Good thing this is in Stream of Consciousness and not Fiction because it's not Fiction. A year, I wish. I didn't just lose myself I gave her up. It's one thing to realize one day you're not you anymore it's quite another to watch it slip away day by day, seeing her go but not knowing how to get her back, how to convince her to stay. Can't beg someone to stay in hell. "You're here for the kid." Those words ring through my head still to this day. His kid mind you. Not ours, not mine. Let me repeat NOT MY CHILD. Not by birth not by marriage not by anything. And yes, I'm there for the kid, I was here there and everywhere for the kid but who the fuck was there for me? Not his father, not my father, just a fading me. I knew it was temporary, there wasn't a moment I didn't know it was temporary. "This too shall pass." Like a fucking kidney stone but still it will pass. That wasn't the question. The question was who will I be on the other side of this? What will be left of me? I left everything I loved not because I didn't love it because I knew if he knew he would do everything he could to take it so the answer is love nothing, not even yourself. Don't react. Don't move. Don't smile. Don't laugh. Don't speak. Just note it. Know that you heard what you heard, yes he just threatened to kill you. Say nothing. They call it gray rocking, I call it I'm dead inside. Sitting there in hell one day wondering "How the fuck did I get here?" "What used to make me happy?" Oh yeah! Writing. I used to write all the time. I bring the notepad out, I journal, I release, I see her again. She's been there, patiently waiting with me in hell, hiding herself away. I'm smiling because she's still there. I go home with a smile still painted across my face. "You're cheating aren't you?" Such a small mind to believe that anyone else but me could make me happy. From drugs to rehab straight back to drugs. OUT, OUT, OUT! I'm DONE I'm DONE I'm DONE! Gone. Not easily, not without police involvement, not without an order from the judge but gone. I'm still here for the kid. Now it's CPS. They think they can push my buttons, they have no fucking idea the hell I will reign down on them for this kid. No idea. I am the boat that will get him to the other side of this but this is no ordinary boat, no. I'm a cargo ship on steroids with a battering ram at the front of me cause I've gone through hell just to get more hell and now you're going to get my wrath. The whole fucking world can get this wrath. From chaos and court hearings to adopted I was there for the kid. Now I'm relearning to be there for me. To have that same fight, have that same fuck you mentality for myself. One word, one step, one day at a time I'm going to make sure she's never put on the back burner again. And she's going to write damnitt, she's going to write and smile to her heart's content and she's going to let the world think she's having affair after affair. The kid is safe now so watch the fuck out.

Tread carefully and speak plainly because she isn't going to confront you.

She isn't going to say "How dare you."

She's going to pack it up and take it home with her.

In soft light she'll unwrap it,

place it beneath her pillow and sleep on it.

Take it out in the morning sun and scrutinize it.

Hold it up in the mirror to see herself in it.

Place it between her shoulders and walk around with it, go on about her day with it.

Set it down and walk away from it.

Come back to it.

Place it between her teeth and chew it.

Make a decision about it.

Swallow it.

But never again speak on it.

She's twisted and pulled her truth from it.

Now it's your turn to do the same.

Saint Patrick’s day green

sugar cubes mixed in

with orange juice

and we were off

on adventure unknown.

We laughed and burned the carpet

panicked to fix it or hide it

the home was not our own.

We were realtors knocking,

the electric blue door opening,

when finally the sprinklers came on.

We fancied ourselves landscapers

when the groundskeeper screamed

at a Charlie peddling a tricycle.

Inside was new again.

The little girl trapped

in the picture frame

kept pace with her watering can.

After etching our names

into the whip cream ceiling

the aquatic bed

made for a cold climb down.

Night turned to day

without sleep for the transition,

and our touched-upon minds

were left to face the mundaneness of

propane tanks and shower stalls.

