyes and imagine all of the things we’ll be able to experience together.

     Conveniences.

     Perks.

     Life in love.

Chapter Eight

     I was released from the hospital today. I was under supervision for five days. Not much happened. Just a lot of questions. A lot of tests. I never had any visitors except my doctor and the nurses that would come in to check up on me. I’m officially alone in my life. My prescription for what was supposed to turn my life around and make me happy, is shoved deep into my pockets. All I want now is to get back to my dream of the girl. And somehow make it last forever. Though I know I can only sleep so much.

     The doctor told me the average dream lasts only two to three seconds. That’s two to three seconds I want to be able to feel forever. I walk down the busy city street towards my house. I’m not paying attention to anything going on around me. My eyes are just watching my feet. The only thing I gained from all of this was a routine schedule to take a pill. I hate routine. Even if it’s the best thing for me.

     I reach my front door and dig for my keys. I hesitate putting the key in the door. I’m afraid to see what’s waiting for me. I tell myself nothing can bring me down as bad as I am now. So what’s the point in worrying. I’ve hit rock bottom. I dreamt I was in love.

     It was ecstasy.

     It’s like ecstasy.

     Once you love.

     Once you dance.

     Once you laugh.

     Once you live.

     You can never replicate the same feelings you felt like the ones when you were on it. In it.

     I turn around and look at the people walking on the street. People on the phones with their significant others. Carrying briefcases with pictures of their families inside. Working to make sure the love of their life gets everything they deserve.

     I see couples.

     Holding hands.

     Kissing.

     Smiling.

     I feel the jealousy sweep over me. I can’t take it. I turn back towards the door and turn the key. The lock pops and I’m free to enter the disaster whenever I want. I am the disaster. Everything else around me is just my destruction.

     My masterpiece.

     My Picasso life.

     I find beauty in all of it somehow. Though I’ll always be the only one. You would have told me it can be better. Add more color. More life.

     Once inside I see the mess I made. All of the pictures are out of their frames on the floor. Strings broken off the guitar. Keys ripped off the piano. Destruction to the things I said could save my life if I only gave it a try.

     There’s a crackle under my feet as I walk across the room.

     Glass.

     I grab my cigarettes from off the floor and light one up. Filling up my lungs with disease. I’d quit if I had a reason, but I have no reason so what’s the point.

     You would give me a reason.

     I sit down on my couch and scan the room for anything worth noting. The kitchen table is on its side. The television has a chair leg sticking out from it. There’s nothing I can do here to try and take my mind off everything that has happened. I just have to sit here and think about it.

     Regret it.

     Relive it.

     Soak it all in.

     Feel it.

     I get up from the couch and work my way over to some of the empty picture frames. Some of the pictures have burn marks. Mainly the ones I would want to forget the most. It’s almost as if I wanted to wake up without any memory of anything. Like I was being born again. A new me. I was probably confident in myself. That I could accomplish anything. I probably told myself I would impress people. I would walk down the street with my head held high. Shoulders back. Smile painted on my face. I’m sure I thought I would be on top of the world. Now I’m holding all the weight upon my shoulders. No strength to walk. No motivation to move on. Back to where I started. Only in a worse state. It’s my luck.

     I look for the clock, but it’s nowhere to be found. I have no idea what time it is. All I want is the night to come so I can take my pill and sleep. Go back to my two to three seconds of pure happiness. Pass the days one at a time until my eyes don’t open. Then I could dream forever. Death doesn’t scare me. I’m intrigued by it. I want to know what happens. I want to know how it feels. Do I still dream when I die? When people say they saw their life flash before their eyes, is that death? Just an outside view of the years I’ve wasted.

     My thoughts are interrupted when there’s a knock at my door. Who the hell could it be? My doctor? She told me she would do random visits to check up on me, but I just left the hospital. There’s no way it could be her.

     I walk to the door and contemplate on who it could be. A friend? Why would they come around now? They’ve proven they don’t need me in their life, and I’ve proven I’m not capable of being a good friend to them. I would turn around and pretend I’m not home, but there’s no way whoever is at the door didn’t hear the glass breaking underneath my feet. I’m caught. I have to open the door now. Whoever it is knocks again.

     Then it hits me. What if it’s you? I can’t let you see me like this. Why would you come back now? Your timing is all wrong. I needed you before. You would pull this shit.

     Try and play the hero.

     You knock again.

Me: Hang on!

