I am afraid I am going to be mean to you.

I want you to be here, but I do not want to be here.

I want nothing more then to fall into your arms and cry. 

I want to cry, hard and heaving, until I collapse.

Will you hold me up? 

Will you lay me down and lie down next to me?

May I wither away into nothingness and you will prop me up on your gold bars? 

I am afraid of what it means to need you.

If I am vulnerable I can become stricken. 

If I am cold I can be cut off.

If I am weak I become pathetic.

I am hiding my stagnation. 

I cannot go to the store. 

I cannot get a job. 

I cannot concentrate. 

I cannot find my self-esteem. 

I cannot do the laundry. 

I have been wearing my sister’s sweater for two months. It is losing her smell and taking on mine. 

My house is not a mess because cleaning is a nice excuse to not do anything productive. 

As is taking a bath 

As is taking a walk 

As is reading 

As is writing

I start the day at 5:30 am, sit in my chair, sit at my desk, sit in my chair, and feel tired by 12pm.

I wait until 2pm to lie on the couch. 

I sigh at the sunshine that mocks my darkness. 

I take a bite of food every few hours. 

I go for a walk at 5pm. 

I smoke one cigarette at 6pm, 

Will I be yelled at for smoking in the streets and accused of starting wildfires?

I always have my phone in hand when I am outside smoking so people don’t think I’m homeless.

I need more wine to wait to go to bed no earlier than 7:30 pm.

I have no health insurance, no one really does.

I will not pay for help and drugs.

I am afraid to know if I do need those things. 

Afraid the calculus is building up on my teeth, I floss ‘till I bleed. 

My body hurts.

I am creating toxicity. 

Am I creating cancer?

What happens when you know?  

I can finally know I’m going to die in a year. 

I can finally be brave.

I can finally get my shit together. 

I can finally make a decision. 

I can finally take action.

Something will finally change. 

Am I waiting for something life-changing?

My sister died two months ago, is that not life-changing enough?

I peek at a few of the things my sister wrote in her journals, and snap them shut. 

I can’t right now.

I want to listen to her messages and hear her crazy laugh.

I can’t right now. 

She was proud of me.

She had no one else and knew nothing.

I didn’t care for her adoration. 

I used to be socially acceptable, even admirable. 

All those fucking leeches I fed while she starved for my affection. 

If only they knew.

They most certainly will be seeing how far I’ve fallen from social graces, tossing aside my platter of privilege with a side of comeuppance and whining into these words. 

I want to go somewhere with no people and no cars and no helicopters and no low flying private jets and no famous anything and no leaf blowers and no sirens and no tasks and walk straight from my front door barefoot onto the earth and sit and stare at nature and touch rocks and dirt and plants and trees and walk naked and write and smoke and drink and listen to the wind and listen to the birds and feed the rabbits and make my own sights and sounds and make love and feel the sun or the rain and sleep under the stars and cook over a fire and never have to leave or have to fake a conversation or have to do anything I don’t feel compelled to do. 

I want to feel compelled. 

I used to be paid well and praised often for my work ethic and initiative. 

Now I perch, rocking back and forth, on the brink of barely doing and nearly falling.