A year of tears.

Day one: I. Can't. Get. Out. Of. Bed.
Day five: I sat on the porch and drank cold coffee from 5 days ago and cried at the dead roses.
Day six: Everyone is gone and it is so quiet in the house. I need a beer. No...I don't, it's a want, not a need.
Day seven: I slept in every room in the house, the downstairs bathroom is the only one I can sleep in and not scream.
Day eighteen: I don't know what to do with the clothes. I don't wanna sell them but I can't hold onto everything. I just miss the smell of you guys.
Day twenty-five: I haven't bathed in twenty days. I wanted to shower but I can't and I can't open their bathroom. I'm sure the toys are still in the tub but I haven't checked.
Day forty: I haven't left the house.
Day sixty-seven: I spent the last four hours counting to one hundred. Fuck.
Day eighty-five: I talked to your mom today, I lied to her. I'm not okay but I'm doing alright. I am lost, just so lost.
Day ninety: I can't keep your friends at bay, I think they are beginning to wonder if I’m alive because I don’t respond.

Day ninety-nine: I’ve counted backward and forwards and tomorrow is the hundredth day...I am so sorry I didn’t say I love you more.

Day one hundred six: I think the cat ran away. I forgot to close the gate. I was chasing the dog and chickens and I found a calculator and someone buried a pair of training chopsticks in the garden and I sat there and cried for forty minutes. I hope she comes back.

Day one hundred twenty-five: the clothes are still sitting where they were, I've only moved and washed mine. I can’t let your scent leave the house.

Day one hundred thirty-seven: I slept in a tent in the backyard. I played Coheed’s “wake up” on repeat and sang myself to sleep.

Day one hundred seventy-nine: I turned the garage into a movie room. I moved the projector in there and use the boom box of yours. I sleep in there sometimes with a space heater.

Day two hundred: one hundred times two...that equals two hundred you silly goose. Fuck.

Day two hundred thirty: I. Haven’t. Left. The. House.

Day two hundred forty-five: I think my mom is dying. I need to leave to go see her but I don’t wanna talk about anything. I wanna talk to you guys, not about you guys.

Day two hundred sixty-eight: Moms better, seems as though you get sick when you’re older but she just got really sick. The doctor says she’ll be better and just lucky she went in when she did.

Day two hundred seventy-five: I spoke too soon

Day two hundred seventy-seven: I’m packing the car to go see mom. I wish you were telling me what to bring. I am sure I’m either over-packing or under-packing. It’s like being whelmed, I’m either overwhelmed or underwhelmed a lot.

Day two hundred eighty-four: I am writing something to say at the funeral. I’m as ill-prepared as Dads. You’d be disappointed in my lack of words.

Day three hundred: If I have one hundred days and I multiply it by three...I have three hundred days of crying. There hasn’t been a day I missed. I can't Sonic run away from my feelings.

Day three hundred twenty: I emptied the closet into piles and slept in the clothes.

Day three hundred thirty-six: I. Am. Lost.

Day three hundred fifty-five: I got a book on grief from the library and it is on the island next to a birthday card I found.

Day three hundred sixty-four: I will not get drunk tomorrow. I will not get drunk tomorrow. I will not get drunk tomorrow. I will not get drunk tomorrow. I will not get drunk tomorrow.

Day three hundred sixty-five: So, do I start counting over? What do I do now? I can’t remember the last time I didn’t feel sad. I can’t recall dancing to some dumb kid song or to some African pop or whatever that was. I let the garden die. I let the roses die. I lost a cat. I can’t. I’m lost. I can't. I'm lost.

Why didn’t I say I love you more?

Day three hundred sixty-six: I woke up. I’m gonna shower and have a dance.

My friend Anhedonia

I need you to imagine a park, with open fields and some maple trees, the leaves are changing, the wind is blowing and a dog fetching a ball somewhere in the distance.
Now place Jon on a park bench and move him into view slowly and you hear the mumbling of him talking to himself, let us begin...

 Jon: ...It doesn't make sense. Why do I feel numb? not physically but emotionally, I don't feel anything anymore. It's like I lost that spark that...

