It’s 9:31 in the morning and I haven’t slept. My legs are pulled up to my chest with the right side of my face buried into the pillow. I’m shaking and I can hear my heart beating through my chest.
I close my eyes and I’m tumbling. As if I’m in a washer that’s spinning. I open them and the world is still spinning, but less and less.
The light coming through the blinds is keeping me awake. Not as much as the cars of the city. Or the running water. Or my thoughts I can’t control.
I shouldn’t say can’t. Can’t leaves no room for can so I’ll say try. I’m trying. Trying so hard to be who I am by myself. To be by myself. But I’m lost. As lost as the dark splatter of paint on the wall is surrounded by the beige colors.
I’m surrounded by an apartment. By items. Things. Things that aren’t people. Things I can’t talk to. A guitar, an empty Dr Pepper can, a half eaten bowl of fruity pebbles. Blank job applications, a laptop, headphones, pillows, blankets. A lighter. Cigarettes. Vape juice. An e-cig. A bubbler. No weed. Dirty clothes. A dirty mind. A dirty soul.
I’m laying here in the mess of things. In the mess of a city, the mess of a country, the mess of a world, the mess of life. And I’m just this tiny dot in the grand scheme of things. But somehow I matter. And I don’t know how yet. I don’t know why yet. Yet yet yet. So many yets. So many maybe’s. So many could’ve beens. Should’ve beens. Should I be here? Should I have stayed there? Where I was. Where I wish I am. But I’m not. I’m not because I can’t be right now. Because I can’t be myself.
And I’m saying can’t again but god damn it I want it. I want this aching chest of loneliness to be filled with something better. Something better than this room. Than these thoughts.
My fingers claw at my scalp as I dive face first in the pillow. Tears. Stains. A baggy shirt that doesn’t compensate for the weight I’ve lost. But I’ve lost so much more than weight. I’ve lost almost all my hope, almost all my try, almost everything that’s telling me not to die. Not to try. Not to lie. I shouldn’t lie but I do. I lie to myself in this room. Saying I’m not the person I am. But who am I really? I don’t know who I’m asking.
Because no one should know that but me and I don’t even know.