The Days - Ninety: One By One

A Story by scarlynn

I just read the note Elyse wrote in my passport notebook, when I was sitting at the pond that has goldfish in it. They aren't even big goldfish, like, you'd expect f*****g koi fish or something. But people are starving, and that's not even what I'm trying to talk about.

How to self-publish. That's the ad I'm looking at. S**t isn't real anymore. I mean- I can't be the only person that can intuitively sense the end of the world. It's not fifty years away. It's not even twelve. Who the f**k is the president. This can't be real, it simply can't.

I live in an existential crisis. Went too crazy on the cid. I often wonder if I should even respond to people when they talk to me- can they hear me? Does it matter? They probably don't even want to know what I have to say. They've already had a Sylvia Plath. That oven's been used. Gotta try my luck at rehab since nothing else works. And I'm here, and it's nearing the end of my first complete day, and I don't know what to tell anyone that asks me "how are you?". I don't know how I am.

"How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good, I constantly see the detailed scene of me being raped several times by different friends of mine."

Don't ask me if you don't wanna know. Everyone knows that phrase, that rule- but no one cares. Literally no one cares and they never will and I will always think in black and white.

That's a joke, because I'm at a ninety day rehab. I'm trying to brainwash myself. I'm going to f*****g devour the twelve step program. I don't know whether to say I believe in God or not. I know that b***h is a big part of my life whatever the answer is, so I have two options:

1) find solace and protection in being a kiss-a*s to a ghost, or

2) condemning myself to the rules made up by people that lived thousands of years before me.

And essentially, these are both the same thing, and that's what I'm pointing out. I love the Catholic faith and community so much that I always make sure to tell them "no thanks, God f*****g failed me," when they ask me to support the local priest and his child abuse.

The note Elyse wrote me said, "I needed this high, but I needed her even more."

It helped this evening.

I fed the goldfish a bug on accident. Firstly, I didn't know he would land on me, secondly, I didn't think he would fall in the water when I flicked him off my pant leg, and to top it all off, a fish ate him. Imagine minding your own business on someone's pant leg and suddenly a fish eats you and you die. But, I think in some way, that has to happen to all of us at some point.

I was gonna sell my a*s for a bar. For one bar. People don't realize how bad it is and how bad it was becoming. I do, though, and that's why I looked up the phone number for Willow Springs Recovery. I need to keep reminding myself that no one knows me except me, and that isn't a bad thing. It doesn't have to be scary, it can be anything I want it to be, that's the good thing that came out of my psychedelic abuse - I am all I need. I believe that, now it's just a matter of feeling it. The world isn't so horrible. It is, but it isn't, and that's the part I choose to ignore. But, in saying so, I can choose to live it just the same.

I had a seizure last night, a grand mal seizure, for the second time. I'm here today and I'm talking about the dark.

I've tried to kill myself, I don't know how many times at this point. Several, multiple - some would say too many, but when you're a demi-demon you live in the f*****g black. I know it's going to happen again, because my family and friends are still alive,