A large grey blob falls out of Jon's ear and onto the park bench next to him

Anhedonia: Hey buddy! Long time no see how have you been?
J: Oh fuck.
A: That good huh? Well I just thought I'd pop out of the mush that you call a brain and say hi outside
J: Can other people see you? Or am I just crazy
A: Whoa Whoa Whoa! You are not crazy, *maybe a little* but no, no one else can see or feel me.
J: I cant feel but I feel you, why don't you go away for good this time?
A: My friend I...
J: Don't.
A: Don't what?
J: Don't call me your friend.
A: But what shall I call you?
J: Your victim would be more appropriate, I feel caged by you.
A: Oh poor baby, 'Look at me I'm Jon and I can't feel things emotionally! wah wah wah' You fucking pussy. Get over it right? move on bitch.
J: I hate you, I hate you so much
A: SEE! You feel something! I'm not that bad
J: I really fucking hate you
A: I'm here for the long haul bud, back in the mush I go, don't forget, I'm most likely permanent!
J: Goddammit...

Our scene ends with the blob crawling back into the ear from where it emerged and Jon walking off emotionless, the dog once catching a ball is now shitting in the pathway home.

The art of John Scott is both beautiful and haunting, I highly recommend checking out his pieces.
JohnScottGFX

Statistics

BEEP: Hey bud, I was just calling to check on you and see how you are doing, I saw that you posted some stuff on facebook about not feeling worth anything, call me man, I know it has been a minute but I am always here. Alright well, I love ya buddy, hit me up man.

BEEP: Hey bro, it's been a minute and I haven't heard from you, Jack said he talked to you and you seemed down, I'm just checking in brother, you know I'm always here, if you need to get away I'll buy your plane ticket to wherever you need to go, even if its not to see me man. Please call me back man, you know I love you.

BEEP: Hey dude, just checking in again, haven't seen you active on anything in a while and no one has heard from you in over a week, you still taking your medication? I just wanna make sure you're doing good man. I got a spare room if you need it. I love you man, please call me back.

BEEP: Hey man, what's going on? you know you can tell me anything. I'm always here. I don't sleep much and I'll always answer the phone. Just give me a call bud, I worry about you man and I just wanna make sure you are doing okay. I love you brother.

...

...

...

...

BEEP: ...I saw the news man...fuck dude...I'm sorry bro. I wish I would've been there more or we could've talked through this, I know you won't hear this and I'm sorry I didn't know what was going on. I should've called more. I should've come by. I should've done something and I'm sorry I failed you man. Fuck. I'm gonna miss you, man, I just wish you would've told me something was going on and maybe we could have..."If you are satisfied with your message..."

I wanna spend my forever with you

I heard your voice from across the room, still as sweet as before.

Some say it has grown hoarse, cracked, and broken. I still hear that sweet young woman I fell in love with all those years ago, that young and vibrate voice calling me across the room and drowning out the beeps of machines keeping you alive.

I guess I still hear you that way because I’m still living in hope and everyone else is living in reality, I can’t do that.

You touched me and I felt you more deeply than ever before, in one touch I could feel you give in and yet lead me, I don't know if I can follow.

You moved once and it moved me. Every breath you took was like watching a mountain shape and move, I enjoyed the eternity I was trying to keep with you.

If life has only one timeline, if forever is a one-way street, I wouldn’t wanna walk down this road with anyone else. I wanna be bonded to the soles of your shoes so I can be with you every step of this journey. If there is just one time, I wanna spend my time with you, forever.

To get back to where we were before is something I’d give anything for, I wanna spend forever there. I’d replay it every day and start over the next one. Just one more pause, just one more look, just once more.

If you should pull me under with you, I’d rather drown with you than tread water by myself. If this is too much for you to hear I’m sorry but I wouldn’t change a word.

Your body is like a ship that was not built for storms but we are weathering the worst storm we can and I feel as though we are rocking slowly down, feeling the pull of the tide and sinking together.

In my head, I’m leaving you at home, not here in this room full of wires.

