TW: grief, death, suicide

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It was probably about 6 months after we’d stopped dating. I was already so full of regret about all the things I hadn’t done, all the moments of her I had not relished deeply enough. I must have seen this coming.

_____________

I danced with you in kitchens
The dance of awkward lovers
Through the greenest spring I’ll ever see
And I wasn’t even looking
And I should have swallowed your sweat like wine
And breathed you in more deeply
And I used to synchronise my breath with yours
When you cradled me
Like a baby
In your sleep

And our swan song didn’t last quite long enough
The rhythm wasn’t quite right
And occasionally we missed a beat
And fell out of time
And your fingers sometimes pressed too hard
On my virgin skin

But that time that I first kissed you in the backyard of a stranger
Surrounded by a thousand eyes
That could not see what was inside
Your mouth tasted of perfection
When pressed against
My lips
Of discontent

Tumblr is really triggering for me right now. And this post might be triggering for you because [TW: grief, anger, guilt]

There is so much anger and I just don’t know how to cope with interpersonal anger right now. And I’m not just talking about tumblr, I’m talking about my whole life and everything I come into contact with. It’s so hard to watch people fight with each other and treat each other badly because if this year has taught me nothing else (and it has taught me plenty) it’s that we all are fragile and fleeting.

It’s especially hard for me to see people fight with their friends because I am just in this space where I am constantly hyper-fucking-aware that every conversation I have with someone might be the last. Every time my phone rings I expect it to be the news that another person in my life has died. Every time. Every time I see you and talk to you I feel absolutely no sense of certainty that that will ever happen again. I keep thinking about all the funerals and all the people who called me up unsure about whether they were welcome at them because they were fighting with the person or had a complicated relationship or even felt like they hated the person until suddenly they were gone and they realised how much we all need each other. I keep looking at my friends and the hurt they cause each other and the conflicts and the anger and the hurtful things they think and say about each other and I just feel like I am preparing myself for those phone calls about those funerals.

I’m just finding anger so fucking hard to be around right now, and that makes me feel like a pretty bad person because I know that anger is often important and necessary and sometimes the only way that we can fucking get through some of the shit we have to get through. But all I want to say is a lot of the time is ‘they are alive and they might only be alive for a few seconds or hours or days or years longer and they need you and you need them and you need to fucking go and be with them while you still can! Let them know you love them and don’t wait another minute because you might not have one.’

I don’t want to silence peoples anger. I just really really really wish I had another fucking minute.

[this isn’t what I meant to say or the point I meant to make but now I have tears and snot all over myself and should probably stop]

My old crowd of little gutter-punks had a party in the caravan Carly and I used to live in. We made goon-punch and smoked out of a homemade bong and swam in the green pool Carly and I used to wash the bleach out of our hair in. It was so beautiful but so short. I want it back. I want the last 7 years back. I want another 7 years of it. I want my friends back. Everything is so fleeting.

why can I not catch the smell of your hair in my nostrils and keep it there, keep your breath in jars, tied around my neck
your fingernails and teeth sewn into jewelry
hanging off of every available part of me
until I am a walking wind-chime of you?

I have to write another funeral speech today. The funeral is tomorrow. It is so weird and entirely fucked up how well practiced I feel at this.

I can’t believe I am going to another funeral tomorrow. I can’t believe another of the brave, tough, warrior women in my life has killed herself. I can’t process this grief while still trapped in the cavern of the grief that came before. I haven’t even washed the clothes I wore to Stef’s funeral, and I will probably wear them again tomorrow still stained with the blood, sweat and tears of my grief (and I do not mean that figuratively). How can this be reality?

How can everything go so horribly wrong when we are all trying so fucking hard?

I am an ocean of grief. What is the message in the bottle?

I want someone to drink whiskey from the bottle and howl at the full moon with me but I feel like all my friends are dead or on the other side of the world.

TRIGGER WARNING: More grief/suicide stuff. Anger.

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I am about to post a bunch of ramblings from my cavern of GRIEF. This will include talk of anger, death, suicide, mental illness, self-blame and lots of other unpleasant stuff.

This one has some anger and blame and exasperation and some semblance of poorly formed critical analysis masked as prose (or maybe the other way around, or something).

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