     I’m nervous. My hands are shaking. I look around at the mess I made. There’s no way I can clean any of this up in enough time. Since when did I give a shit about impressions? Even if I did impress someone, they would find something wrong with me to focus on. Everyone is always attracted to the negatives rather than the positives. It never changes. It’s easier to point out what’s wrong with someone before you find out what’s right about them. I light up another cigarette to prepare myself for what’s in store. My life seems to be full of surprises these last few weeks. I’m starting to hate surprises. Why does everything in life have to be one big fucking surprise?

     Let me know how I die.

     Let me know when I die.

     Let me know if my life will shape up.

     Let me know if it’s really you behind this door.

     Let me know!

     I don’t want to wait for it. I want to be able to plan my life accordingly.

     I open the door and of course, I’m surprised at who I see. It’s not you. Why would it be? What even made me think you would come back to me? I’m upset. Disappointed. But relieved all at the same time. I have no idea how I would explain myself. You would probably take one glance at me and realize you made a mistake coming back. And then you really would be gone forever.

     Instead, standing on the opposite side of the door is my friend from the fountain. The one who started this entire disaster course. But, if it wasn’t for him. I would have never had that dream. I would have never known that love could be a good thing. And while most people would appreciate that. I hate it. I hate him. I hate everything he brought on me with a passion. My life will never be the same now that I know love is alive and well in the world. Even if it is just in my dreams.

     I slam the door in his face without saying a word. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. All I want is to be left alone. He knocks and calls out how he wants to talk.

Friend: Can we please just talk? I have a lot to say about everything. I just want a few minutes of your time and then I’ll leave you alone.

Me: Forever?

Friend: If that’s what you want. I can’t force you to keep me around. So yeah. Forever.

     I open the door and let him come in. He hasn’t changed. He still gives off the aura he’s a positive influence. I know the truth. All he brings is damage. I’m damaged.

Friend: Jesus! Look at this place. What the hell did you do?

     I look around and admire my work. I smile just to spite him.

Friend: Sit down and just relax. I’ll take care of all of this.

     He starts picking up pieces of broken glass from off the floor.

Me: Leave it! I want to be able to remind myself why I don’t let strangers into my life. All they do is ruin it.

     He ignores me and continues picking things up.

Me: Look. If you want to talk, you better start now.

     He stops what he’s doing and looks straight into my eyes. Like the day we first met. Trying to work his way back into my brain.

     I close my eyes. Not this time. I let him do it once. I’m not letting him back in again. No matter how much he begs. No matter what letters he takes from the alphabet and forms into words to create clever sentences. I will not let him back into my life.

Me: I want to say something first.

Friend: Okay.

Me: I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t know how deep I was into your condition. I thought I had more control over myself. But I don’t have any control. I’m lost. I think everything is supposed to get better without even putting forth any effort. Life doesn’t work like that. I have to fight. I have to bleed. I have to dangle by a thread on the edge of my life. But I don’t do any of that. And you don’t motivate me to do any of that. You just wait for things to change. And with your attitude, nothing will ever change. You will always be a wreck. A mess. A disaster. Just like me. And I know you know this. But you will never admit it. You’re so tied up in yourself that you don’t pay attention to what is actually surrounding you. If I wanted to make a difference in my life. I have to want it. I can say I want it all I want. But until I actually start proving it to myself that I’m capable of taking the steps to a better life, I am going to continue to be this way. I need to snap out of this. I need to grow up. I need to get up off that couch and start putting my life back together. Before I have no life left to live. You don’t have to listen to me. But I wish you would. I’m not the enemy here. I understand you want to live your life the way you want. Then do it. Because I don’t see you living. I see you dying. Rotting away in your own skin. Last night you watched me almost take my life. All because I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know what goes on in my head. I never will. But I think I’m entitled to my opinion. We both can give advice. But we both can’t take it either. Why? What makes us different then everyone else? We’re all made the same way. Just because we have a certain belief on things, doesn’t mean we can’t change our lives into something beautiful. I look at the mess I made and I compare it you. All these burned and torn photographs. The ashtray filled with five minutes of wasted time. When you saw me. You knew I needed someone new to guide me in a new direction. You knew it would be difficult. But you were willing to do it. Why? Because you and I both believe everyone deserves a chance to live a life. No one can walk in anyones shoes. No one will ever experience what you and I have. And I don’t have to fail just to tell people how not to. Everyone needs to learn things for themselves. Everyone will go through their own tragedies to inspire their life.You and I were raised to live a certain lifestyle. Trained. I thought you could manage my life, but you missed out on the development stages. Those were devoured by my parents and teachers. Teachers aren’t in school to give us life lessons. They are there to teach us things that will help develop our life. You don’t have to teach anybody anything. You don’t have to prove to people who you are and what you are capable of. I’ve seen it first hand. I’m not myself. I’m not sure if I even know who that is though. What I would see in the mirror would be tainted. I don’t think I would recognize myself if I had the guts to look in one. I’m sure when you look into your eyes you see no fire. No life. I’m like this living room at the moment. Dead. Everything about this room reflects death. Memories are just reminders that that moment in my life is now buried. Buried inside my brain. I can’t relive it. I can’t breathe new life into it. I just need to let it be what it was. There’s a funeral in every living room. And my life is about to join the others on this floor. Unless I really want things to be different. Unless I really want to make a name for myself. I don’t need to end up in a history book. I don’t need to be famous. All I need is to matter to myself. And if I can do that, others will look up to me. Why? Because I’m being who I want to be. Someone you wouldn’t let me be. I want a smile on your face. I had faith in you. I thought you could get me out of this one. But you failed. You only made it worse. I’m done waiting. I need to get my life on track. And I need to do it without relying on others to get me through this. It’s up to me. And me only.

