Fried Eggs

2018.01.21, by Ansel
Filed under Grief, Journal, Personal, PTSD

Not sure how to ask for help anymore. Every time I try, steel jaws close around me and I lock down as if I have to defend myself in a knife fight. I don’t really enjoy talking to people anymore unless they remind me of my friends. Every time I try to like or believe someone else, it feels like a dangerous mistake. Like I’ll be crushed by spikes. Funny thing is, I’m not sure how much I’d feel it if something like that actually happened. Had a surgery recently and the doctor told me I’d have to be on norcos for a week. I took ibuprofen once and that’s all I needed.

I’m too tired to care about my sensory or memory dysfunction anymore. If I forget someone or something I guess that’s it. I don’t have trouble reading anymore, but it’s difficult getting myself to do it when I know I could just forget it all at any moment. I still do it. Because I know I have to. Because it’s important to understand…

Believing people, making phone calls, reaching out… “A low dose of something like that can’t hurt you. Just keep taking them.” All that was a horrible mistake. If I had listened to my own feelings and observations at the time, then I wouldn’t be in this situation. My friends would’ve taken me seriously. So why didn’t I? And now I might forget them… It’s messed up, but it feels correct somehow. Like that’s my punishment for being stupid.

Then I remember they’d probably yell at me because thinking like THAT is stupid and I can’t help but laugh. I wish you guys were around, y’know? To scold me, to pity me, to play with me. When I think about that, living feels good. Even if I might forget everything we did the next day. Because we’ll eat fried eggs the next day. And since you can’t eat, I’ll eat your share of fried eggs… and I’ll scold myself since you can’t, and I’ll try to remember everything, as bad as I am at it now, since you’re the ones who can’t…