Identity

A girl at a party lets her mind wander to dark places.

Everyone else had gone inside. I still sat there on the porch finishing my cigarette. Ever since I quit smoking out of habit and made a habit out of smoking socially, I always made them last longer. I tried to appreciate each inhale, knowing the next one may not be for a while. There used to be two couches out here on the patio, but they gradually got rid of both of them so now you just had to sit on the concrete - not that I really mind.

I guess there's always something about sitting alone outside at night that makes my mind dive into thoughts I'd pushed aside; thoughts about what I was doing with my life and who I was and who these people around me were. Those are things that are easy to forget and easy to fake. I thought about how I'd been partying a lot. I don't even really like partying. Parties make me anxious and when I get anxious my leg starts to shake involuntarily and sometimes people will comment on it and I'll have to make an excuse like, "Oh, I've had so much caffeine today, dude!" And people will believe it, because people like to believe easy things - not that I'm any different. I thought about my younger self and how she probably didn't anticipate life to be like this. No one grows up thinking they'll drink and do drugs and smoke and cry a lot. I certainly wasn't my younger self anymore. I'm not sure what happened to her, but she hasn't been around for a while. 

The hard concrete dug into my bony butt and I got up and leaned over the balcony. I knew the railing was extremely unsteady, so I was cautious but not cautious enough to trust my own intentions. I stared intently at the ground. Usually, this would make me feel like I was falling or I was leaning over far more than I actually was. I heard that feeling was caused by an instinct to live, but I don't remember the details of the explanation. So, if I wasn't feeling that way now, I guess my body was feeling the same was my head was feeling.  

I felt like I had no identity. I was a character in a story, but not a real being. And there was something about this feeling that made me want to jump off the balcony - to let the impact of the ground bend my limbs in all kinds of terrible positions. I couldn't help it. I craved it like an addict craved heroine and a dying plant craved water. 

I felt a burning at my fingertips and realized my cigarette had been burned down to a nub. I sighed and put it out in the beer can used for an ash tray. 

Not tonight.