Panic

Dear Oh, you know who you are,

First and foremost, hello. How have you been? Our conversations are getting scattered in the ether of excessive work, so any medium in a storm for us lighthouse dwellers, right? Doesn't matter. You do, I mean--Bare with me. I'm on another train, and after the next flight, sending this is going to take more than the 'while' that I'm willing to deal with not saying this. I've never been the inspired type, awaiting the vibe or even looking for 'the essence,' but this turnaround with you feels different. Plights from broken brains to over-worn feet pours before it rains to chronically piss on our life progression. The ups and delusions making that crazy anime you like a slog through an ADHD nightmare I've been in and the mess, so....

Do you remember that wedding? You probably do, but--When I arrived in town, the whole ordeal was a stain on an otherwise decent week off. I couldn't give them a reason why I should skip and instantly focused on the bull shit I layered in nervous cynicism that you weirdly agreed, with and with your advice, came for the deed. Truth is, I didn't know what to be worried about exactly. I asked you to join me at the dramatization of a fancy occasion, assuming the religious overtones would put me to sleep. I think I grew up Baptist, but all those holy scriptures sound the same before you're pinched awake to the jarring AMEN! and awkward claps during the weekly moment of silent prayer. You know I don't mean nothing by it--umm, I'll move on. As we shit-talked in the back during the ceremony, quietly predicting the shelf life of this relationship based on those red flags blaring from her parents and the friend he wasn't allowed to invite, IT started, and somehow, you noticed. Thought I'd lose it there, but then we went to the damn reception.

I didn't get it. It was as if the buffet opened some new door in my psyche. A new symptom to report creeping in with every breath. My plate of food was a veggie diet at a Halloween-themed buffet. I was as surprised as you that I found asparagus, which I could never eat, and so many gummy bears to top the kale salad dressed in Red Hot. "Really? Everything?" I couldn't believe the vignette of my sight or why the air in the dance hall wasn't compatible with my lungs. My hands broke the third plastic fork without my permission, and you "encouraged" me to put some cold water on my face. A B-line to the bathroom wobbled in hyperventilating, hyper-vigilant torture of not passing out felt like a stage performance from a nightmare. I--I wasn't coming back. The shitty friend I was becoming before my eyes left me with just enough time to shoot a frantic, misspelled text. 'Can't stays. Sory bout that. I'm fine. ILL just walk. Have good one.'

I remember being so mad at myself, so fucking mad that you wouldn't leave me to drift down a long country road, twenty-ish miles from my car, four hundred from home, to walk weak-kneed alone. Tears fall from behind the shades, unfortunate reflex snot covering my tailored suit sleeve bought specifically for this occasion, where sidewalks are overrated. I guess you didn't like how my solutions sounded in the whisper-ranting before I left. No matter my annoyance, you listened. Nearly two hours of conversation with the embodiment of self-pity and unrecognizable fear of that thing--you know, that thing, spirally into open-ended insults through phone contacts, skipping no one; you listened. Even provided notes for a harsher sting. You saw the poor coping strategies through the madness my mind couldn't and refused to justify as it prolonged the intensifying madness wavering in an ugly spiral. Once I calmed down to a reasonable human-like communications, you put it into a new perspective, one I then realized you knew from experience. I super get why you never brought it up sooner. Descriptions you gave in the other walk and talks of old were now blowing my fucking mind. When are you not?

They haven't stopped. Just as bad in certain events. However, the mental shortcut to rational thought is a godsend--a YOU-send, so thanks. Thank you. I'm glad you made me talk to you honestly. I'm glad you didn't feed into the deluded sense of self. I'm glad you talked to my friend on my behalf for my abrupt abandoning of best man duties. I'm so fucking glad to know you. What I owe you is immeasurable forever and always. You bluntly put me where I needed to be, and whenever, wherever I finally touched down, they'll be a place for you.

With love on fire,

W.I.

P.S.

Seriously, check on that carpet thing we talked about.

Please don't put that off any longer.