What its like.

Helplessly drowning in your own mind is one complex phenomena. 

It's almost as if my brain possesses a bipolar on and off switch. 

Say it aint so...

Imagine a continuous mental cycle containing all your deepest and most discreet desires combating for the ultimate death with nothing other than that antagonizing conscious.

Bloody yet clean, the dire match concludes with a drastic decision you often regret in time spent alone with ones thoughts. 

That's what it entails with 'him'. 

Time spent in each others very presence is clean cut as humor soothes each awkward instance; every butterfly. In the company of other's that discreetness is veiled with dense small talk one might associate with an occasional friendship. 

Cause I know about my Love

He feels me. 

In times of contemplative wanderings or simply staring into the emerald of a television as my mother inhales the appalling world of Latter Day Saints I nonchalantly drift into him. I psychologically graze into the next bedroom where in my blue snaked-skinned pattern overnight bag lays that over-sized tee he gave me one morning as I searched for my own. 

My bound self finds her eyelids drifting into a day dream state and smiles at the thought of the shirts ironic play on the movie Pulp Fiction as Pup Fiction containing dog faces. 

Jolting suddenly out of dreamy haze I extend my free arm lazily to grab my phone. Before my minds eye can capture my actions I've already sent a mindless text. Regret followed by no response. The usual.

Hours pass until I am back into that hazy state of pure emotion. 

Those late nights and early mornings laying sleepily to my own side as his strong arms find there way around my waist and immediately indulged in all his man. Nestled in his all his warmth where any slight chance of escape is recaptured with an earnest pull. 

I drastically open my eyes and seconds later hear that familiar notification. 

He feels me. 

Summertime Sadness

Sundays depress me instantaneously.

Not that typical depression one once felt in the dooms and gloom of my High School years but a lingering; reflective depression.
Not that stress from a months procrastination on a 10 page essay or that gut-wrenching  public presentation your mind has exaggerated into a last will and testament.

Recently, I've found slight solace in the smooth car drive down the hill from our towns quaint suburb. The roads absent of any rugged potholes or uprooted cement; just smooth asphalt and large fortresses with high privacy fences. Stay at home mothers, working fathers and spoiled pets roam the streets for an evening stroll as the sun eases it's outstretched rays.

I slightly gawk at the lavish yet mundane scheme of all of it as my hair blows in the wind and Lana Del Ray sings me the lullaby of my Summer. The hills curve drastically from left to right as my car naturally picks up momentum and coasts down through the sea of American flags surrounding the entrance.

I run through the light and frown as tomorrows, yesterdays and today's burdens hit me like a diamond in the rough.

Work. Finances. College. 'He'. Mom. Dad. Religion. God. Questions. Me...

The American Dream in all it's beauty and ironic fallacies.

You should be stronger than me.

Call it minuscule. Irrelevant. Even purely ignorant. Yet, don't mistake it for those moments of desperation or when you sit alone and realize that you're maternal time-clock is steady ticking.

Those moments.

Cliche moments. Sitting alone in your bedroom engulfed in pure solace; solid clarity. Your developed short attention span wanders to that remote and you eagerly unlock that portal of false realities; knowingly. Willingly.

Those robot fingers surf; purposefully allocating that 'something' you're insides has been yearning for all day. Almost like an addict awaiting that next flight to a higher entity. The inconvenience is over; meanwhile your stuck staring into that mystical abyss of over-exaggeration with unmistakable anticipation to feed that inner hunger for silver linings.

My wide brown eyes gleam and glaze over instantly. Infatuation at the slight semblance of possibility.

Love

Model perfect, bestowed gracefully with beauty unseen to man at first yet found throughout the course of time. Insecurity blossoms into bold confidence as her inner's crave him. Dates. Flowers. Steady.

Conflict. Distance. Realization of loss. Recapturing of feelings. Gladly enamored in 'love'.

I withdraw that needle and witness the blood puddle around my usual incision of choice.

Temporary satisfaction engaged.

The high heightens my minds eye of loneliness, stressful happenings and that yearning.

Whatever.

These feelings won't go away, They keep knockin' me sideways

Compassion. 

Is that what gets me into a whirlwind of misfortune? 

At times I feel it's the reason for my constant feeling of loneliness in a sea of company. A crowded room full of familiar faces, laughs, pure love and drugs still can't fathom to fill the desolate land field nestled deep within. Especially when I think of the possibility of having these feelings soothed, reassured and simply satisfied. 

She won't pick up the phone when I call. Answer my text messages. Promises to hang run dry. 

It's me. I was the one who went off to college to pursue my dreams like we've always talked about.

 I was the one who left her behind.

In the past visits for holidays, I remember the look of pure envy when I exclaimed the pure excitement I had during my first months away from home. The people I had met, experiences I had accumulated; I told her everything just like old times. One cousin to another. Sister to Sister. Secrets I held just for our meet made her face turn sour as if tasting tart lemonade when ordered overly sweetened. Something that never happened when told of the mature acts she pursued in our early teen years. 

I remember smiling in awe at her bravado above her parental restrictions and simply wanting that extra pep in my step. Rebellion most would label it. 

Eager to share my new found female fetal, I poured every ounce of my experiences into that moment as she would through a telephone call or even during the nights we would stay up till the break of dawn speaking secrets through the dark abyss. 

Gone. 

I share my secrets, feelings and thoughts with these four walls plastered with false idols; yet my idols. 

These four walls capture my voice more than any human I've ever known or have yet to encounter. 

Today I visited an old friend from High School. She's happy in the mist of all the bad the world has thrown her way. I see it every time she looks at him. Despite living under the same roof as her parents working as a host in a chain restaurant; he makes her smile. 

At times I think that 'he' is in my near future. Often within my grasping hands. Nights are filled with constant turning and reaching for a presence that has always been absent. That warm entity with a syncing heartbeat followed by a warm embrace; softly or loudly breathing. I've felt this for a split second and awoken to it sad due to it's immediate departure. 

If it lasted would I cringe or welcome it's arrival?

'He' knows.