Thursday, March 11, 2010

Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh

When I clocked off at work last night, there was already a million things running through my head when I walked out the door. I was thinking about David and Alyssa, and them breaking up. I started thinking about our perfectly planned tripped to Mexico with the family, and all the things I planned to do with them, and how that's being broken apart now. How even if they do stay together for the trip, we're not even going to feel like a family. Alyssa will be crying, and David will be yelling, and Matthew will be getting drunk. My Dad will be trying with everything he has to make us a normal family. I can picture it all now. And it's like the setting just isn't right for us. This cruise in the hot weather, with all these people around us that are actually happy. And maybe it's just me that can't picture these things. Maybe it's just me that thinks that seems out of our place.

My whole way home all I could hear was crying and heavy breathing over the phone, and everything was starting to feel like a nightmare. I dial your number and after I leave a message I start to forget why I was even calling. I just felt like I needed it. When I came inside it was silent, and it was empty. And I knew what I was going to do. I'm starting to feel dead both ways now. I feel dead all of the time. I left my house with my room full of smoke, and a bottle hidden in my closet. And I drove because that's the only thing I do now when I want to be alone. I drive away and see where I take myself. I went through Cammishas front door and stumbled into her room. And I stood there. Her sitting on her bed listening to music, and me standing in the door way with a wet face, glazed eyes, and slurred words. She hugged me tight and she asked me, "Why do you do this?" I said, "It's too scary without."

I felt like a monster. As she spoke to me, everything was spinning. I felt out of my body and out of my mind. The same conversations that have been going through my mind for days were coming outloud. I told her I can't give anything up because it feels like I'm killing myself that way. And no matter with or without these things I've made myself live off of, I am always suffering. I'm a sick, sorry, and misserable person. I don't feel like anything in my life is meant for me anymore. Nothing is mine, and if it is, it's slipping away. I've learned all these things, I've told myself how to live, but I can't even follow my own words. All I have are my thoughts and myself.

And no matter where I fall asleep, I am always waking up in the same place.
A pounding head and a heavy heart.

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