You ever get caught up in your thoughts

until your world stops

like you just created a space

you can't escape from

Yeah, I get fucked up in my mind some

Like taking a hit off that red rum

While I traverse this maze

I made up of lies and deception

they call it life I call it strife

I guess we're both dumb

Can't unwind my mind far enough to make it up

Just skipping to the next question until the timer's up

Faking it until you makin' it ain't living it up

Surface level connections not deep enough to draw blood

up late night questioning if this can be enough

How can I receive love if I don't know what it's made of

It's a night like any other

not warm, not cool

can never get the pillow just right

too hot with a blanket

too cold without

a soul itching to get out of it's skin

and the mind starts in

with the remember when's

remember when she made a joke about you wanting to die

remember when she took the bullies side

remember when you would scream into the mattress

remember letting the blood run down your arm

remember that noise you made

when you thought there was no air left in you

tomorrow will be the same you know

and the day after

and the day after

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I screamed into my empty bedroom

And it wasn't a saint that came to me

It wasn't Jesus

It was a cloaked figure with yellow eyes

calling himself Abaddon

"I'm the ruler of hell." He said.

"Yet you seem to be giving me a run for my money."

I had no fear of him

and it took him standing there in front of me to realize why

hell hath no fury

like the fury I have for myself

So go ahead, give me hell

It's like a chunk of you breaks off and falls away. And it's good, you know that it's a good thing. But fuck does it hurt. And there's that part of you now that's exposed. Not to the world, not to some external source but to your own awareness. You come to this realization that parts of your life are not what you thought they were. In some ways you always knew this but it was like putting together a puzzle from a blurred image. In ways it's exciting, you know that this understanding will lead you to a new place. And in ways it's just fucking heartbreaking. And part of you knows that if you hadn't quite fit the puzzle together a part of you would be relieved but now that you've put it together you can't un-see it, you can't un-comprehend it. I guess that's the pain in growth. I am looking forward to nights not spent staying up smoking just trying to figure it out though.

Describe my what to you? A little personal for a first date, don't you think? I mean seriously, what's your height and weight? How about I bear my soul to you, slam it down on this table, let you meander through it, here's a few pages of my journal when you get to it.

What do you mean I started this? This isn't my conversation.

Oh, my writing, describe my writing is what you're saying.

Well it's a little all over the place if I'm being honest. It's a lot like late night conversations with strangers who don't have any faces.

"Check please."

Empathy is a bitch, everyone looks to you like you're their therapist. You're there to decipher their own feelings and play them back to them in a way they can digest. And the hate that spills out from them, the rage, the desperation you take it all in. It's not yours to feel but someone has to. So much has happened to them that it blinds you from feeling your own pain. It's hard to set boundaries when you're a life boat in a sea of drowning people. And they'll cross what lines exist but they're pushing just to see if you push back and so you refrain. Because you know they're looking for the unconditional love they never received as children. It's the least you can do then isn't it, to let them cross an invisible line? After all she's the product of a narcissistic mother that gave everyone else attention but denied her. And it wasn't for lack of trying. Modern-day slavery at it's finest. Now she looks for a similar relationship-a partner that's impossible to please yet somehow she can. But it doesn't exist. It's a lock that was built without a key that fits. Continuously seeking that validation but only from those who don't give it. And so you let her cross the line. You'll make yourself smaller so she can feel like she also shines because maybe that's all she needs this time. But it's never all they need. And slowly you turn it off. They keep coming to you, crossing lines then asking for help and you go through the motions but if you're honest with yourself you no longer give a fuck. So you distance yourself, it's the only option you have left. You know there is no come to Jesus talk that's going to turn this around. And sometimes you lay awake and think and you wonder who you would be if you were them. You find yourself missing their company because now you're feeling your own pain. And then you realize you're no lifeboat at all, just another sinking ship that's ignoring all the holes they need to fix.

My friend comes to pick me up for school, it's not summer and it's Montana so it's dark outside. She has a friend with her, I sit in the back. We go to the gas station by my house and when we leave we're going in the opposite direction of school. We're driving down a hill by my parents house, brickyard hill to be exact, and the headlights go out. My eyes try to focus on the darkness past the windshield. The headlights come back on. Standing, right in front of the car, is a baby and it's head is cocked to the side. The car swerves violently and we start rolling over the side of the hill. We're going to die, I know we're going to die and all I can think is that baby is too young to stand on its own.