I’ve Stepped Off the Edge of the World

I’m alone tonight in an all too familiar darkness, hoping, praying the Words will be enough. But this might be where the story ends.

A brief non-sequitur:

When a friend I’d met through social media told me that she loved me, I had a visceral reaction. I responded thusly:

“Love is a word that is so easily thrown around. One whose use and misuse can be equally devastating. Too powerful a word, to be sure, to be wasted on someone you’ve never met or even spoken with. I have indeed been loved. My grandparents loved me, completely and unconditionally. My cousin loved me. My best friend, Paul. They are all gone now. The last of those who knew and loved me. Those whose love was true and genuine, and was, for me, the very breath in my lungs. Those whose love was safe and inspired me to try to love myself. Those who, despite my utter failure in being able to do so, loved me so well that it often brought me to tears.

You cannot love me…. You don’t know me. What you love are the Words I’ve strung together in some blog entries. I can appreciate that, I truly can. Words can be amazingly powerful. Heartbreakingly so.

You can’t love me because what you love about me is no longer true. You love the Words in the blog I wrote called Positively Sober. A blog written by a girl just trying to stay sober. But I’m not sober now. I relapsed. I’ve regressed to the junkie that was lying in wait, scratching and clawing her way from the depths of my soul. A junkie born and tended to by the very opposite of love. A junkie whose body is failing, whose mind is at war with itself, whose soul lies in ruins. The ruins created, by the way, in the wake of the destruction caused by someone who would whisper in my ear ‘I love you’ even as he stole the very life force from my being. Over and over again. Those fucking words.”

Truth is, there’s a connection, a bond formed, especially from shared experiences, and most especially, from shared painful experiences. We’re human and those shared experiences, the ones which we sometimes feel will consume us, are necessary for our very survival.  No one can exist in a vacuum. Though I’ll be God damned if I haven’t tried to do just that recently. It’s no way to live.

A sad, slow wash came over me tonight. I’m kicking from a relapse after about 70 days of sobriety. My last chance. And tonight as I type, I’m fighting, fighting against the swirling vortex of entropy that has become my life.

I collapsed earlier in a ball of heaping sobs, struggling to catch my breath as I contemplated this new reality, this final fucking reality. This stuttered death that stretches out long ahead of me. Perpetual dying has taken its toll. My formidable opponent. I surrender.

I never stopped thinking I could beat it. I never doubted my resolve. Until now. Now I know I am defeated. My addiction has won.

God, it’s so fucking quiet here. I feel like there should be some grand conversation, some…I don’t know, something. It’s so quiet. I yearn to hear another’s voice. To talk to me. About ordinary things, about extraordinary things. Anything to distract me from this dark quiet for a while. The silence is deafening. And it is heartbreaking.

I was thinking today of the benchmarks of my decline, physical and otherwise. I stopped working. I stopped writing, for Christ’s sake. The sign posts along the road to my demise. That’s fucking poetic right there.

There are things I want you to know about me, other than that I’m an AIDS-infected junkie. I lived life well once. I lived, I dreamed, I accomplished.

My words were brought to life on stage, and it made my heart swell with joy.

I’m a terrible cook.

I’m terrified of flying.

And I suck at algebra.

I’m a black belt in karate and a baseline piano player.

I’m a bibliophile, and I’d be hard-pressed to name my favorite author. But among my favorites I’d have to include Rimbaud, Kerouac, Burroughs, Poe, Harper Lee, Dumas, Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling. The list goes on and on.

My favorite book when I was a child was Unicorn and the Moon. I lost my copy of it years ago, but I can still picture its well-worn cover and it brings a smile to my face as I remember sitting in my grandmother’s lap as she read it to me.

I’m passionate about Boston sports.  Going to Fenway Park to watch the Red Sox, which I haven’t done in years, gives me the chills every time. I love going to Gillette Stadium to watch my beloved Pats (though Tom Brady lost me when he started modeling Uggs. Jesus.). I’ve been to the Garden, but I’ve never seen the Celtics play there. I wish I could’ve seen a Celts game.

The first concert I ever saw was Frank Sinatra. I took my grandparents. It was the best night of my life. I’ve also seen Baryshnikov dance and Jerry Lewis act on stage. I’m an old soul.

I love Star Wars and Star Trek equally, and that makes me a freak even in the Geek world.

I once lived in the same small town in Connecticut as Stephen King (not at the same time he was living there), and that knowledge for some reason made me really happy.

I’ve never had sex where it felt safe or right or OK in any way. That particular gift was ruined for me when I was 8 years old.

Getting lost in the pages of a book has saved my life on more than one occasion.

I have the ashes of my best friend, Paul, sitting in my office at home because I haven’t been able to bring myself to scatter them yet. But if I ever had the strength, physically and emotionally, to do it, it would be at Yankee Stadium, because he was as big a Yankees fan as I am a Sox fan. Despite that, we loved each other.

The last writing project I was working on before I got too sick to work was a screenplay loosely based on Paul’s life.

I sleep with the light on because the dark absolutely terrifies me. Most nights, in fact, I try to wait for the sun’s ascent before I dare close my eyes and succumb to sleep because I am terrified of what my mind’s eye has in store for me.

I wish I’d had the chance to swim with the dolphins. Also, I’ve never seen palm trees in real life. I love Boston, but Northeast winters are the bane of my existence.

I’m tired. And sick. I need to close my eyes. I pray for a peaceful slumber this night. We’ll see what the sunrise brings…

 

 

 

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