In the Face of Death I Wonder If I Would Be As Unblinking and Powerful as I Feel

I have an abundance of journals, diaries- notebooks- whatever you want to call them, I really don’t care. I counted a while back. I think I got to thirty two, but that was a while ago. I’ve gotten more since. The amount of journals, places to pour out my thoughts, to vomit them really in the pretentious manner I attempted skyrocketed once I realized how easy it was to steal. To wander under the cameras to a secluded spot, to slip not just a journal but a bra, a dress, headphones into my bag. Anything I wanted. I no longer saw the prices as I pondered aisles. I saw what I wanted and greed flushed through my body, reached with my hand and took what I wanted. I wouldn’t call myself a selfish person. Not often at least. Until I realized how easy it was to take what I wanted I always compromised myself.

Inconveniencing someone else was like poison that would rush through me, make my bones deteriorate, make the fat that hung from them suffocating. I would jump at the opportunity to go out of my way. Not because it felt good to “help” a friend but because I didn’t want them to hate me. I didn’t want them to hate me for asking for a ride. For being late. For all the things I hated myself for. I didn’t want to be deserted. Humans as a species crave interaction, attention, intimacy. I thought if I made myself as small as I could, a tiny crumpled ball that people might treasure me. “Look how hard she tries for us all. Look how much she cares. Lets return that love.” That’s what I craved.

Treat others the way you want to be treated. I wanted to be loved as much as I tried to bestow it. As often as I shelled out my wallet to cover a friends lunch or offered to drive the whole damn squad out to butt fuck no where. I dove into cheesy cliches, bringing ice cream and a parade of friends to tend to a broken heart. Leaving a date to pick up a drunk in the middle of the night, stealing a kiss in the car before hopping from the truckand untangling her from the solo cup strewn the floor. Standing up to people for them.  I knew they would move on if I missed a party or a hangout. I could feel the words they would say about me if I didn’t go, like a rake clawing through the skin on the back of my neck. I could feel it in the acid that would pool in my stomach. When the love I doled out wasn’t returned I received a similar feeling. I turn over events in my head like a rotisserie. Getting sick over it. Bottling it all up the good ol’ Irish way, trying to drown these thoughts in a drink with a bad taste. Only to have it bust down the flood gates until I found myself on the forrest floor, sobbing for no immediately apparent reason. Now I take what I want. Not to fill the holes people have left in me, but to try to be happy without these pieces of myself. Even though it was superficial, I could negotiate away doubts. They didn’t think of it, of me. Not everyone overthinks every action like I do. I overlook people too and when I do, it’s never on purpose. Except all my doubts were right. Now I feel the blade of loneliness slowly widdling away at me. Now I take what I want just like how people I knew took pieces of me. This time I negotiate away the guilt. Oh- and never steal from a small business and always leave big tips.

Truly good and genuine people should be cherished because they are oh so rare. They really are. Cinema gave me false expectations. I hope I’m a good person- I try to be. Especially now.

Taking what I want, finding out who I want to be and taking it instead of offering it around first, it’s empowering. Now though, I feel so weak. I feel indifferent to death-well teetering a bit closer to being in favor of it. In the way that if I was crossing the street and a car was coming too fast, if there was too little time. If I had to put in any real effort into getting out of the way, like leaping out of the way or something, I might just stand there. I consider, more and more often heading down to the railroad tracks by my home. Kids jump off them often, plummeting down into the river they hang over. Would it be so bad to dangle my feet over the edge. I wouldn’t die. Not if I swam back up, crashing through the surface. But if I didn’t, and I took a deep breath, the current would carry me away. I’d be lost in the dark waters. I think about that a lot. Just disappearing.

 

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