if i die trying

too often i am caught in a game of loyalty and devotion. i am the third wheel, the spoke between my parents and sister. i am expected to give my full allegiance to each of them, even when they are at odds. my sister shouted at, told to leave; my mother quietly feeling my disapproval from the room over (are those sniffs? silent tears? my mother knows no other kind.

once, only once, she cried on my shoulder loudly, like a small child. it frightened me and made me think that i was not ready to be an adult and that i did not want to have to hold her that way. it was not my place. an employee of hers had killed himself. she could not understand. i did not have words to offer, so i smoothed her hair and held her and let her cry into my shoulder and scare me.)

my sister texts me: Fck her.

i don't know where she is. outside, hiding perhaps. my mother has never used words like that before. "get out of here. yes, you."

of course, context: my sister and father were leaving for our house tonight anyway. probably in the next hour, even. but the fact that my mother pointed to the door and told her (get out) startled me and frightened me and i cannot forgive her for that.

i love my mother unconditionally. i love her possibly more than my father simply because no one loves in equal measures. i love them for different things, and i love them greatly, but i love my mother more somehow. for all the ways she is not me, and all the ways i want to be her.

i love my sister most of anyone. in this world. i don't know if she feels the same wholehearted devotion that i do, but i care more about her than i do anything at all.

it is devastating to be caught between them, and they do it without even thinking of me. they are inherently selfish sometimes. they think of allies and battlegrounds while i am thinking of burrowing into the ground and never coming out. it is awful to be unable to voice my opinions, knowing that one of them will feel betrayed, or that i do not care enough about them.

tonight my sister was in the wrong; she was overreacting as she always does about something that my younger sister did do, did not do; it's all the same. but my mother crossed some kind of unspoken line about what is right to say to a child (especially a volatile, sensitive person like taylor) and i cannot forgive her for that. what kind of sister would i be if i found it alright for my mother to tell her to leave the house, to get out?

but my mother sneers at me now. "i'm the bad guy." no, mother. you're not the bad guy. but neither are you a perfect human being. i think she knows that, and that glimpse of imperfection scares her. she withdraws. she blames me.

i am left to cry in my room and deal with the silence. my sister drives away.

i will obey you

i am a terrible friend. i get all caught up in my own moments, the wonderful and the lonely; i find it so terribly hard to notice other people. there is an ocean between us but that doesn't stop you from giving me comfort, and twice now i have been too late to help you when you needed someone the most. i'm a creature of self-indulgence. i exist to tempt myself. every moment of reflection brings me closer to the truth about the person i really am and so i spend as little time thinking as possible. my writing is stale and stagnant and so i immerse myself in reading. i read something recently --

thieves are the ones who must creatively and artful design their crimes.

detectives simply are critics who come after and look for flaws.

goddamn it. everything in me hopes for acknowledgement but i've always been a fan of holmes and his adventures, and i will always be more judgmental than creative. there are parallels between good and wrong and shades of gray that a more clever person would take advantage of but i am caught up in self-loathing.

i want to be the person everyone expects of me. i want to be the perfect friend, and daughter, and girlfriend. i want to be everything in the world as long as the world will let me.

thieves are a dime a dozen, but there is only one holmes; i'm neither and i don't know how to handle that.

whenever i come, i curse. it's always the same -- "shit." and then, "shi-it, shitshitshitshitshit," and after about five seconds of that i blend into "fuckfuckshitfuckshiiiiit--" and then i tremble in aftershocks and breathe heavily until i either tentatively touch myself again or draw my hand out of my pants.

i've been obsessed with orgasming lately. when i hit eighteen, the summer before college, i fell into my sex drive like it had been waiting for me, revved and unable to stop itself. i was turned on all the time. for the second semester of my college experience, i could barely stand going to class because i was so aware of my skin and the way my pants rubbed at my legs. it was horribly amazing whenever i was close to my period.

on average, i come about four times a day. the only times i don't are the days where i'm too tired to bother, or when i have people with me and i'm unable. it's become a lovely routine that i fall into -- lay back, unbutton my fly, and just exist for a moment. i am as human as the next person, and i feel things like anyone else.

my first orgasm sticks with me -- it was late, late at night. i was in bed at home in memphis, and it was almost two in the morning, and i was listening to the runaways soundtrack, and i touched myself because i had to, even though i had no idea what i would end up with. fire was in my fingertips and my cheeks were burning and i was breathing so quietly it was choking me. and when i came, i was so surprised by it that i didn't even know that it was happening. i tried again, frantically, and came a second time, but i couldn't do a third. elated and confused and still helplessly turned on, i fell asleep.

that first time, the only thing that happened was a gentle pull and release, a spilling of electricity on my nerves but i was relatively still. this second year at school, my orgasms have evolved into full body spasms, and i've actually cracked my head against our concrete walls more than once, and the best part is that i feel so good that it never hurts. it's so incredibly amazing to have your body twisting to get out of its own grasp, back arching and body flexing and head flying into the air; it's best on the second one, when i'm still a bit weak and gasping and it takes half the time to get back up and i hold back at first, just teetering on the edge before i accidentally knock myself over, and that's why i curse -- because i'm never ready for it, because the build up is the best part, and because laying in the aftermath, all i want is to be back up on top again, instead of gasping for air at the bottom.

