The Bloody Doors Off

I am at a crossroads.

I’m.

It’s 1 am and I’m sitting here at the computer. Wired and coming off an intense high.

I’m. Parsing every word in my head as I slowly type these words. Holding it back because it seems to f’ing ridiculous but at the same time holy crap what if this is IT. The start of my breakdown. Because holy shit people, it’s not the stuff you plan for that whacks you like a 2 x 4, but the idle stuff that blindsides you at 4 pm on an idle Tuesday. And it’s not lost on me that it is, no, just was an idle Tuesday.

Someone is sleeping in my bed. Someone who is not me.

I’m.

Not entirely sure how we got here. No. I know. The meeting across a table. The interested furtive glances. Talking online. Flirting via text. Two conversations on the phone.

In a span of 24 hours.

And within the last 2 hours, I’ve gone through the gamut of emotion and thought. Right from the moment things went to shit. And up to then, things were good. Damned good. But then I felt time freeze and pinpointed the intangible.

I.

I feel like I’m coming out of a fugue state. That everything before that moment wasn’t me. Or it was me, but the used-to-be me. The one who had, okay, had a bit of an ego but was super confident and knew what he needed or wanted and wasn’t afraid to work for it. And then there’s the me that has been out of work for 13-14 months, who burned through what little savings he had and has had to go on Ontario Works (if you don’t know what it is, Google it, I’m not going on a tangent here) and visiting food banks.

Not to mention I’ve been fighting bedbugs for months and should really get the place sprayed one more time but the landlords say it’s my responsibility to pay for it even though the City says its up to the landlord but the only way I’m getting it done is if I pay for it myself (which is, fucking impossible; I can barely afford to pay my rent and heating bill this month. I’m screwed when it comes to my phone and tv and internet.)

Oh. This just turned into brutal honesty. I wasn’t expecting to go this way.

Shit. I’m breaking down. Aren’t I?

Goddammit. I’ve been so afraid of this. The tipping point. Hello H-Wing at Toronto East General. Nice to see you haven’t painted over the walls.

I’m high and I’m wired. Anxious.

Sign that I’m having at the very least a meltdown. I stepped away from this to do the dishes. Nothing wrong with that. Good to break it up, especially at moments like this. And I replay everything in my head, do a complete 180 degrees on what I’d written above and how I was going to just delete it because it’s too much and my heart’s beating so damned fast now, only to come back to, NO, you’ve got to get this out or it’s going to consume you. No matter how scattered this is, it needs to be said.

It needs to be posted.

Because I can’t keep doing this.

I need this to be over.

This fucking year. Has been. The year from hell. I’m a danger to myself.

I’ll make a deal with you. If things don’t get better in 48 hours, I’ll check in to H-Wing.