     Just like that he left. Gone. He never said a word. No idea if I will ever see him again.

     Doubtful.

     I think about what I said.

     How it made sense.

     How it made me feel.

     I appreciate him even more now. More than he will ever know.

     I need to do this for myself. I can’t keep thinking I have to save everyone. Everyone will save themselves. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

     Save myself.

     Save myself from feeling this way.

     Save myself from falling deeper into the hole I’ve dug.

     Six feet has always been enough.

     Tomorrow is a new day.

     Tomorrow there will be a funeral in this living room.

     Tomorrow I will snap out of this.

     I put my hand in my pocket and take out the pill bottle. I line up the arrows and pop the top off. I tip the bottle and shake out a few pills. I pick one up and swallow it. One is all I need to sleep. Routine.

Chapter Seven

     I wake up to what sounds like an alarm. A constant beeping in my ear. With my eyes still closed I can tell I’m not in my own bed. Should I open them? Will I like what I see? I shift my eyes against my eyelids. I can tell the room is bright. I can hear voices in the hall. I’m afraid to open my eyes. I want to go back to sleep. I’m not ready for today. I try to tell my brain to relax. Of course it doesn’t listen to me. I have no other options except to see where I ended up.

     Start the countdown.

     Forwards?

     Backwards?

     How long should the count be? I’m stalling.

     The beeping stays in sync with my racing heart. At that moment I know exactly where I am.

     The hospital.

     I open my eyes with a large exhale.

     White walls. 

     Tubes.

     A television.

     A couple chairs.

     The most unappealing place. Hell probably has more color than this place.

     What the hell happened? I remember bits and pieces of the night before. I look around for any signs of her. She has to be here. I would think she would be here. Maybe she stepped out. Maybe she doesn’t know I’m here. I want to see her. I want to smile. I want to feel like I did last night. Only she was able to make me feel that way. I close my eyes and try to remember her face. The vision is blurred. How could I forget someone so beautiful? Someone who turned my life around in just a few hours.

     My head either hurts from thinking too much or someone just took a home run shot with a bat to my skull. My temples are throbbing. My eyes feel like they are shrinking. Or trying to turn themselves inside out. Either way it’s painful. Like the hangovers I would get when I first started drinking underage. Before I knew my limits. Waking up next to a toilet filled with the dinner I ate earlier. Sometimes I’d wake up next to a girl. I prefer waking up next to the toilet. Less work on the brain trying to piece together exactly what had happened.

Me: Help!

     I need to get out of here and go find her. I pull the IV out of my arm. Drops of my blood fall onto the floor and the bed.

     I rip the wires from off of my chest. The machine starts buzzing.

     I can hear her voice echoing between my ears. So loud. Is she here? Or is it all in my head? I sit up and put my bare feet on the cold ground. It sends a shiver down my spine. I feel weak. What did I do to myself? Why am I here? Where is she? Why is she not here with me? Questions flood my brain and I swear I can see them floating across my eyes onto the white walls. I feel all of my blood rushing through my veins. I feel as though I was stabbed in the stomach. I’m dizzy. I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. I try to stand up and fall straight down. What the hell is wrong with me? I start lifting myself up and the door to my room opens.

???: Just what do you think you’re doing!?

     I haven’t made eye contact yet. I know it’s a girls voice. Is it hers? No. I would have known right away. I would have smiled. I would have had the strength to get back on my feet. I hear her footsteps walking towards me.

???: You need to stay in bed and rest. You can’t go walking around on your own.

     I don’t ask her what happened or why I’m even here. All I want to know is if she’s been here.