Your tired eyes and sunken face isn’t how I see you, I see you as you are.

That young woman I fell in love with those many years and many storms ago.

I wish we could come out the other side of this storm together but I know that the captain must go down with the ship and I’m just sad you’re gonna leave this sailor to tread water without you.

Cancer has struck our vessel.

You’re the one sinking and yet I feel like I’m the one dying.

I would die to save you. I can’t say that enough.

I don’t think I can keep swimming if you are not there with me.

I just want our forevers to be and end together.

Angelo Merendino has an amazing story to tell
https://www.mywifesfightwithbreastcancer.com

Day 149: A Parents Lament

The smaller the casket, the more it weighs you down.

Day 148: My Paracosm...

Here I am again, the same place I was last time...and the time before. This is why you left me.

My parents can’t call anymore because I sold my phone, I “needed” the money. I wouldn’t wanna talk to them anyways, mom tells me she loves me and then lectures me and tells me “You need to let Jesus in your heart Jon.” I would rather make this faulty muscle stop beating with what I’m doing than talk to that asshole again.

Jesus that is.

My mom is a sweetheart.

Well, I guess he’s not that bad but his dad is a fucking dick.

He let my friends die and left me to say I’m sorry to their parents.

Dad just talks circles around telling me how disappointed he is in me. Kinda like every drunk Christmas fight I’ve ever started.

I shouldn’t have drunk that much huckleberry vodka but I just can’t stand hearing people talk and say “hero” when I'm just a piece of shit who talks to ghosts.
All the heroes I know are dead.

This is why people don’t like me. I guess this is why I don’t talk to the family anymore and this is why everyone left me and why I’m sitting here, again.

I’ve started to try to map the stars in the track marks. I wish I could break apart my DNA or rip apart my atoms to become stardust once more, I just hate the makeup of myself so much but I appreciate what I’ve come from.
Minus this faulty genetics that makes me so fucking weak.

The doors won’t open for another hour and I’m running out of ink in this pen I stole from the last homeless shelter. Hopefully, they will see me and I’ll get a small fix, methadone clinics are weird places to make friends by the way.

The lady at the front counter has started to recognize me, she looks so sad when our eyes meet.
I feel like I've let her down too.
Her son was lost in Afghan too.

I just wish I could stop running, it’s weird to feel tired no matter how much I sleep and to feel like I’m running even when I’m so high I couldn’t move if I tried. This goddamn brain won’t shut off.

It won’t stop replaying bad days and I wish I could remember the good ones more.

I wish the pills still worked but I took a dive faster than an Olympic gold medalist into the pool of “opioid abuse,” I think I went deeper too, I just couldn’t tread water so now I’m drowning in my problems.

Do you know how hard it is to run from your problems in water?

Why won’t these fucking doors open?

Well, the pen is starting to blotch.

I think it’s time to drift into my paracosm.

It’s a place where I’m not a fuck up and my friends are alive.

And we aren't ass deep in sand and blood either.

Registered nurse Mimi DeGange operates the dispensing window at the Center for Drug Problems in Anchorage.
Is Methadone the answer?

Day 147: Can you hear?

Can you hear the choppers coming? Can you hear them overhead? They’ve come to collect the wounded, they’ve come to collect the dead.

Can you hear the choppers coming? Can you hear them overhead? They’ve come to collect your buddies, they’ve come to collect your friends.

They say we’ve saved the people. They say we’ve saved the day. Can you hear the mothers crying? Do they know we’ve gone away?

Do you hear the bullets flying? Do you hear the fighters cry? They’ve come to end our journey. They’ve come to make us die.

I heard the children weeping. I’ve heard their mothers wail. Do they know I killed their father? Do they hope I failed?

I saw his head explode. I saw his face disappear. I’ll feel like that’s my fate. I feel the end is near.

Can you hear the choppers coming? Can you hear them overhead? They’ve come to collect the wounded, they’ve come to collect the dead.

Can you hear the choppers coming? Can you hear them overhead? They’ve come to collect your buddies, they’ve come to collect your friends.