We went to the fair and she got expensive tickets to ride all the rides we wanted.
There were incredibly long lines that day so we went on three in total.
We got slushies in skull-glasses that resembled bongs.
I couldn't contain my shivering when the fireworks began and I wanted to kiss her when the sky shined bright like in the movies.
I could only barely tell at the time that look in her eyes. She was upset about wasting her money.
I didn't know she would break up with me three days before my birthday.
I didn't know she would ask if it was okay to come to my birthday party afterwards, as a friend, or that when I said yes, it was, she would never show up.
I spent my 20th birthday checking my phone. Fuck you.
I said I needed some space after that.
Bruises stain my neck like a brand. My reflection leaves me feeling polluted.
I've landed a dishwashing job that'll help me maintain enough money to last the school year, although I'm not allowed to wear my septum ring at work because it might offend our regulars.
My roommate brought her over to spend the night.
Hey, remember that thing I said about space? I need enough of it so that I don't hear your voice through my bedroom walls while I'm on call with my therapist. I said through text and tears that you had to go. You said vaguely in the group chat that you were pissed off, like you hadn't considered the consequences of your actions.
It had been a while since I'd been able to spend time with everyone-- I'd been very busy between food service and college starting back up. You decided to have everyone over at your parent's house. It should be fine for me to come too, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm not wanted somehow. It's frustrating to choose between social isolation or existing around you. I almost chose isolation.
I'm starting to think that the "temporary" messy state my roommate claimed when I first moved in... wasn't.
I scrub my split ends with charcoal under water that scorches for the umpteenth time.
The purple latches onto me like a parasite, a suffocating echo of your influence.
I drove to the store to get some bandaids and disinfectant because your cat punctured my flesh as an afterthought. They've settled as scars.
I drew myself mopping my blood off the corporate kitchen floor;
Perhaps my most authentic work to date.
I get home from work I get home from school I get home from my roommate and that damn apartment;
Never a full respite.
Hoping for a meet-cute in the laboratory
even if I leave quite often for the gender neutral restroom
so I don't have today's panic attack in public.
I'll give a little nod to whoever I cross on the way back,
then re-enter stage right and try to remember if this is the scene where we talk about stoichiometry or species that won't be on the test.
I can't shake the feeling of being eaten away
Your teeth sinking into me
Implanting infection
Oozing, festering
I'm going to be sick, I tell my boss
She asks if I'm kidding her
As if my misery is solely at her expense
Just remember, your two weeks are almost up...
I only had half a carrot for breakfast this morning because
Two-yards of kitchen has four-yards of filth
I'm tired of coming home from my dishwashing (and janitor) job to clock in for my dishwashing (and janitor) job.
How long can I be the friend that needs consolation before they get bored of my grief?
Has it happened already?
My therapist is telling me to hold on
I'm telling myself it's fine
But I'm stuck in this room literally all the time.
I emailed my biology professor that I was in the ER.
He said that people don't have "make-up" finals in college, even at alternative ones.
There's an ice storm due just before Christmas and I need to decide if I want to stay at my grandma's house or my bedroom.
My parents are bedridden with covid and this is the first time I won't be able to see them for the holidays. Feeling: "jolly".
I've spent a couple weeks into winter quarter spending time at home with my family.
Here, I am able to spend time outside of a bedroom.
Here, I am able to make myself meals and eat them at a table.
Here, I am able to sit on the living room couches.
Here, I can live, and I don't even have to pay half the rent this time!
Here, I am talked to.
I don't want to go back,
But I've decided I'll make my needs absolutely clear.
I've written a script with the help of my therapist:
"Hello! I was wondering if you had time this weekend to talk about things regarding the apartment?
I've noticed that we have different objectives when it comes to the upkeep of the apartment, and I wanted to talk to you about how we can work together to take care of our living space.
I would like to spend more time in the common areas of the apartment, however they don't really feel like shared spaces to me.
It is often difficult for me to use areas like the kitchen, dining table, and living room because the majority of the counters and couches are occupied by objects that could easily be moved or put away.
I would like to be able to use the dining table without having to move empty packages or art supplies or old documents.
I would like to make meals without having to work around the spices and condiments left outside of their cupboards.
I stay in my room most of the time because it is the only place I feel comfortable being in the apartment.
We both pay for this apartment yet it feels like it is more yours than ours.
I don't feel considered as the other person living in this home.
I would love to be able to take care of this place as a resident, but I'm going to need your help as well."
I am on the phone with my parents in the only room that isn't piled with litter, explaining how every answer is a maybe at best. It becomes apparent that this place will never be anything more than a makeshift prison.
With newfound hope and a backpack hastily stuffed, I tell them that I will be moving out next weekend. They ask me if I'm paying next month's rent.
I gather together everything I own-- it all fits in the bedroom-- and head for the front door. When I look behind me, it's as if nothing has changed.
"There is nothing [I] can say that will redeem me in [your] eyes"; excommunicated for the crime of having boundaries. You tell me I'm childish and that you hope I grow as a person. I am bewildered by this response-- moving out as a result of roommate incompatibility is quite a common occurrence, isn't it? I try to explain the circumstances which lead to this point; I can't live with a person that won't allow me to live too. You tell me to stop talking.
My ex texts me to remind me to block her too, "before [I] have to think any harder about the impacts of [my] actions on others".
I truly wish I were The Bad Guy
So that this would have made any sense
Please, unveil to me a semblance of my iniquity
For this indignation had been wrought with obliquity
I'm sorry
for following the advice of my therapist, several family members and two separate doctors.
And now and a year from now I have to catch myself wondering
if there was anything I could have possibly done differently--
Because there was nothing I could have possibly done differently
Without mopping my blood off the corporate kitchen floor.