i can't stop feeling too much. it was a joke at first but now it's really hurting me and i always thought this was what i wanted, because feelings mean something, they mean you mean something. those who feel tragedy are the ones who become great, after all. the sad thing is i have no reason to be so upset, i have no reason at all and it's just getting too hard for me to handle anything anymore. just a few moments ago i went to get groceries from the store -- just dinner, i suppose i should say, although it's 10:48 at night right now. it was raining earlier, and it sounded like it was going to storm but it's stopped for now. i wore my hood up anyway, because it made me feel mysterious and calm for a short while. i normally put my hands in my pockets when i walk without a bag but for some reason i wrapped my arms around myself and wouldn't let go. i felt, no matter how stupid this sounds, that if i let go of myself i would fall apart and nothing would work anymore. i couldn't let go. it hurt so much inside of me that i can't even really understand it -- like something was pushing at my abdomen and trying to come up out of my mouth. i can still taste it there but it's not as bad. i walked up to the crosswalk and there was a boy standing there -- he glanced at me and i hoped he wouldn't say anyting because i felt periliously close to idon'tknowwhat and i couldn't see him very well because i wasn't wearing my glasses. i felt vulnerable and lonely and afraid of nothing at all. the light changed, and we crossed and he went straight and i went left and began thinking of how i was going to die tonight. i know a lot of people say they contemplate their death but i feel like i have a horrible fascination with the ways i could die. i peered timidly into alleyways for people who would mug me although i was only carrying my debit card and school id. i heard people talking in the mcdonald's parking lot and imagined one of them shooting me accidentally when a fight broke out. a car pulled into a parkinglot -- it can't see me and will hit me. i'm still holding onto myself. the last few steps into the walgreens are rushed, like the light from inside was some kind of saving grace; there was a man talking on the phone behind me and i imagined him stalking me and raping me and killing me. i walked to the frozen foods isle and stared and ignored the people standing near me; they were in front of the cooler i wanted to look into so went into the next isle to stare at food and wait for them to leave. i noticed a box of tea and decided to buy it because i miss drinking tea, and the couple passed by me. the girl looked at me for a moment and i was so scared she was going to say something to me but they kept walking and i quickly grabbed two frozen dinners and headed towards the makeup, thinking absently of buying eyeliner. i chose one and went to checkout and pretended to be cordial and left and outside it was like my bad thoughts had been waiting for me because i was going to be shot again, and then i was thinking of feelings and brains and nerves and wires and a drop of rain from an overhanging fell onto my forehead and it was so shocking it burned me. and i thought of the way that feelings were the real pain we felt, not the actual physical damage, and that if feelings could be so strong and powerful then why wasn't i dead, because i had felt my death so many times. everything felt so full of clarity at the moment but it seems stupid now. i don't know. i crossed the street and thought of cars hitting me again, but it was more distant, and i felt stupid for being self-indulgent with my thoughts. construction is being done on our building and there is a tower of crates or something leading to the roof. i imagined climbing them and just staring at the sky and people in cars laughed and drove off and girls called out for friends and i went inside and walked up to my room and sat down at my computer and cried while i typed this. i'm honestly afraid of myself. i can be so happy, so dramatically, disgustingly happy. i can be happy at the stupidest things, like stories about goggles or actors who smile too much but my sadness feels like it will crush me into a thousand pieces and leave only bits of me to gasp for air. i've wondered if i have depression but i am too nervous to find out, and as much as i love attention i don't want it this way. i know it would be so much worse than it would be good. my thoughts are in too many places now -- i can't think of anything important to type, but i've thought too often like this and never written it down and i felt compelled to actually note that i experienced these feelings. i am so afraid that one day someone will want to understand me and i want them to have this, because nobody will believe that i felt this way. no one i know could even begin to comprehend my madness. because i am so mad. i must be the only girl on this campus crying into the air because her feelings are too big for her body. uniqueness is not what it looks like and no one can look pretty crying. the feelings are passing again -- i can breathe and close my eyes and the tears that have fallen on my throat are drying. i'm not going to give myself the chance to go back there. i'm going to eat dinner and watch doctor who and pretend this was just a moment, the lowest point i could find. it seems safest. it is now 11:06.

