Ring Around Rosey Game Always Ends the Same Way, We All Fall Down

Hello you lovable bunch of weirdos. Are you still out there? I would very much appreciate if you’re still out there. I feel like a lecturer in a dark room, with a spotlight on my face. I can hear the occasional rustle and assume I've got an audience. I think I’d be heartbroken if the lights came up and I was talking to an empty room. Maybe heartbroken is too strong a word. There are lots of things worth breaking a heart over. Maybe catharsis isn’t one of them. I don’t know, I’m not ok today.

Recently I was overwhelmed by that desperate sort of loneliness that makes you want to hug everybody you care about just to remind yourself they’re still real. Trying to maintain friendships from far away hurts. It’s hard. I feel smaller every day, like I’m fading; like I’m being forgotten by the people who still mean everything to me.

When I was much smaller than I am now, the first movie I saw was Peter Pan. I’m sure I’ve fabricated this memory from what my mom told me, but I vividly remember sitting in a bright red, child-sized chair in the middle of the living room watching that movie on repeat at least a dozen times. The Lost Boys were my favorites, those lovable troublemakers. No matter what mischief they got into, they had each other. They were a tribe of lonely miscreants. I wanted to spend my whole life mobbing around Neverland, wearing pajamas and singing rousing musical numbers with my friends.

Today I feel more like the Wendy bird, shot out of the sky.

You guys, I have a near fatal case of the Some Days. The Some Days are related to the big heavies, but with a dose of optimism. That optimism makes them much more dangerous than the big heavies. While the big heavies leave me floundering in a pit of despair, at least I can recognize their absurdity. Obvs life isn’t as terrible as it seems at that moment. The big heavies are short-lived bouts of extreme depression. I always recover, whether I think I will or not. On the other hand, the Some Days sneak up on you. They eat my leftovers, use my toothbrush and sleep in my bed. They simultaneously get me through the monotony of day-to-day life and make me resent it. Because Some Day I’ll be happy, or Some Day I’ll have money. Some Day I won’t have to cry. Some Day we’ll live in California with our hearts and dreams intact.

It’s hard not to believe in Some Day because there will always be a tomorrow. And a day after that and a day after that.

Today I’m anxious. The Some Day I’ve committed myself to is wounded. I'm wounded. Today means uncontrollable crying jags, running fast and far to alleviate some of the tension in my throat. Means eating despite the knots in my stomach, because no matter how sad I am today I need my protein and iron levels plasma-capable tomorrow. Today means admitting I don’t have the answers and maybe I never did and maybe I never will. Means admitting I love myself anyways.

Here are the things I know:

            Trust is a delicate thing.

            Betrayal hurts, even from far far away.

            Alcohol is a destructive bitch.

            Love hurts, especially from far far away.

I don’t know, guys. I’d like there to be a positive message here. But I’m tired and I ache and I just don’t know that I have it in me tonight. You’re all still there, right? Please be there. Please don’t forget me. I need you.

You’re lovely, little dreamers.

-b