My Rock Bottom.

I don’t really know what to say or how to write it. I want so badly to write so eloquently so you can remember me as being smart or well-spoken. I want to be remembered as someone who loved deeply, and felt things so hard that it hurt, and saw the world differently. I wanted to create, I wanted so much to find happiness and passion in art. I wanted so badly to be loved, and to have fun. That’s what I set out in life to do: have fun.

But, unfortunately, life came to a hault when you started using drugs. I think that’s when I actually died.

When I first found out, I can’t actually describe the feeling I had. It was like, imagine a bunch of gears, cogs and wheels, just doing their thing, running smoothly, until one day someone threw a wrench in it. Imagine that the cogs fought their hardest to keep moving and keep running because they had a greater purpose than to just be regular old cogs and wheels. They scraped together and made sparks, they clanged together like the sounds of big metal cymbals. It felt like I had forgotten how to breathe and my thoughts were all broken and distorted. I feel like I stumbled back and put my hand on my forehead all dramatic like they do in the movies but I think I may have made that up. It’s like when you see a movie and the ground opens up and sink holes are pulling people into the ground and while scary and unknown it almost seems like a better option than staying here on earth with the broken wheels and the wrench and cymbals.

I remember frantically packing my things and fearing what came next. Knowing the truth was too hard and I’d hoped that this was some crazy lucid dream that I would wake up from and turn to you sleeping next to me. I thought I’d turn to you while you snored and I’d grab you and hold you and thank you for being you and thank you for making me, me.

But of course, this wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t even a nightmare. It was my actual life.

Now, I’ve lived in denial. I’m not perfect. And who knows? Maybe I should have left a long time ago. Maybe I would have found a different life where I’m happy and having fun and my wheels are working smoothly and happily together with no wrench in sight. Maybe I’d be in Disneyland eating ice cream or mickey shaped pretzels and watching Goofy bang on pots and pans while I ate popcorn shrimp. Who knows. But instead, I died. The wrench won.

I remember crying. I remember having no one to talk to. I feared people would judge me and feared that they’d judge you mostly because I still believed this whole thing was some sort of horrible mix up and we’d awaken from this lucid dream and we’d hug and kiss and eat popcorn shrimp in Disneyland. But, instead, I cried myself to sleep. Alone. Every single night.

I don’t really recall when I came back. These past few years have been some sort of mishmash of heartbreaks and disasters, tears and sadness, with sprinkles of hope and happiness. So I’ve left and come back, you had left and then came back. It’s happened so many times I can’t even count that high.

I do know, that once, when I was alone in the hotel room before you went to rehab, I thought, “this is my rock bottom. This is the worst day of my life.” It was and continues to be, but there have been many days after that day that have put up a good fight to be in the running for spot.

I know exactly when my imaginary machinery went haywire and stopped my life. I’m not sure I could pinpoint yours. There’s been so many times I could guess “yep, that was the day.” But I can’t say for sure. I don’t get to know those things about you. That’s something that has probably haunted you and you kept locked away so deep that only drugs could keep it from tearing up your insides from holding it so deep inside for so long. You got to hush the monster, control the beast. While mine just..died.

And here I am now. Wondering what is happening. Wondering if I will ever see you again. Or if I should still be breathing. Or if I should still have hope that one day you’ll be cured and you’ll be the person I once knew and have hope that you have slayed the beast. 

Or have you just let the beast swallow you whole and now you are the beast?