One day in the life of me:
You wake up. It's 4:30. You don't need to get up for another three hours, but your heart is pounding and you can't breath properly and no matter which direction you lie, you can't get comfortable. Your mind starts. You have flaws. You see them painted in front of you in all colors. You are so imperfect. So wrong. You have hurt so many people. You have run from so much. You don't want to look back, you want to keep your momentum so you don't drown, but at 4:30 am, you can't always control what you're thinking.
Your tossing or your pounding heart wakes up the man sleeping next to you and he says what is wrong and you say your heart is pounding again so he puts his arm around you and says something comforting and says let's go together into the big black and you want to go but you just skim the surface as he sinks. Instead there is only waking and the feeling of your body struggling, your heart pounding, pounding, and racing and your short breath. There are only dry open eyes and visions of loss and death and the knowledge that everyone who says they love you is lying or mistaken. Knowledge that if even the man next to you saw you as you knew yourself to be, he would run as you run, as you always run, as you will run soon.
After hours you decide that it is okay. Even without anyone or anything you still exist. At 7:30 you get up and take a ho-bath in the tub and check out your eczema spots in the mirror and go out in the rain in your red boots. You get free coffee from Starbucks and a free busride while trying to read John Ashbery on the over-crowded 57.
You get to BU and they want you clothed today and in a room of amusing juniors who draw and paint you in eerie natural light. When you are not bantering, you are developing plot and character in your head. You are also calculating to see if you can get by on modeling and waitressing alone. You think you can.
On the busride home you think of an analogy you can't finish and and text everyone and they answer.
love is to death as hate is to birth as sex is to passion as echoes are to endpoints as play is to encore as happiness is to drunkdriving as education is to religion as surf is to shoreline as tide is to moon as time is to gravity as hunger is to food as lung is to air
You realize that nothing you do is good or bad. You realize you are selling out everyone you ever speak to. Lying to everyone. You realize you are not there. Not anyone. The you they think they see does not exist. This is why it is so easy to change.
Maybe it's the rain. You go to a cafe. You eat too much chocolate. You think you have this apartment thing squared away. You make plans for the weekend. You are torn between intense love and intense disdain.
You write this blog entry. You know there are people who think this is ridiculous, but you don't do it for them. You don't even care if anyone reads it. You just do it because it makes you a little less crazy. Because it helps you breath and pump your heart. Because when you send it out to the universe in the second person, you somehow feel less alone.