You would think that one’s suicidal ideations would increase during a mass extinction, should you remain as a survivor. And, it does. But, I’ve been imagining the demise long before that. Anxiously awaiting its arrival.
Inadvertently, the world did what I assumed it would do. It would take the things I liked and bury them in the ground. Anything I painstakingly chose to be mine is no longer. Fairness is jettisoned out the decaying windows because what the fuck does that matter now. What would I be looking at, or for, now?
At least in this new order the rules are particularly clear: survive, adapt, or die.
Spring is coming. Which means that Bleu and I will be heading out of our confines. We don’t talk much, to be honest. In another lifetime we would have turned out our traumas onto a crafts table to unmake them. To replace older memories of loss and fill the cavities with silliness and too much sugar.
Sleepovers were my favorite memories as a kid. Odd at first, dysregulating as your body is reluctant to rest in an unfamiliar bed. But, who sleeps at a sleepover? Endless hours lay ahead and you needed to take advantage of every ounce of freedom—and questionably processed chips. Flavors that felt like electricity moving through velvet and you couldn’t tire of the constant wave of overstimulation. I would eat until my mouth was raw. Citric acid begins as a film until the layers crack and burn the cheeks. Sores form in places that inconvenience the usual business of eating, drinking, or swallowing in general. Even a kiss is painful. A vulnerable contraction with the added sting of past decisions. Too much of a good thing and all that jazz.
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But the dopamine was worth it. The steady stream of perfect alchemical, chemical brain buzzing that alights your senses. That works. I never felt like I ‘worked’ properly.
“Alright, do we have everything?”
“Yea, I think so!” Bleu calls out.
“Okay, so, we just need to get Lily in her jacket and we can go?”
“Yea” Bleu sighs.
“Yea,” I sigh in response.
It’s a heavy feeling to walk out of the door again. It’s spring, but I don’t feel it yet. The weather is unpredictable this time of year.
“Alright girl! Yes, yes, I know, I know. fucking…Okay! Can you hold this?” I shove my pack at Bleu in desperation as I bend over to capture my wiggling companion.
“One foot in here, yes, good. Other foot, no. No, other foot! I know you don’t speak English but at least act like you’re trained, madame. Why are you…ugh. Okay, both feets!” I groan. “Are you impressed with yourself?” I ask as she continues to excitedly tap the tips of her toes to the floor. “I didn’t know we were doing a class today, Ginger Rogers, but I need you to chill out, Fred’s not here.” Patting her head and gliding my thumb between her eyes and down her nose to calm her down. “It’s now or never.”
“Let’s go.”