Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes (Turn and Face the Strange)

I woke at 3:00 this morning from a dream, covered in sweat as usual. Noticing sweat and blood smell damn near identical, at least to my nose. I attempted to just lay there on my memory foam mattress hoping it would jog my own memory concerning my dream, but a new memory arose. An empty memory. What day is it? I wondered. Yesterday was dark to me. But there was only room for so few post-sleep revelations before Mintkey’s insistence that our day get started. I had to take a piss anyway.

So I got out of bed, you know, did the usual morning shit. Put on some coffee. Brushed my teefies. Turned off the goddamn ceiling fan. I hate it. I truly fucking hate that thing. I’m taking it down. My roommate likes to crank the AC and turn on the fan, as if he’s trying to torture me. I know he works in the heat all day. Whatever. As long as he keeps splitting the electric bill with me I can deal. I’m sure he’ll shit when he sees the gas bill. I’ve been running the fireplace while he’s gone.
I digress.
I had no idea what day it was. I thought it was Saturday. Something felt wrong. I decided to skim through my journal pages and then my blog, check my texts and phone calls. See if I could somehow feel those blank pages in my mind.
The first thing I realized is that it’s Monday, not Saturday at all. Not good. There are strange names in the my call logs. People I can’t quite remember but should. Feel I should.  Yep, I’ve fucking lost it again!
My relapses usually aren’t this close together, but sometimes I just have one of those months, you know?

So I’ve simply accepted my weekend transpirations. No choice, though I usually have a mess to clean up. An emotional mess concerning anyone who may have tried to approach me. A mess in my head where confusion still needs to be filed in the “to be filed later” section. But something empty was still gnawing at the back of my mind. Was it my dream?

I drifted into a different kind of dream; a daydream. One of my many defense mechanisms when the world is dark. Someone bright and beautiful. Someone who understands it all. Someone who will just hold me and tell me that I’m alright. That it’s going to be alright. What a fucking joke, right?

From that point it didn’t take me long to realize what I was missing.
Briley.

Clarity hadn’t quite sunk in. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She must have been a fantasy I’d nearly forgotten.
I found pictures of her on my phone. Text messages, phone calls. Was I sane enough at this point to believe any of them?
I retreated to my thinking spot, which is on the floor with my back against the bar. Nice and safe. Not enough real corners in this A-frame house. Something I should have considered when I bought it.

I fell asleep in that very spot and woke not long ago. It seems I’m having no trouble falling asleep. Always good news.

I know now why I’ve had such a hard weekend. I’m 99% certain Briley was no fantasy at all. Perhaps I treated her as one. I should have known better than to get close to anyone. I’m just a narcissist. I broke too many of my own rules this time and I’ve hurt someone. Someone that I love. She only wanted to help me. I can hardly believe what she was patient enough to endure. And for what? Did she really love me or was I a charity case for her? Did I really love her?
I know I did. I still love her. More than anything. More than myself, even. In fact I’m virtually disgusted with myself. I just threw her away. And she must have felt something for me too. I made the poor girl cry. She was still willing even after I’d told her I never wanted to see her again. As if there is some separation between myself and madness. Sorry love, but you’re sorely mistaken.

My first impulse is to go running back. To fall into her arms and beg forgiveness a thousand times. To just melt into her and feel warm and safe again.
There’s nothing warm. There never was. Not where I’m involved. I can’t let myself get close. I will only hurt her again and again and she may just let me. I can’t do that. The truth is a fucking bitch but I have to do what’s right.

Briley, if you’re reading this, please forgive me. You are perfect and gorgeous, and so full of light. You’re an idol I should never have been allowed to touch. Who left the gates open?
I love you forever and I know your life will be long and beautiful and full of people who can worship you like the goddess you are.

— illegible

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Filed under briley, love, mad ruminations, schizophrenia, writing

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