The Usual

Picture this : Right now, my life is in black and white. I'm sitting on the ledge of one of the rooftops of an abandoned building, and I'm smoking a cigarette. Denim shorts, loose grey sweater, a bowler hat, a pair of dusty, worn out Doc Martens. Thinking about the people I've lost. People I've lost to death, lost to life. I'm dressed so common, with common feelings of hatred towards the world and its unknown forces causing me to feel this way, and yet there's nothing so common about it.

I look at photos of old friends - friends who chose to abandon me because I was too difficult to deal with. According to them I was living life my way. Then it got too confusing for me to defend myself and I let them let go of me, even if it hurt that I miss them too much.

I look at photos of my Mom, and the pain starts to sink to my flesh, to my bones. I know that things would have been different if she were here. Better. But there were moments and people that came with her loss that made life bearable. I would give anything for her to be back, but I wondered if I would be able to go through the same things if she were around. I asked myself if it was a bad thought, as I always do.

Clearly, things are not how I pictured everything to be at this point. Here I am sitting on top of a 30 story building, staring at the world below me. Accompanied by a pack of cigarettes that would probably betray me later. Cigarettes were never to be trusted anyway. I've come so far and I feel so fulfilled and yet so empty. Like holding several weightless trophies with both hands. They're there but you don't really feel them. You’ve won but it doesn’t really matter to anyone, not even to you.

Maybe I chose to be numb. Maybe I chose to not feel the pain of missing my friends, of fighting for myself...I can’t understand how you can have pieces of people in your life, pieces they choose to leave behind with you. How heartless of them not to take it. And how heartless you’ve become because of it.

I drown my head with questions on a daily basis. Until I have finally accepted that there was no answer to them. And yet I amazingly find a way to take that against myself. How very typically bipolar of me. I find a solution and blame myself for it. Nothing’s ever enough, not even for me.

The wind blows, making my hair dance to my right. It felt like a thousand knives piercing my body. How can something as gentle as wind hurt me like this, bitch slap me to reality, that I was alone? At the end of all this, of all the triumphant moments, at the end of all the chaos, I will be standing there, and no one else.

I close my eyes for 5 seconds, and then open them. The world is still the same. That’ll do for today, I convince myself. Same time tomorrow?