Me: Is she here? Is she coming? Does she know I’m here?

     The girl who’s been talking to me this whole time has been a nurse. She’s cute. But I know she doesn’t compare to the girl from last night. I wish I wasn’t so held up on introductions. Then I could have known her name. Make it easy for everyone else. Maybe that’s why she’s not here. I never told her my name. Names are not important. But they are now in this case. I’m such an idiot.

     The nurse puts her stethoscope to my heart. It reminds me of the girl resting her head on my chest. How we said our hearts were beating together. Made for each other. Meant to be.

Nurse: Who are you talking about? You haven’t had any visitors.

Me: Yesterday. I met a girl. I woke up and walked outside and there she was. It was like destiny. All the pieces of my life that had been out of place started falling around her. She made me feel infinite. Free.

     All the while she’s hooking me back up to the machine and an IV. She doesn’t say much. Maybe she’s not interested. She starts taking my blood pressure. I hate getting my blood pressure take. My arm gets all tingly from the loss of circulation.

Nurse: Are you hungry? You should probably try and eat something. That’s why you can barely hold yourself up.

Me: No. My stomach feels as though it’s been ripped to shreds. I’m nauseous.

     I’m trying to find the courage to ask what happened. Do I even want to know what happened? The nurse is just like everyone else I’ve encountered lately. A mind reader.

Nurse: Your doctor will be in a bit later to go over the details of what happened. You can’t go home until the doctor thinks it’s safe.

Me: Safe? Why wouldn’t it be safe for me to leave?

     The heart monitor machine starts beeping rapidly again with my heart.

Nurse: Please. Just stay calm. Don’t add any extra stress to yourself. Do you need anything? A glass of water? Another pillow?

Me: Yes. The girl from yesterday. I want to hold her hand. To feel her lips on mine. I want to fill the space between her fingers and never let go. I want the feelings. My heart, I can feel it sinking. Depression is overflowing my body.

Nurse: Sit up and take your medicine.

Me: What’s it for?

Nurse: Something to help you fall asleep. To pass the time until the doctor comes.

Me: I’m fine. I don’t need it. I have a new prescription. And I’m gonna go out on a limb and call it love.

     The nurse smiles and points to the button on the side of my bed.

Nurse: If I need anything or change your mind. Just push that button.

     I laugh inside. She has no idea about my brain. The things it thinks. The way it works. I throw a cheap smile on my face and wait for her to leave. Once she’s gone I focus on the ceiling. Piecing the puzzle of the last couple of days together. I remember meeting my so called friend. Going to the doctor and getting sleeping pills. I remember coming home. The argument. My choices.

     I feel like shit. He was only trying to help. He only had good intentions. But he tried crossing the line saying he knew me. Saying he’s been in my shoes. Everyone lives their own separate life. It’s impossible for anyone to live the exact same way. We all take things differently. We all make our worst into something better. Or in some cases, something worse. I remember waking up. Smiling. Walking out my front door and crashing into her. I can only recall moments of the middle. All I remember about the end is laying under the stars. And the constellation we made. That’s it. Everything goes blank after that. I’m lost. It makes me feel miserable. All I want to do is focus on the bright side, but I’m crawling towards the dark. Where is she? Did I do something wrong?

     This is killing me. I can’t stand it. I never thought I would ever feel this way about someone. After only one day. I’ve always believed in destiny. I just never thought it could happen to me. And now here I am. Connected to wires and tubes in a hospital. While the world outside is moving. She could be walking right past the hospital now. And neither of us would know the other was so close. I start getting myself worked up even though the nurse told me not to. I wonder if she forgot about me already. I wonder if I said something wrong. Was I just a mistake on her part? No. She said she felt the same way. She told me how she never felt this close with anyone.

     I need to get out of here. I need to go find her. She’s getting away. I don’t need a doctor to tell me I’m fine. Mind over matter. I know I’m fine.

     I close my eyes and start taking deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale. I listen close to the halls to try and hear if anyone is out there. I can’t just wait here. I start pulling at the wires again. I can do this. I repeat over and over in my head. I keep thinking of her while I remove the IV. I’ll find you. I’m coming. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll make me happy. It’s a good trade. The heart monitor goes back to the ‘I should be dead now’ sound. I unplug the machine from the wall to shut it off. I can’t have the nurse coming back to stop me. I put my feet on the ground and stand up. Balance. Strength. It’s working. She’s in my heart. I take a step closer to the door. I can feel my knees shaking. Wanting to give out from the weight of my body. I take more steps. Getting better. Getting stronger. I peak out the window to see if the coast is clear. I don’t see anyone at the desk. I don’t hear anyone talking. Just the whispers of a hospital echoing through both my ears. I turn the handle and slowly open the door. She’s still strong in my mind.

