half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

seven

650 Days Before

"It was rock bottom, and I was sinking with a crowd only five feet away watching with wide globes. I was at rock bottom, and the world was sinking and I was only five feet away watching with narrow fire rimmed slits. This was the worst of the worst and the longer I stuck around, the higher the damage got to my elbows.

He was gone, my friend, he was actually gone. If you showed me a rope and told me to walk across I'd fall straight through, because you can't ask a light weight to travel on a tight rope just because she is a feather, but you would make me, would you not?

And so he left, he fell through, and the bullet wounds didn't crack only his skull, but the gate that cut open my heart. I was half a heart, and only my left shoe, I wasn't who I once was as it was easily shown in the early morning sky and the late night moon, and that is the answer, that is what you asked me the on November twenty eighth, as if you expected me to know the fucking answer.  I cut the deepest the morning of November twenty ninth, two days after the arrival of the devil that idiotically decided to birth me into this world- considered the following by appearing at the apartment shared by my other half, eye bags redder than her horns, with fake useless tears streaming like the decorations to her last bra and pantie set for whoever she decided to give a loose night to.

Today is December first and it hasn't even been a full week since he left me, and this piece of shit as a "helpful journal"- for when I need it- didn't help the pain. If you take in the fact that I was once two, and now I am left with one half to a shoe and one crooked bleeding smile that begged for forgiveness and a second chance to take back last week, at the end of the night I am not satisfied, and you still suspect that things are getting better, so let me tell you my friend, things are getting worse.

Maybe I should go back to sex, maybe I should pick up on partying again, maybe I should go smoke, where is my cocaine? You knew about that though didn't you? My devilish conceiver mentioned it to you before, has she not? She seems to spill my secrets quicker than she signed her bullshit signature on a file of divorce papers. 

I am knee deep in my own blood, my friend, and neck high in misery. You asked to give it two days over four days ago, you told me to give it a week, but the progressive chart of my behavior has decided to decrease down a hill of distress and old beat up bruises that rimmed my eyes with the constant empty vodka bottles surrounding my bed- is that healthy enough for you? You asked me to tell you my life in this goddamn book and I don't know who you think I am? I don't deserve to be charted on a piece of graph paper clipped under your clip board with a sticky note of drugs that could help, but if you prescript me with a medication, how do you not know that it would only take me three seconds to consider overdosing.

So you told my mother to take care of me for a few weeks until I got better, and that was the funniest shit you could ever try to joke about. This isn't high school my friend, who are you impressing?

I don't need the constant reminder that my brother is not playing video games with me right this second and that he never will again, I know he is in a better place than I will ever end up in and don't try to tell me I'm psycho for believing that I will end my journey in hell, because you gave me the map, pinpointing my destination. 

I'm not telling you shit, so this will be where I end the beginning of my slowly painful death and I hope to see you tomorrow, I hope we fight and I scream at you for being a wrinkly ball sack like I did Thursday and I hope you write it on your page of complaints, and most of all, I can't wait for the day you stick me in that crazy house for losing the other half of my heart- but god always takes the best ones- right?

The one and only, Blue."

I was already wrapped inside of my own tears and pain when I felt my body press stop. This had been a recording of my life as I never hit pause to stop and realize that I was ten feet under. The world wasn't going to stop for anyone and the closer I looked back on my life and the heavier this book in my hand got, the more I began to hurt.

"Dear friend, it's been two weeks, fourteen days, several hundred hours and enough seconds to last a lifetime. In case you were wondering, I'm not doing better, but thanks for your nonexistent amount of 'I care about you' letters that I assume you paid my not so much of a friend group, tons, just to write the words they would never tell me before. I realized something today, and I can't wait to share it with you.

I used to believe that everyone had it worse than the one and only, but then I took a step on sex, drugs, the lack of money, knives, ropes, suicide, then I put it in perspective that I was finally the one that had it worse, and it doesn't feel as good as I wanted it to. I expected that bad ass apparel to rub off on my family/friends, but now when I look in the mirror I see a depressed appearance that itches onto my nonexistent family/ two friends, and then I lose the small amount of those people in my life, and now here I am writing- not by choice- by myself, with tons waiting outside my door saying the things they could never say to me before I lost him.

But I'm done with you asking the questions my friend, it's my turn. Tell me where the fuck God got this crazy idea to rip the skin right off my bones and sashay it around as if it were a boa, I am no little girl in her mom's high heels and glitter eye shadow, because 1. I hate that bitch and 2. I am nineteen and I don't find the urge to play dress up because a. life isn't a joke anymore and b. that never appealed to me. 

Tell me where I went wrong with life besides most likely having an STD and the short amount of life I have left before I die because of my love for smoking anything passed under counter- because last time I checked I was no angel, but I don't recall being the devil. I do agree, I am a little crazy, maybe insane, and maybe I should stop taking baths half full with my tears and scorching water that burned the tips of my shoulder and my knees, but at least I will know what it will be like to burn in hell, my time's coming right? 

So where is Sammy now, my friend? Is he there with you, or is he with dad, like he always wanted, or is he down three streets at the bar on the corner drinking tequila and buying shots for the woman on either side of him? Because I don't see him, I looked around, on both sides, but all I see is a gun under my chair, on top of my dresser, inside my pillows, hanging from the shower door, inside my eyes.

Remember when I used to dream of traveling the world with Sammy? Remember when he told me we would live in Ireland in the winter and move to Australia in the summer? What happened my friend? What the hell happened?"

I was too deep in my tears to know I was in the middle of a deep sleep of daydreams, or maybe this was real life, maybe I really was on my burning fire couch with the leather fading like my cigarettes on the corners with my old writing journal from the miserable time when my brother committed suicide, but I wouldn't know, because I felt dead.