Thursday, November 10, 2011

On Call

Something I wrote. It needs to be strongly revised. I think it needs stronger imagery and less "telling". Also, copying and pasting this messed up the line breaks a little but whatever.



On Call



I set out to rebuild you from old memories:
a long wool coat that kept you warm
nights we traversed through back country roads, the leaves and snow
crunching beneath our feet
nervous fingers contorted to fit my own


          I set out to rebuild our relationship:
staring at the ominous computer screen
digging through a junkyard pile of thoughts, writings, conversations
scavenging my brain for where I erred
broken pieces of a year gone by


                I set out to rebuild our friendship:
after being locked away I traced my way
tinkered and hinged to make you see
that it was only me
and I alone


                Memories, letters, snippets of deep late night conversation
they will not have your eyes
they will not smell like your coat with my nose buried in your shoulder
they will not make me feel your nervous hands on my face
or the song that echoed in that empty parking lot



I meant to invent the old you
And then put you back again--

--I think you saw this coming

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

The Roller Derby Girls

A monologue of an experience. 





I don’t consider this to be the “worst” thing I’ve ever done.
But to some, it might be.
It was just another weekend in Baltimore.
I was at my usual scene—a warehouse rave next to the train tracks.
And by warehouse rave, I mean in an old abandoned bank.
The music inside was thumping so loud; I could feel it vibrate my organs. Sometimes, when the train rushed by, the entire building would shake and you couldn’t tell if it was the music or the drugs.
And by drugs I mean Molly.
And if you know what Molly is, then you’ve done it. Or know someone who has.
And so there I was dancing, probably looking like an idiot waving my glowsticks around when one of my friends grabs my arm and pulls me into a dark corner.
35 for you, he says.
I froze. I felt like an idiot and to prevent further looking like an idiot, I pulled out two 20’s and slid them into his hand.
I had never done this before.
But I was willing to try.
He goes off for awhile, comes back, slips me a 5 and 2 pills. I say thanks and he disappears into the throbbing crowd.
Suddenly, I find myself in a dirty bathroom stall staring at these two peach colored pills with what I think are doves stamped on them. The Dove from the soap commercials.
Clunk.
I felt the pill travel down my throat and dissolve in my stomach.
See, here is the part where I mess up. You are only supposed to take one and wait a good 6 hours before taking the second one.
I did not know this.
I waited 15 minutes, got impatient, and clunked down the second pill.
Within the hour, it hit me.
Time stood still.
I was rolling.
I didn’t think I could ever feel this good in my life. The colors swirled slowly around me, the music flowed through me, and I talked to everyone and anyone that just happened to walk by.
I was able to match my glowstick patterns with the music that was playing.
The music never sounded so good. I was in complete heaven for 2 straight hours and I wanted it to last forever.
I remember thinking why the hell don’t they give this to people with depression or anxiety issues? I had no anxiety at all. I was free.
That didn’t last long.
If you know this drug, you know that it is almost never pure. It is almost always cut or laced with something.
In this case, mine was apparently laced with meth and heroin.
I became nervous. Everyone’s faced started to contort into strange shapes with their laughter.
I squeezed and twisted my glowsticks so hard that one of them snapped and spilled its glowing, putrid bile all over my tank top.
I freaked out.
Since you are supposed to wait such a long interval before taking the second pill, I technically overdosed.
And seeing as this was winter, I was outside wandering around in weather below 30 degrees, rapidly talking to myself, hot as hell but for some reason shivering.
The train raced by me and I screamed.
Fucking TRAIN.
All the symptoms were there that I had read about. Paranoia, grinding teeth, rapid heart rate, racing thoughts.
Oh my God. The racing thoughts.
I thought about 100 things per second.
Which reminds me, that night I literally stared at the clock with a face mask full of Vick’s vapo rub to soothe me, Bj√∂rk’s haunting voice echoing off the graffiti plastered walls.
I couldn’t breathe.
I stared at myself in the mirror because my pupils were as big as quarters and I just KNEW someone was going to notice and all I could think about were my pupils, and the THOUGHTS, and I CAN'T BREATHE, and goddamnit that TRAIN.

Then morning came. My quarter sized pupils were still there. I felt like complete and total shit, I looked like shit, and the rest of my day was just shit.
But it was worth it.
And I was hooked.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Up, Up, and Away

I feel like I'm exactly back to where I was a year ago--stressed, trapped, depressed, apathetic towards life.

I don't know what to do...I miss the year 2009. Probably the best and most complicated year of my life.
Squid ink skies with holes punched through, driving back roads, meadows, corn fields, trees, fallen leaves, graveyard, stargazing, being so cold I can't feel my feet; I feel as though that whole point in my life was just a backdrop of stars and chilly night time air. And no matter how hard I wish or dream, I will never be able to relive it. Too bad if I were to go back, I would only create a paradox.
I met wonderful people, had relationships with those people, and unfortunately broke their hearts more than once. Part of being Borderline is not being able to hold a very stable relationship. Hell, at this point, my relationship with my husband is on it's last legs.

Music for me has always been a marker for me in time. Like a bookmark. Perfumes are the same way. I will wear certain scents or listen to certain songs to take me back to those moments. I find myself crying, wishing I could go back and make things right. Change things around for a different outcome. But that's the problem with life; there are so many outcomes. I hate to say it, but this isn't the outcome I had dreamed of. I cry everyday hating this place, hating my life, and having no idea what to do about it. If I were to leave this place, I would only find myself missing it. Why am I like this? I react this way with everything and everyone. Maybe I just have too much love to give? Maybe I'm just indecisive? Or maybe I'm just destined to be alone and flit from person to person with the my only sole purpose being to change their lives.

Every time I have left someone when I started to feel empty, needing to fill that void, I would pursue another person or a drug or a bad habit. But every time that I had left, their lives changed for the better. They pulled themselves together and told the world "Fuck you" I'm going to make myself a better person. Is that my only purpose on this Earth? To change people?

I don't know anymore. I am in limbo.