|
she has a post-it note that she moved with her from California. it was advice from someone who claimed he had "made it" and now pictured himself as a soul circling a star. He was on Blossom's show. The note mocks her at times "I can handle this" - with all the words underlined.
She could cry right now and maybe will. She knows it's boring and there's nothing anyone can do besides pat pat, yet feel it she doth. The way out maybe is timey wimey. She remembers she's been like this before. Perhaps the holidays are hard. Perhaps she catastrophizes too much. meh meh. What bliss it would be to have a brain that didn't think so gaddammn muchos. Maybe that's why she loved drugs so much - it turned off that salad spinner inside.
She was so lucky and so grateful for all the nice things. She should say that. She writes messages in bottles on a book of faces, but she never reads if anyone replies. She had an asshole "friend" from the old days that lived to take the piss, and she avoided him. He ruined it all for her, but mostly it was nothing anyways.
Why couldn't she think of a good plot for a something. The other day she saw a show about supernatural crime fighters and was actually envious of the idea. She still wanted a cat, but she worried it would weigh her down - tether her to this existence. She was grateful her mother was alive, yet sad she couldn't be a better daughter. She could try harder. She could snap out of this and start faking her way out of it? This morning, she wanted to write a letter to #2 - maybe she would... although why...
dear Andrew,
you were right. I'm kind of crazy garbage, and it was really smart to run away from me. It kind of sucked that you did it when I was way sick, but why expect you to grow a unicorn horn when you're merely a mortal man. And my sickness is a bitch to bear. My sister never told her current spouse about the wound, and I used your "I hate labels" as an excuse to not tell you about mine. Would it have helped? "hey, when my world's foundations crack, I go a tiny bit insane and lash out at the inner circle. please know it's like having a stroke of the mind, and I won't be able to control it for a while."
It makes me cry to write that. I should take more responsibility and not just say "but I'm sick. like some people have a bad heart - I have a bad mental processor." I was so fucking ashamed. Like before, I tried to punish myself - but it was and remains hard for others to see. Mostly because "they" aren't there and won't be looking. I was a great loss to the theater. I acted the entire time with you and lied to you. I wanted so badly what you were selling: boring normal stability. That bonnie raitt lyric comes up a lot "it takes a whole lot of medicine for me to pretend that I'm somebody else." Boy, did we take medicine. It tickles me now that "drunk" is not even attractive to me. I would certainly turn to it if it helped me be another person and have courage, yet maybe it's the menopause - maybe it's my medication - but I just don't feel the buzz any longer. Last night, I dreamt I was with people who cared about me - for whom I mattered - and not just as an actor. Those dreams always make me want to go back into them. The only reason I remember them is because I pee. I'm going to stop this letter because it's stupid: I don't matter to you. we never really loved each other. Christmas reminds me of you. It was the only holiday that you ever did anything. the rest of the time you sat like a bump on the mother fucking log.
and look who's laughing now.
signed,
not me
|