     I start thinking about what I’ll say to her. If I even can find her. I remind myself that if this is meant to happen. It will happen. At exactly the right moment.

     Destiny.

     Fate.

     Those words are abused more than love. People are starting to rely more on their destinies. Their fates. They are neglecting the fact that in order for something to happen. There needs to be an action. No one is acting out. They all just wait for their dream life to fall in their laps with a little bow on top.

     To: You

     From: Fate

     You always said if I actually took a minute and paid attention I would start to realize the one I love has usually been in the same places at the same times. I just never knew it. All along they have been there for me. Just out of reach. Not ready.

     I have to be ready to handle something of this caliber.

     I have to learn a valuable lesson that will help me make this all work.

     I have to live my life apart in order to bring something to the table to make it all last.

     If only I had all that time I missed with that person back.

     Walking past them.

     Looking at them.

     I was too involved to understand. It’s always right in front of me, but I’m too blind. Because once I do make contact. The world stops and the missing pieces in my life will catch up. They’ll wrap themselves around me. Connecting me more than just by the hands or with a ring displaying some stone someone decided should be worth a lot of money.

     Putting a price tag on destiny. Bullshit.

     I’ll be too caught up to give a shit about the world.

     I’ll be too focused to notice the fifteen muscles it takes to make a smile I’m not trying to fake this time. Because when I reach this moment. You swear my eyes and my heart will be smiling as well. Perfection doesn’t need to exist if it does. This is better then perfect.

     This is real.

     This is destiny.

     This is love.

     And once I find it, nothing is more important than that. When I lose it.

     I won’t eat.

     Sleep.

     Work.

     Think.

     Laugh.

     Focus.

     Walk.

     Breathe.

     Hear.

     Speak.

     My heart will weigh me down from even trying to move on. No one wants to feel this way. So they put their all into this one thing. Anything and everything. Because I know that at the end of the day, I would never want to live my dreams alone. Life is all about a lot of things. Love is the greatest of them all. No one wants to work. No one wants to breathe unless they have something to breathe for. Love is worth breathing for. It’s out there for all of us. Never give up on love. Let go of love for the moments I’m not in it.

     You were my Shakespeare.

     I step foot into the hallway and turn the corner. Freedom. I take two more steps and run right into my doctor. The one who told me everything would be okay. The one who prescribed me the pills that didn’t work. My escape plan has failed. I’m never going to be able to find that girl again. They’re going to keep me here. Watch me. Tell me there’s something wrong with me. Just to make my life a living hell. If you tell someone something is wrong with them, they eventually create something wrong with them from thinking so much about it. It’s not healthy, but it’s true. I believe our brains are capable of overcoming anything. We can repair ourselves if we tuned into our brain. Unfortunately, we’re more worried about the little things. That’s what takes up all the space in our brains. The pointless shit we don’t need. Our brain is like a computer. The more shit you fill it with, the slower it gets. Except you can’t get a new brain.

     The doctor escorts me back to my room. Ignoring my pleas to leave. She has no respect or care for what I could be missing out on right now. All she is worried about is diagnosing me with some random ass problem and feed me pills to try and make me somewhat normal again. I lay back in my hospital bed that I always thought should be made for two. The nurse is back too. She shakes her head and starts tying be back down with all the wires and tubes for the second time today since I’ve been awake.

     My doctor is reviewing her notebook. Writing something down every now and then. The nurse leaves and the two of us are left in complete silence. I wonder who is going to talk first. I figure I’m the one who has to prove I’m doing better, so I better speak up.

Me: I don’t know why I’m here, but I’m fine. I can go home now. I’m cured. I’m in love. I met a girl yesterday morning and spent the entire day with her. I think. No. I know! That with her, everything will be okay. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.

     My doctor just stares into my eyes. She looks hurt. Defeated almost. Like all of her work and time has gone to waste. But it hasn’t. Even though the pills didn’t work, I was still able to fall asleep. And that jump started my outlook for yesterday. That’s why I met her. I was confident. I was strong. I was balanced and stable. I admit I don’t know what happened last night to get me in this hospital, but whatever I did, I won’t do it again.

Me: May I please leave? I need to find her. Before it’s too late.

     Nothing. Just that defeated stare.

