I love you, I’m sorry
Ritter said that I am normal, because I confided in him I was afraid I wasn’t.
Last year in February I broke up with my girlfriend. She was lovely. She was kind, sweet, and passionate. We were compatible at the time, but I didn’t like who I was then. But I did like her, a lot. And I still think about her from time to time.
I wish I could choose what I think about more often. These days it’s like I have no control over the thoughts which occupy my mind; or maybe I meant the say the ideas which occupy my thoughts. I’m getting bad at words.
I don’t necessarily think I’m having a relapse further into depression per se, but there is definitely something afoot.
“Why would anyone ever love you,” the voice in my repeats. She’s laying in my arms in the backseat of my car. She brought a blanket. We’re busy talking about something. I can’t remember. I don’t care. I’m never sober when I see her. The reason for that is to subside the incessant flapping of wings which decide to feather the inside of my stomach. “She’s sick,” it continues. I kiss the top of her head. The radio isn’t on. It never was. I could lose sleep over her voice. It soothes me. The sound of her breathing is consistent; unassuming. This is nice, I want to say, but I don’t. I wouldn’t want to spoil the mood. “Your overthinking would ruin a relationship, if you even ever managed to start one.” I’m not listening. We enjoy one another’s company. Nothing needs to be said. We are certain the other one understands what is meant. “You’re a failure.” I hold her tighter. I don’t want to let go. She needs to leave soon. The warmness she radiates goes through my body straight to my heart. “Just leave. You’re going to get hurt.” I love you, I say. That’s stupid, she replies, you don’t know me, you’re only in love with the idea of me. “She’s right.” You’re right, I say. I love you too, she adds. She kisses me and then leaves.
-Charlton, 12 May 2019