Last month at this time I was slumped against a graffiti-covered bathroom stall inside a dive bar, heart hammering, hands shaking, head spinning, trying to text him with one eye open. I kept making mistakes, I kept having to start over, I couldn’t think straight… I felt like I was choking on a metallic, chemical taste in the back of my throat, and the taste of blood between my teeth - mixed with the memory of a strange man who had just tried to shove his tongue down my throat and bit down hard on my lip when I pulled away.
I don’t recall exactly what I typed first, but I remember trying to explain how much I missed him, and that in an attempt to feel anything other than missing him, and in an attempt to try and be anyone other than myself, I had accepted when a bartender my friends knew had offered me a couple lines of cocaine in the parking lot. I tried to tell him about how I had never done it, but I thought it would make me happy and outgoing and confident enough to do something out of my comfort zone - But all it did was make me think all of my sullen, worried thoughts ten times faster… I tried to type all of this out to the best of my ability, but by the time I finished, I had talked myself out of pressing send. Instead, I deleted it all. Instead, I sent: “I fuckin miss you bro”
That was the profound text I decided to send. To be casual, I guess. Because I don’t know what he’s doing or who he’s with and I didn’t want to regret sending it. I’m surprised I still had such control over my impulses. Still, I don’t know why I settled on “I fuckin miss you bro” and wish I had said something else. As always.
We do have the kind of relationship where that kind of text would make us laugh, and I think I was trying to say “bro” in the same way you’d say “dawg” or something like that. But I digress… He never replied.
And somehow I stumbled out of the bathroom to join my friends and tried to be normal and tried not to check my phone for a reply too often. I wanted to drive to his house, I wanted to run far away. I probably tried so hard to act normal that I didn’t show any emotion at all. My friends were encouraging me to “let loose”, and I tried to play along. The whole night was a shit show though, and I didn’t even find my way home until 8 AM, collapsing in my room and feeling like all the hope had been sucked out of the world. I wanted to die. But I told no one about what had happened that night or how I felt.
Now that I’m thinking clearly, that night was crazy, but really only for me. I bottled it all up and acted like I was having a good time, I pretended to be someone other than myself - and looking back it just all seems so disgusting and not like me at all. I guess that was the point.
I hate myself so much lately, in any state of mind - sober or not. I hate how I don’t know what to say, and how I have so much anxiety over communication, and how the more time that goes by, the harder it is for me to send another text. I hate how I’m too afraid to be real and honest.
But I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know everything that happened - but I deleted it all and went with something dumb instead, to deflect. My specialty.
Looking back, I think I also knew that it would hurt less to be left on read over a silly text, than a text so personal.
It still hurts, though. Don’t get me wrong.
I’m in pain. And I just want it to go away. I keep wishing I could just be different somehow, but nothing works. I’m always me at the end of the day, and I’ll always feel this way…
I realize it wasn’t a smart move to accept the offer of any kind of substance from a stranger, and it was definitely not smart to get into his car with him in the parking lot to partake in said substances… never having experienced anything stronger than weed. It also sadly wasn’t realistic to think that you can get anything for free in this life without an ulterior motive attached, especially from someone who doesn’t even know you. I know this, but I chose to avoid my instincts that night because I was a few drinks in, and I didn’t really care about myself or what the outcome was at the time, I just wanted to feel different, to be different. I regret it now, I feel sick because I can’t get the flashback memory of his tongue trying to force its way into my mouth out of my memory. My lip was sore for a couple days where he bit it, but it healed. What hasn’t healed is how I feel when I think about the way he did that, and and how I didn’t punch him in the face because I was shocked and disoriented and alone.
There are so many things I’d change about that night. I’d just erase it if I could. Right along with that stupid text, glaring at me from my sent messages for the past 30 days.
I’ve been endlessly tempted to text him again and say what I really meant to, what I really wanted to say, all the things I’ve written in my mind but never sent over the past month… but I just haven’t been able to. I haven’t been able to do much of anything. I’ve canceled most of my appointments this month, rescheduled doctor’s visits, haven’t taken any medicine or vitamins, go days without eating, haven’t tried to see friends or film videos, and haven’t taken care of anything but my most basic needs. I don’t open mail or emails or answer the door or send texts first anymore. I don’t read and I don’t write in this journal even when I want to. I blow my extra money on weed and spend nearly every waking moment baked so I don’t have to think about the circumstances of my life, nor focus on making them better, or deal with anxiety in a productive way. I block out everything and put off everything until tomorrow - but tomorrow never really comes. It’s just a different version of the same day every day… I’m a mess in every sense of the word and I don’t know what to do, or who to tell, or how to make it better. Every day that goes by is another day wasted, another day I did nothing, another day I said nothing, another day and I’m further away from everyone I love.
How the fuck did this happen?