Me: Have you seen my friend? The one who was at the doctor’s office the first day we met? I said some things I shouldn’t have to him. He was only trying to protect me. Look out for me. I took more than one pill the other night. I know I wasn’t supposed to take more then one, but that one just wasn’t working. I wasn’t patient. I ended up calling him worthless. How nobody gives a shit about him. I lied. I give a shit. He helped me. He stayed by my side when no one else would. And I treated him like I do with everyone. Taken for granted. Blind to the friendship he laid out.

     The doctor takes a deep breath. Preparing herself for what she’s about to say.

     I can tell it’s bad news. I don’t want to hear it. But I know she’s going to tell me anyways. I’m strong enough now to handle it though. So I take a deep breath as well. I wait for her to speak. It can’t be that bad? I’m on the right track. I’m capable of being happy and stable on my own. With the girl. As long as I abide by the rules this time with my medication, I’ll be able to sleep.

Doctor: You overdosed on your medication last night. I found you lying on your living room floor. You were in a coma state.

     I notice I keep shaking my head.

Me: That’s impossible. Impossible! I left my medicine at home. I was planning on coming home when I left, but then I met the girl. There’s no way I could have overdosed when I didn’t have the medicine to begin with.

     That’s when my doctor take her eyes off mine. Now she’s staring at the floor. Trying to keep a calm voice to prepare me for what she’s going to say next.

Doctor: It was all just a dream.

     When she says it, I lose it. My eyes pour with tears. My heart beats so hard against my chest I think it’s about to explode. The heart monitor sounds as if it’s having a hard time keeping pace. All I want to do is run. And the doctor knows it. I won’t believe her. She’s lying. She’s just trying to make me do something irrational to keep me in here longer. I catch my breath. I wipe my eyes.

Me: I don’t believe you. I think you’re just jealous because you haven’t found what I have. All you try to do is bring me down. Nothing I do is good enough for you. You want to see me unstable. You want to see me unhappy. So I keep coming back. You like my company. You’re keeping me locked in this damn room, while the girl of my dreams is out there looking for me right now. Why would anyone want to keep someone from that? Are people really that selfish? Are you really that low?

Doctor: Whatever you think happened yesterday, was all just a dream. A hallucination. You took a heavy dose of pills. We had to pump your stomach. You’re lucky I found you when I did, or else you would be dead.

     She’s not speaking calmly anymore. There’s more aggression in her voice. Trying to prove her point. Trying to make me believe her. Lies! Lies! Lies! I keep telling myself it’s all lies. But the more I think about it, the more I start to believe her. Who would ever fall for someone like me? I have nothing to show for myself. I have no talents. Anyone who ever was interested in me, left quick. I am the exception to the rule that there is someone out there for everyone. Taking one for the team. No one could love a loser like me. I would never expect them to. I’m better off that way. Love wasn’t designed for me. I just can’t do it right. These are the times I hate my heart. It’s just an anchor. My brain can only do so much to make me think on the positive side. But the feeling is too strong. I never experienced the feeling of heartbreak until now. It feels as though you’re entire world is ripped right out from under your feet.

Me: So what’s next? Where do I go from here?

Doctor: You need to take it one day at a time. Step by step. I want to monitor you for the next couple days on my medication. To get me in the routine of only taking one pill a day. Everything will be okay. We’ll get through this. Together.

     I don’t say much after that. I’m too depressed. Too distraught. Too upset with who I am and the things I’ve done to myself. I want to be different. I want to change for the better. But nothing I’ve given myself in life allows me to do that. I’m trapped in this position and I don’t think I’ll ever find a way out.

Doctor: I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you. Do not try and leave again.

     She leaves. I’m alone. Alone with my thoughts. My heartbreak. My fading memory of a girl that was all just a dream. I see her everywhere. I hear her whispering. There must be someway I can meet her again. I would much rather live inside a dream then what is classified as my life. There has to be a way back. There has to be a way to dream forever. Because I won’t be able to live like this. I can’t. I refuse. I will not continue my life if all I remember is this. What’s really the point in living if I can’t have her? Why would I torture myself. I found love. In a dream. Fake. What does that tell me? This dream will forever haunt me. A reminder of what could have been my life, had I not been such a fuck up.

Chapter Nine

     I wake up the next morning to someone knocking at my door. The sun is shining bright even through the shades. Today is the day. I can feel it. I will make it a day to remember. I put my feet on the ground and walk to the front door. Turn the knob and let the daylight flood the room.

     My doctor is on the other side. Notebook in hand.

Doctor: Hello! I’m just here to check up on you. How has everything been going? Have you been following my instructions?

Me: I’m fine. I only took one pill. Like you instructed. My routine. I have big plans today.

Doctor: Oh? And what would those big plans be?

