Neverland

18

I strum my fingers often. Whether it's on the desk to draw myself some comfort or against my temple when I'm trying to remember something- or forget. I didn't realize I strummed my fingers when I was calm. I always figured it was an act of nervousness. I thought it was a sign that I was close to the shadow of death. Metaphorical or literal.

On to other things that are literal....my insanity has grown literal. It has taken its turn to absorb my full conscious is my inability to see the sun- even if I can feel the heat radiating. Even if sweat beads and trickles down my forehead. There is something inside of me that cannot conjure the thoughts to choose to try. Today just so happened to be a day that my self destructive outlets no longer blurred the line between hallucinogen and reality. In fact, it has mixed the two completely, confusing me to the point where I doubted that the line even existed. I found myself writing aimlessly. Writing letters with no send name. Writing poems with no title. Never signing off. Never signing in.

Today took place entirely in my head. Although I was physically present at school doing what I do every day, my friends in the same loop as they always are. Except I was able to see it from a perspective I could never articulate before. I was walking beside myself, but looking down. I was inside my body and yet could see my loose ponytail swaying from side to side as I wove through the hallways to get to each class. At first, I thought I got laced and automatically began to run my mind through the list of fucked up assholes who could've done this. But then I had another thought: I simply could be dying. A long overdue overdose and I was going to drop any minute. But I realized all of my theories of death, overdose, and such all lead to the same thing I've been asking for. Instead, I realized that whichever mixture of drugs I had tossed carelessly in my system was not killing me. But worse: it was forcing me to live in a way that should be punishable.

I always felt like with whatever is wrong with me. I could always keep at bay. A few, "I'm okay really. Just tired." would always do the trick, but deep down the lingering feeling of despair boiled in me. That veil, that protection, merged with reality and I was forced to live my life directly from the pain.

I was having a bad trip. Because I wasn't tripping at all. I first thought symbolically and how Kels and the rest of my friends would probably catch on and we'd have this dramatic pow wow and end up all crying and hugging, but no. This was the first time that my friends inability to see my pain affected me. For weeks, people have been talking about 13 Reasons Why on Netflix and after watching it once and phased slightly. I realized that my disgust did not come from the suicidal plot. But how people- in real life- will feign this all caring attitude for the sake of themselves. Is it still a good deed if you're doing it for selfish purposes?

Does noticing the pain occurring in anothers life suddenly make you some type of hero? Do you want a medal? Do you want a cookie for pointing out that theirs an issue? Or do you want one after you repost that "Stay strong. It gets better" post and suddenly you've done your good deed as a human? No. This is false. But I cannot point the blame and try to pile it on another. Not my friends. Not my annoying ass teacher Mr. Nova. Not my parents. Not my siblings.

I wasn't walking through the halls being pushed or called names. Nor would I walk with my head down and hide behind sweatshirts. I was normal. As far as anyone else could tell. I walked in and smiled and laughed with my friends just like everybody else in my school. It wasn't that I wanted to be dragged to the side and someone ask me if I'm okay and befriend me. It's I just wanted to....want to mean something. There are billions of people walking the Earth and only few of those people become well known in some type of way. The rest of us? I suppose like high schoolers, traveling through halls, bumping up against unknown people, rushing rushing to get a destination. No matter what I do on this Earth...whether I blow lines till I kick the bucket or win a Nobel Prize. I will, regardless, meet death.

That wasn't the sad thought that had clouded my mind all day though. No. After spending a whole school day simply observing. I realized Suri gets extremely nervous around me. I noticed she jumps slightly whenever I walk into a room...flinches when I go near her. I wondered if that was because I knew her secret or because my secret was killing me from the inside slowly.

Kelsey frowned way more than people would ever imagine. After every joke or joyous moment, she would tilt her head to the side and the corners of her mouth would slowly turn. As if she had remembered something bad...but really...that's just how she might be. And then there was Perry who was drinking more than I ever thought. She carried a water bottle mixed with a packet she claims gave her energy. But after lunch and she leaned over to whisper something in my ear- I smelt the strong scent of liquor.

I was appalled at first, wondering if these were signs that have always appeared, or because I was seeking them out, I now noticed?

So the sad thought that engulfed my mind was that....perhaps we as people aren't ignoring signs of distress...but we're simply so used to it that it's just normal so we can't tell the difference. Thinking right now, maybe I had noticed the smell of malt liquor on Perry's breath. Maybe I even asked her for a shot? Maybe I noticed Suri jumping around me and that's why I avoided her at times? Maybe I noticed that Kelsey is so sad...but am so used to her being the light that I didn't want to point it out and validate her pain. Making it real for her?

Or maybe I didn't notice at all and because I didn't, my guilt was trying to feed me whispers of failure.

I lasted until lunchtime before I retreated to the bathroom and began puking. For what felt like a good hour, I was just hunched over the toilet bowl. As if all the times I've swallowed bile, swallowed my words, swallowed my tears and damn near my own voice....it was finally rejecting me. I felt betrayed by the promise of escapism my drugs gave me .Now I couldnt even rely on them. Perhaps I could try something different? Or double my doses? Or get completely clean? Either way, nobody would ever be able to tell the difference. I'm a product of what I allowed to consume me. And with each dry heave, I knew I was finally being punished. Cocaine? Crystal? God? No.

Just myself. So I allowed myself to purge in hopes of being renewed when I'd lift my head back up. Maybe I could puke it all out and start over. Perhaps I could be free.

I found irony in that day: that was the first day I checked completely out by being in tuned with everything around me. I wished I had said something then. To myself. To Kelsey. Any of them. Maybe I would've been able to save us all? But as among other things....we'll simply never know.