it's all over now, baby blue

"I have a no drinking before five policy."
"oh..I tend to open a beer when I wake up mid-afternoon sometimes. It makes the rest of the day go by easier. Take a hit, roll around this house and collapse in a bed again."
"Jesus, and you're only eighteen.."

College is a bit overwhelming. I don't know many people but I try to be copesetic and sweet. I chainsmoke there too much, twiddle the pages of a weathered book trying to avoid eye contact unless it happens, then I just smile. The boy next to me in the my first class tells me I speak to low. "I am sorry..it's just..I'm kind of weird. uhmm..I-you see I just don't like talking-" I hope this gives him a hint I do not want to engage in a conversation or smiling. He interrupts, "Well you know I'm weird too but I like to talk." I look away acting like the conversation never happened; he isn't next to me. I mutter that just isn't me, pull my shorts down to hide the little fades of the musty pink left from my bad days. I walk around aimlessly, slightly lost, figuring out my way, asking random strangers how to get here and there but I don't even listen I just want to know I might be there. That I might be a live.

My mother takes me to the campus and complains about me, she calls it worrying. My earphones are trying to override her voice without being noticeable but her high pitch sinks in. Not even loud politic noise stops hers."I want you to go to the doctor. I think you're sick." "Sick? What do you mean? I am just going through a new phase of my life, I am ok. Stop. See there is still something here.." I force a smile and try assuring her by trying to get her to examine my body. "No, you're not even here anymore. Your face is paler than usual, you say you go out to the beach but I know it isn't true. You can barely fit in clothes and keep buying more but they keep getting bigger and look at you, you're barely looking alive. You say you eat or you say you don't, you barely eat. You drink your coffee and lose yourself in a room and a road that takes you to godknows where. You take my money and say you pay for food but how? Look at you now. " "Mom, I am just pale. It's nothing, it's the medicine. I got my genes from you now, not from dad's side." "Why do you even need birth control? It isn't for acne and who knows if the painful cramps are even real. Are you having sex, who are you sleeping with?" "No one, no one. I don't want to think about this with you around. could you just drive please." She starts to get angry but I look out the window at the traffic, the trees, the shadows hitting the ground from the sun. The way it slashes through the branches and leave and leaves skeletons out on yards. Men are at work sweating at 10am, I clasp my legs and tug at my hair, adjust my sunglasses and lean back. I do not want to be here. I realize I must be concerned walking around campus lonely and awkward and try to thing of ways to pass the day.

It's not even the afternoon and I wish I wasn't awake. My mind doesn't stop when it's dark out, it keeps attacking me, harassing me in my sleep. I wake up tearful an hour after I tried falling asleep; 3am. I am mad with frustration trying to toss and turn back into a comfortable position, the music does not soothe me, it makes it worse. The words become realistic images, the situations occuring in songs are alive in my bedroom, in my head, in my dreams. I think of ways to make everything just stop. Then the other part of me tells me it's an episode and I ought to just lie there maybe I will ease into a slumber. But the thing is it doesn't stop, I don't know what happens and waking up is horrifying. I am ok, nothing is wrong, I am just young and I am just sad.

The day is over with classes, I try and reassure myself I'll get my work done to take my mind off things. But by now, my heart is heavy and it's made me weak again. Too weak to write, too weak to read or use my mind for advantages. I go on with a list of things that disgust me to only further the rage and pain inside even though I wish I didn't. Women and society and laws and the typical American. When I get home I chainsmoke and drink coffee. It fills me with toxic, believing I am not hungry but I cannot recall the last meal I had. I go out and sit on a curb outside the gas station watching every car go by, every person parking or pumping gas and wonder how these lives are. Is everything really like "Married With Children?" or "Friends" and how do I obtain such a lifestyle? A familar black truck pulls up, I get in. We drive around talking about music, life, drinking and the people we used to know real well. I mention my new life. "So are you gonna be one of those elitist assholes who rub it in their friends' faces who do not go to school that they are better than them?" "I never thought of it that way so no, never." The only good thing about going to college is I do have some sort of existence which will prove I am a devoted being to living some sort of life, whatever it is. We wander through record shops while I tease about every album we all used to make fun of, back when things were nicer, reality was further away and by morning all the beer was gone. We leave dissatisfied with the taste in music everyone house, leaving an awful taste in my mouth about our tendencies and perhaps we stay in too much finding much more.

We get coffee and drink three cups within an hour, our waiter lacks. I have a bottle of whiskey inside the car and go home earlier than expected. My parents have arranged a plan to keep me monitored. Eating during dinner, soy milk and such things will be purchased for my consummation. I refuse to understand and admit nor accept such restrictions. I force feed myself in front of them toast and say I have something from getting caught in the rain three times and sitting in all freezing classes. I excuse myself early for bed and drink. Truthfully, yes I will say the only contents are about six cups of coffee, half a pack of cigarettes and a diet cherry soda. Do we both refuse to say outloud something isn't normal? I tried eating but it seems trivial. To prepare the food in anyway, to set a plate or whatever, chew, swallow, digest and revel in the fact I might be full because the children in third world countries would kill for these cupboards which are nearly bare in their own right, at least for me. I tell myself everytime I eat I should be so thankful to live in such a lavish and spoiled country. But sometimes your own brain makes you think, and feel funny things that shouldn't be there. So I must accept the circumstances of myself and continue feeling sick to my stomach. By now, the contents are whiskey and the soda I use to trick myself into not gagging. But by a full glass of the glug-glug-glug of the bottle of Heaven Hill and some soda to try to even it out, I am looking at the television and telling myself I could do this like I always do. Perhaps by the end of this awful night I will have wash away all the awful thoughts or find a unhealthy way to regurgitate them. I have stories that I can only remember if I stare at my thighs and I am alright with admitting it. They are boohoo stories that I just laugh at and say how foolish I am. I do not know how to capture my emotions in true expressions such as crying. Growing up in an Irish-catholic family you learn to realize people have secrets and people know how to keep them but we don't realize or are too stubborn to admit honesty is the best policy and we're all fucked up from our vices.

Ugh thinking about where the person I have been intimate with is right now is enough to make me vomit. I have so much hatred boiling inside me the only person to feel it will be me and my own body and I hate myself for being so aware of this, so casually, so alright with the fact. I really am not but I am just too fucking nice to hurt anyone else anymore. Too weak to.