     I let her come inside. She takes a seat on the couch and I sit next to her.

Doctor: So what are your big plans?

Me: Well, my friend stopped by last night. He cleaned everything up for me. I had a lot to say. I told him I’m capable of doing anything. It made me feel positive. I was inspired. I want things to be different.

     I see her smile slightly while she writes down her notes. I can tell she’s happy with what she hears. I’m happy to be able to say it. And mean it.

Doctor: I’m proud of you.

Me: After I do what I’m planning. I won’t need to rely on you so much either.

     Her expression changes drastically. She looks worried.

Me: Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I just know that after today, I won’t have time to keep visiting. I don’t want to hold myself back anymore. Something needs to be done. And it will get done today. I’m through waiting. I’m taking initiative. And I have to do this on my own. So no one can stop me. So no one can try and talk me out of it. This is what I want to do. I will follow through. I can’t have anyone to fall back on. By telling you I won’t need you to look out for me anymore. I’m giving myself confidence and faith. I’m preparing myself to be alone. And to be content with it.

     My doctor looks up at me. Her eyes are watery. She’s fighting back tears.

Doctor: I’m so proud of you. You’re finally thinking for yourself. You’ve been making such great progress these last few days.

Me: Thank you.

Doctor: I feel like you’re becoming a new person. The first day I met you, you had no hopes. No goals. No dreams. You were lost. You had no path. You had no plans. And now here you are. Talking about change. Talking of what I believe is your brightest idea. I have learned so much from you. I will always remember you.

     She stands up. Holding her notebook close to her chest.

Me: Will I ever be able to read what you wrote about me?

Doctor: When the time is right. I will let you see it.

Me: I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Not believing in you. Thinking you were against me. When all this time, you have been my outlet to express myself. You helped opened my eyes to see things in a different light. To see a side of me I never knew existed. If it wasn’t for you, these feelings inside would have never came back. I was suffocating them. They would have suffocated me. I wouldn’t be here without you.

     She turns around and extends her hand.

Me: We never said hello, so we can’t say goodbye.

     My doctor smiles. Turns. And walks away. I close the door behind her.

     Thank God there are no mirrors in my house. Or I would probably try and convince myself my plans won’t work. I’m convinced I need convincing. I’m wasting time. Time was wasted on me. It’s time for me to get ready for my big day. It’s time to wash myself clean. It’s time I set myself free. Change. Freedom is not too far out of reach.

                                               ***

     When I open my front door the sun hits my face. It’s warmth feels good.

     Comforting.

     Couldn’t hell be considered a paradise too? I keep my eyes on my feet. I know that what I’m planning will work. It has to work. I can’t lead a good life if this negativity is always with me. My shadow. I’m going to find what I need most in my life.

     My happiness.

     My ecstasy.

     No one will hold me back. Not even myself this time. I can only go through so much before I realize I’ve had enough. What’s done is done. Now it’s time to do something about it. I’ve always been all talk and no action. Well that stops now. Now I won’t say a word. I’ll just do. Because no matter what I do in life. The outcome is always the same. I’ll die.

     I won’t rot in the ground when I die. I’ve been rotting everyday I’m alive. Under the sky. My skin will start falling off of my body before my heart runs out of battery. The thing I don’t understand. Why so many people are obsessed with heaven, yet they bury their loved ones six feet closer to hell? I always wanted to be burned. I wanted to turn to dust. To ash. You said no. But I don’t want my lifeless body on display. No one watches me sleep now. Why the hell would anyone want to when I’m dead? I want my ashes littered into the ocean. The ocean is just like my brains. I only know what’s on the surface and not underneath. No matter how deep I go. I’ll never get deep enough to know all the answers.

     It doesn’t take long to reach my destination. These types of buildings are scattered everywhere throughout my city. I never thought I’d find myself stepping foot in one, but sometimes desperate measures call for desperate actions. I’m not completely changing my ways, but I know it’s okay to accept it. To respect it. I open the large wood carved doors and walk inside.

     When the door slams behind me it sends a booming echo throughout the room. Then. Silence.

     I can almost hear my heartbeat bouncing off the walls. I’m amazed at the beauty inside. The designs on the kaleidoscope windows. The statues. The paintings. Everything about this place makes you feel small. A world of it’s own. People actually come here for guidance? For answers? I only feel more lost. I could stare at this ceiling for years and still not be able to match up all the cracks with my imperfections.

     I make my way over to where my entire life is about to change. Where I will be granted the will to carry out my plans without having any regrets. I should have come here in the first place. I could have uncovered every secret I’ve ever had. I open the door to the wooden booth and take a seat.

