I’m scared I’m stuck, stuck feeling like this until I quit breathing. All this dark, I can’t see through it, out of it, it’s so big. There’s always been this kind of spark in me, and it always flickers into a flame, something white-hot, whenever I fall really hard. It’s like Neo in The Matrix, he’s trapped at gun-point in this narrow hallway of a run-down hotel building, takes a bunch of bullets in his chest, stumbles backward, hits a wall, hard. He gets weak, slumps to the floor, leaves a trail of blood where he slid. I remember that scene so vividly, I see the hallway, the recoil of the gun pumping round after round into Neo’s chest. What I really remember is the sound, the thump when his back hits the wall. I see the trail of blood, like paint on canvas. Neo’s lying there, on that dirty hallway floor, dead. Dead, until he isn’t. He gets up, he snaps out of being dead, like it’s something ridiculous. His eyes look so clear, so full of purpose, and he quietly says, really just to himself, “No.” Neo decides he doesn’t have to follow the rules of that world, the Matrix. He wasn’t going to die right there in some hotel building, so far from the one person who’s his home. He fights his way back to her, Trinity, his home.
I think I remember that scene so well because I’ve experienced it. Not that I’ve ever been shot a bunch of times, only to go fuckin’ Kung Fu on the fellow who shot me, but I’ve felt complete darkness, I’ve genuinely almost died so many times. One time, I did die. I laid dead in some e.r. trauma-room for around three minutes. Still, as sad, or physically weak, or terrified as I’ve ever been, I’ve always come to that feeling of perfect clarity and I tell myself, “No.”
I’m scared right now because that clarity is nowhere.
I can’t go home.
I feel so lost.5 comments
Nothing feels good, I’m all kinds of scared. I hear rain outside, tapping at my window, making it so I can’t not think about someone, making me feel so alone. I can’t fall asleep, I’m too scared of my bad dreams. I want puppies and flowers, I want to go home. I want someone to hold me close and tell me everything’s okay now, I don’t have to be scared and alone anymore. It’s okay to sleep, “I’m right here, don’t be scared. I love you, I’m here.” I want to go home, I don’t want to keep feeling all this sad and scared and dark.
I know it’s my fault, I know…No comments
So, yesterday was bad. I had to have two trach changes, which is never good, yesterday was just particularly bad. I’m trying to decide if I feel like writing all of it, it, I’m tired. I could do a full writing tomorrow, but then I probably wouldn’t. I’m just tired, I feel worn, small. I feel small. It was scary, I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.1 comment
So, a few weeks ago, I had some sinus surgery. This did not help me, physically or psychologically. I was pretty hazy on Demerol leaving the hospital, the kind of hazy that produces thoughts like, “What if I’ve died and this is actually Hell?” For minutes at a time these thoughts seem completely true. Then, “No, shut up, don’t be stupid. You’re breathing, you’re not dead.” I remember all the nurses, Lauren (my assistant), even the parking valets, they’re all talking about how “tough” I am. They said, “Mike’s so tough.” They said, ”Nobody’s tougher than Mike.” I never feel tough, I was busy arguing with myself whether or not I was dead and in Hell. I felt tiny, scared, old. I think people mistake quiet for tough. I’m not tough, in my head, I’m not tough. I wanted to go right back to my little room, have more Demerol and forget the pain in my face, all the scared in my heart. Though, the drugs, that’s just a fix for a fix. Drugs, liquor, either/or, they’re just a fake feeling of warm, safe, the pretend versions of a love’s touch, kiss, warm brown eyes to tell you you’re not alone. Those are real fixes, for me anyways. That’s all I ever want.
I’m still not me yet, I’m on some anti-biotics that are making me feel sick, which makes me nervous. My head’s a mess. I’ve been trying to hold it together for weeks, and obviously not.1 comment
I’m just going to write the thoughts in my head because I need to start writing again, and anything is probably better than nothing. Unless the anything is a bunch of boring stuff that’s really boring, so I’ll try to avoid that…
Right now, I’m thinking about someone, two someones. I’ve been in love with someone for a long time, for years. Monica, she’s everything to me, nobody has ever affected me like her. We click, being with her, it’s as natural as breathing. Around her, I feel like the me in my head, I’ve never had to wear a mask to make her love me. She does love me, she loves me exactly as I am, all the shininess, and the dark darkness. I am genuinely happy when I’m with her, I feel peace. It’s just, our relationship hasn’t been a straight-line.
