Coffee and Conversation

This isn’t life. It’s warm and smells of melted plastic, because I can’t afford the electric bill and I had to use a space heater an old roommate left behind in 2014. I have nearly maxxed out credit cards, not to mention tens of thousands of dollars of student debt, but I spent thirty dollars on delivery today because I haven’t cleaned my kitchen since september. There is a brken ceramic vase on the floor that I cut my foot on two days ago because I never cleaned it up after I came in drunk and fell into my shelf, causing it to fall and smash. I think the cut might be infected, but I don’t have health insurance to go and get it checked. I have panic attacks about my foot falling off, but I don’t have health insurance to cover therapy or medications. There’s mold everywhere and every night I go to bed saying I’m going to clean it tommorow and here I am in bed once again sleeping in a moldy, dirty apartment that no one ever comes to visit. Sometimes I sit in my car when I get home instead of coming inside, because it’s warm and there’s a cover over the mess in the back so I can’t see it, but my car still stresses out because I paid 6000 for it by paypaling my credit card.

I’m laying on a dirty bed right now, withouh sheets because in a single moment of energy two weeks ago, I tore them off my bed to take to the laundry. The pizza and pasta are a few feet away leaving a grease stain on the pillow top that I got from a different roomate that moved out of the saint johns house. I have a miderm essay due tomorrow, as well as one that I wasa supposed to turn in almost a month ago that I still haven’t even started. I tried to register for classes because it’s been nearly ten years since I graduated high school and I still don’t have a bachelors degree, but I am on academic probation at PCC and have an outstanding bill of nearly 4000 at PSU because I’ve lost my financial aid so many times. The kicker is, I don’t even really care about any of this. I sit here typing and stressing about tomorrow, when I really don’t even fucking care about this degree. I have no idea what I will do with a pscyhology degree, let alone one that I am 30 grand in debt for, because nothing brings me joy anymore. I am not happy, I never leave my apartment except for work or to consume food, and I am fatter than I could ever have imagined being. I am obese. I breathe heavily and have to catch my breath after getting up from my sofa chair. I never feel like I connect to anyone, and now I can’t even try because I feel so uncomfortable in my own body. My arms feel as heavy as hams, and my belly is so large is flows over itself. What little of me there might have been is unrecognizable in the mirror and the few instances it’s caught on camera. 

And figuring out what it means to live when you still want to die.

I’m not sad.

I’m not happy.

I just exist.

What does that even mean?

What meaning does your life have without depression?

I hate it when you call me.

You, who are so sweet and kind.

I feel like a new person around you. 

But when my name tumbles carefree and welcoming from your lips,

All I can hear is the past few years 

Of others saying it viciously.

The only reason I’ve felt so awake or clear headed this year is because I’ve literally been in a fight or flight state of mind since like January.

Is it Keaton? Is this all to blame on Keaton? Cause That seems irrational.

I think he was one of the first triggers that set me into this state this year. And I don’t think I ever fully processed Alaska, or the trauma in Costa Rica, and that just keeps bleeding into these panic attacks. 

I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with me, but it seems to be panic related. Paul was the straw that broke the camels back and sent me into this most recent and more massive one. 

For the love of everything that is good, I hope I can remember how to be happy again. But I’m so fucking scared. And honestly..... I miss you so fucking much.

They way we held hands and cuddled to gether when it was way too hot out to do either. The amount of shows we watched while drinking boozy floats and kissing.

I don’t know how things owuld have been different if I hadn’t gone to alaksa, maybe that dream of a summer fling could have stayed around until christmas.

But I can’t be afraid anymore.

There’s no sure-fire way. There’s no recipe for escaping disaster, no infomercial to sell you a five step plan to get results (of happiness) fast.

I can smoke all I want and do yoga and water plants, or I can eat junk food and get way too hi and write about remembering you; But I can’t figure out how to forget you.