Me: Father. Forgive me. For I am about to commit a sin.

     I don’t have to wait long before I hear a voice.

     It’s pure.

     It’s calming.

     You can hear the years of experience in the tone of his voice. I know I made the right choice coming here. This needs to be done. I need to be reassured everything will be okay. The voice may not understand exactly what my intentions are, but he will give me the guidance I need to follow through. I don’t want to turn into a pictures. I don’t want to live inside this destructive life I’ve made. I want out.

     Now!

Priest: What sin are you willing to commit? And why do you want to commit this sin?

Me: Father. I am a failure. I have let everyone in my life down. I’ve tried and tried for years to be a better person. To create a better version of myself. But I always fall back to old habits. I am the reflection for dark. I carry no light. No bright.

Priest: We see but a poor reflection as in a mirror. Then we shall see face to face. I know in part, Then I shall know fully. Even as I am fully known.

Me: I have no idea who I am. Who I want to be. I follow in the footsteps of my mistakes. For I believe that is all I am made of. I’m just waiting on my day to die. I don’t need this life. I choose to hang around to see what my purpose is. If I even have a purpose.

Priest: Our days on earth are like a shadow, without hope. It is up to you and only you to fill that shadow. With hope. With love. With dreams. With life.

Me: We’re all dead already Father. Buried in some fucking piece of land letting the worms eat our memories and our dreams. And those worms are the devil’s friends. They take everything that sets us apart. And while we live our life through sleep. The devil takes those dreams. Those memories. And he hangs them out of reach. For pleasure. For entertainment. And God turns his head. Hoping we learn. Praying we make it. Why does God need to pray?

Priest: God never turns his head. God has faith in you. Like you should have faith in God. No matter how far the devil puts your dreams out of reach. God believes in you to find a way to retrieve them. Feel them. Live them.

Me: I have no motivation to live my dreams. Everything is temporary.

Priest: You are too enthralled in your brain. Do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So fix your eyes. Not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary. But what is unseen is eternal.

Me: You are wrong father. Love can’t be seen. Love is not eternal. Love is temporary. Love is a mirage. And when you get too close it all just evaporates. At least the love I know of. Love lies. Love hurts.

Priest: Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects. Always trusts. Always hopes. Always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease. Where there are tongues, they will be stilled. Where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

Me: We all still die Father. We all still commit sins.

Priest: Jesus died on the cross for us. God took his only son’s life to grant us forgiveness.

Me: Are you saying that the answer to everlasting life on earth is for everyone to never commit sin? Are the deaths of the ones we love sacrifices to keep some of us alive? If so, please. Why am I still alive? Take my life for all of the people that have been taken from me.

Priest: God takes those he needs in heaven.

Me: Father. If there was no crowd around the cross to where Jesus was crucified, would we still have been saved? Would God still have taken his son’s life without a crowd. Because my cries for help make a sound. Why have I not been saved? Because there is no crowd?

Priest: Have you accepted God into your life?

Me: I’ve tried my luck, but I always fall short. Showing Him what I’m made of.

Priest: All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.

Me: I have been down on my knees. I have tried to come clean. But He is never listening. He never listens to me. I never ask for signs. I never want a miracle. I don’t want everything. I don’t want anything. I just want a purpose. A reason to stay alive. I want to be saved.

Priest: Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is. His good, pleasing and perfect will.

Me: If God saves me now. I will make a deal with Him that if I ever let Him down. He can write me out heaven. And I will in turn make a deal with the devil. That if I ever make it down to hell. He may burn my ticket out.

Priest: If God was before you right now. What would you say?

Me: Nothing is something if you know how to use it. Use me.

     More words pour out of my mouth like a waterfall. And the priest listens. He never interrupts. Opinions do not exist here. There is no judgement for how you look. How you feel. What you think. What you believe in. I tell the priest everything without any fear.

     The lack of sleep.

     The stranger.

     The doctor.

     The medication.

     The overdose.

     The girl.

     The dream.

     My plan.

Me: My life is hell. She is my heaven. Grant me the will and strength to follow through. I am weak Father. I am weak without her in my life.

Priest: God’s grace is sufficient for you, for God’s power is made perfect in weakness. Boast all the more gladly about your weaknesses, so that God’s power may rest on you. That is why, for God’s sake, you shall delight in weaknesses. In insults. In hardships. In persecutions. In difficulties. For when you are weak, then you are strong. May we pray. Our Father…

Priest/Me: …who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.

Me: Thank you Father.

Priest: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid.

     I leave the church. It’s only a matter of time now before I am free.