We’ve been in love for so long, best friends who so wanted more. Getting to more, it just didn’t seem like it would ever happen. We’d get SO CLOSE, then not. It almost didn’t happen, I honestly thought I’d lost her. That feeling was probably the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I wrote things like Christmas in a park, Telling a story, The world outside is burning… There were things she thought she couldn’t tell me, for months we barely talked, let alone fell asleep holding each other. The distance was bad, and I thought it permanent, but I had no idea why.
Jump ahead to where she tells me everything that kept us apart, jump to where she tells me she loves me, she doesn’t want to be without me any longer, she wants to be “us.” Jump back to where I’d started seeing someone else because being alone just hurt too much, jump to us being together for a month, jump to me leaving her and destroying her heart. I feel awful for hurting her. She said she loved me, and was nothing but good to me, but I couldn’t stay. I knew I belonged somewhere else, I couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore. I wanted to be good to her, to love her deeply, it just didn’t work. I think I was good to her, when I left I was just honest. Leaving wasn’t easy, I did have feelings for her, I told her so.
She didn’t take it so well, somewhere on tumblr there’s a blog partly dedicated to what a disgusting “womanizer” I am. Posts about how the stuff that comes out of the hole in my neck smells awful, how I suck because I’d never be able to open a car door for her, or cook dinner, or kiss her in certain places, then she gets really harsh. She basically put everything about me that scares me, everything I’m self-conscious about, into one nightmarish paragraph. She’s apologized and took a lot of it down. She said she wrote it specifically to hurt me because I hurt her, but she didn’t actually mean it. I understand that intellectually, and I still feel awful for hurting her the way I did, but what she wrote really fucked me up. I’ve been scared that when I kiss and touch, I’m a let-down, that a woman who’s with me is missing out on too much for me to be worth it. Monica says that just isn’t true, that she knows certain things with me are going to be different, but that’s okay, she loves me so much, but I’m scared anyway.
Jump ahead to right now. I know I’m in the right place, I’ve wanted to be here for so long.2 comments
I find it weird that I can be so many things, so many people, all at once. I can be brave, scared, introverted, outgoing, dark, optimistic, so many traits. So many mes, all at the same time. I try to figure out which me is the real me. I think maybe they’re all me, but I don’t know. Though, if they’re not me, then who the fuck are they? Whenever I listen to UR, I think about these things.2 comments
So, in about ten minutes I’m going to die. I woke up late, my alarm didn’t go off. My alarm didn’t go off because the power went out. The power went out because, well, and this is so fucking stupid, apparently some giant fucking monster sauntered out of the Pacific Ocean and decided to crush San Diego. Who knows what woke the thing? Maybe it was off-shore oil drilling. Maybe I played my music too loud. Maybe this whole Goddamn thing is my fault because the fucker doesn’t like listening to Heart-Shaped Box at 4 AM. I don’t know, nobody seems to know. Just before the radio went out they were talking about casualties, people abandoning their cars on gridlocked roadways trying to get away on foot, trampling each other to death and getting nowhere. There’s nowhere to go, between the fucking Cloverfield Godzilla Sea Monster and the military trying to kill it, it’s nothing but chaos outside.
I’d rather just sit here with my Goddamn breakfast, my last meal of Fruit Loops and a bottle of vodka, than die out there in that sea of inhumanity. I’m just talking into this tape recorder because it seemed like the thing to do, to save a piece of me. I’m going to get smashed or burned to death, but maybe this tape and my voice will stay without me. I don’t know. Maybe Cloverfield Godzilla whatever the fuck it is will be the end of everything and my stupid voice on this stupid tape won’t mean a Goddamn fuckin’ thing. I don’t know. I really don’t know much of anything after twenty-nine years. I wish I could laugh about this because it’s so absurd, but I can’t. I hear sirens and gunfire, smell smoke and a million dead fish. I’m going to die and I’m scared. I’m thinking about someone who isn’t here, someone I love so much. If you’re alive and you get to hear my voice on this tape, I love you and I wish we’d had more time. I know it’s pointless to say that, but it’s all I can think about just now.
I think I have time to polish off this vodka. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me after I close my eyes for the last time. I wish to God this would just stop, but You’re not going to do anything, are You, you fucker? Maybe You’re not even there and I’m just sitting here talking to no one. If You are there, and You are listening, I’m sorry. I don’t know, I really don’t know anything.
I don’t know what else to say, except, well, goodbye.4 comments