Early Christmas

I received a Christmas card from overseas, but it was only November. Maybe in another land, Christ was born in November, and for the longest time, I used to believe he was born in this decade. I used to worship and kiss the ground he was walking on, mainly because he would lay hands on me before he did the laying on of hands. I fractured some bones, but they healed quickly, so I forgave him.

I used to like the hospital, the smell, the crowd, and the medicines. Some medicines make me numb; some others make me dizzy; the best ones make me feel a little less crazy. You can never understand that I made friends with the manic voices inside my head. They are here when you are not. Just because they told me to slit my arms, it doesn’t make them uncaring because they also convinced me to stitch it up. We fucked up, but more reason to chug another Advil and Depakote.

I moved out of the city, met new people, and made another attempt. You read this. You know I failed. I was overthinking too much lately. I could not hear the things people were telling me. My friends told me they did not understand what I was saying. I stopped forming complete sentences; my head was all over the place, and my chest was hurting in some places. Literally. I still had the X-ray and the prescription for an MRI; they said the cancer might come later. You know I ain’t a pussy; if I die, I’m not asking for anything better.

I still throw up sometimes, and by sometimes, I mean all the time. There are times I thought it was freaking bulimia, which I wish it were. It would be awesome to be skinny. I started to think it was the concussion. Do you know I banged my head over the walls sometimes? Yes, you would not understand that.