much less to fly away

bittersweet seasons
mistake a warm winter for spring
seems like i'm best at leaving
when leaving is not the best thing
you couldn't help it if you needed more than i could give
and that's just way it goes now
i call you misplaced
but never a waste of my time
everybody's gonna make mistakes
but you'll never be one of mine
you couldn't help it if you needed more than i could give
that's just the way it goes
i knew you felt me leaving long before i ever did
and that's just the way it goes now
you loved me fearless
you needed to
you would not rest
til you came through
so god bless
and thank you
there is no anger
there's just you and i and the truth
you can try to make her
but love will not be forced to bloom
to bloom
you couldn't help it if you needed more than i could give
that's just the way it goes now
the only love worth fighting for is one that you can win
that's just the way it goes now
you would not break
but you could bend
and for love's sake
you let love in
but i still swear that you were god sent
and you stood before me knowing that the wings i have you gave
and that's just the way it goes now
and i barely have the breath to breathe
much less to fly away
and that's just the way it goes now
and a silence entered the room
for one last "i'm gonna love you"
so god bless and thank you
so god bless
and thank you
thank you

- bittersweet by sara bareilles

but now you're getting comfortable

what am i even doing right now. i don't -- i'm nervous and you're going to hurt someone.

please stay in my past

So once I had a best friend. It's not that bullshit best friend thing, where you're friends for a year. I'm talking about seven years here. This was a serious friendship. I have hated her and loved her and liked her and been annoyed by her. It's the full spectrum of emotions. Jealousy, loathing, adoration, pleasure. We felt everything together.

Things started falling apart when she started falling in love with me.

I hate typing that, or thinking that. I hate that maybe I just played things up, that I over-exaggerated her feelings for me. But I honestly think that she did feel that way, or at she least thought she did.

The thing is, I thought about this nonstop. Unending. I thought about this more than I even realized. I rationalized. I lied to myself. I think, probably, I liked her a bit too. But mostly, I liked our friendship more, and I liked living a normal life where I didn't have to examine my sexuality.

The thing is, I'm not sure what I am. I'm not sexually attracted to women. I am to men. But I do find myself flirting with women and men alike. I think I could love a woman; but I just don't care to try. I don't want to put a label on it, even though labels make things convenient. She's bisexual, she says. I've never thought of anything but marrying a guy.

So the thing is, I could've given in -- I liked her enough and wanted her happy enough that I could have, but it all came down to friendship and fear. Because no matter what happens, my family is probably not ever going to accept me thinking it's okay if I love a woman, much less actually doing it. They might still love me, but they wouldn't accept it. And I wasn't willing to risk starting a downward process for her.

I know, I know. Shut up.

So the thing is, we moved past it. A text sent asking me to stop toying around with her and I flat out said she should stop waiting, and we moved past it. It was hard, but we did it. We made plans for college. We were sharing a room. We had a lot of the same classes. We were making plans for a future apartment. We had named our kittens.

She bails on me and I see her once more, at Christmas, before she moves away to Texas.

A lot of this is my fault. In fact, probably most of this is my fault. I pushed her away so hard when I went to school alone that it was a little ridiculous, in retrospect. But it hurts to be lied to like that. It hurts when you go out of your way to be with someone (I had an offer much closer that I would've taken if it hadn't been for her) and they don't come through. This happened a lot with her. And this was a huge step for me. This was the biggest step for me. I needed her there and suddenly she wasn't, and I was in a sea of strangers, six hours away from my family and friends.

So yeah, I was mad and I told her she needed to leave me alone until I could stand to talk to her again. It was almost October before I really started talking again to her. Things were strained. Of course they were. But in my heart, I believed that we were still friends. She talked about coming the next semester.

That was a lie too.

(So was coming this last fall, as I would find out later.)

So yeah, we stopped seeing each other. She got me a bear that wouldn't stop fucking singing during the middle of the night. I got her a necklace with a star on it. Christmas was over. We haven't seen each other since, and we will never see each other again.

She moved to Texas.

I found out about it much later than I should have.

The thing is, we were best friends. Best friends. We had a bond so close it was almost creepy. We loved the same things, the same people, the same music. We were two people with one soul. We were everything to each other. And now I get a few Facebook notices saying she's liked something, or put my face on an elf. I don't understand how this can have happened.

I have struggled and tried and hoped for her to talk to me again, and nothing happens. I don't know what I can do.

(Okay, I know -- I could call, or go see her. But I am afraid, and I don't -- I don't honestly much care for her parents, just knowing things that I know about them.)

I want to be there for her constantly. I wanted to be there when her fiance cheated on her, and I maybe wanted to say I TOLD YOU SO as well even if I didn't say so out loud. I wanted to be there when she cried, and when she found out about moving, and when she talks about her brother.

I just need friends who aren't miles away, really. I have friends now but they are nothing compared to her. We were endgame. We were people who should have stayed together forever, having kids who treated each other as cousins and ourselves as aunts. We should've tried harder. I don't know if I can ever put myself out there again like that.

(Sometimes I pretend she'll come to school and surprise me. I'll be walking and see someone with her hair color and it's Her and I search desperately for her face and it's not her and I feel stupid. I feel lonely and dumb and crazy.)

I know this might sound like love to some of you. I'm not in love with her, I promise. This isn't that kind of post. But our friendship? It meant so much to me I was willing to leave everything I knew if it meant we were there together. It's love, but of a different kind.

I cannot comprehend never again seeing her, but that's what life has decided for me.

But I miss you, Valerie, and I think I always will.

I love you,

Meagan