This is what the past looks like...

Normally, I don't post prose, or things close to prose.
And normally, I don't dwell on the past. I try not to dwell on the past.
I found a piece of writing in an old notebook, and I'm writing it here as a reminder that I never want to feel like this again.,
Thankfully, I'm in relationships that have integrity, and care, with friends, and  a boy, and my family.
Thankfully.

I'm in class. Class. Like school.
And I'm not focused at all.
Normally, I'd be interested in this, this class, I'd be interested in people making art out of food. That's interesting, you know? Do you?
But I can't. I don't see. I cannot think.

It makes no sense, any of it.
I'm just staring, viciously, desperately staring at the black and white lino.
lino
fuck it.

I'm so angry at you. You make me feel angry. But then I hate feeling angry, because I love you. 
That's the problem, fuck you, I love you.
My chest literally aches without you.
We fought yesterday, again, and all I know is this... I felt alone.
I felt like the disposable part of this.
The infected limb. 
It's like I'm dangling from you, screaming, look! I'm on antibiotics! I'm healthy! Please, please don't amputate me.
Please.
You blithely look down, and say eh, I could tie my shoes with one hand. I do not need this arm.
You say that.

We fought, and I, the disposable limb part, woke up with a fever.
Did you hear that? I woke up sick because we fought.
It's like somewhere in this, I gave you my immune system. 
I said, here, it's yours, punch it in the face.
When you feel shitty, we'll do it together. 
We'll do it together.
Fuck it.

I'm the limb and you're the body and there is no together.
Damn it.

I feel like, god, it's like the beach at Dingle. But with bigger waves and there's no one to hold my hand like she did, it's just me.
 So I'm alone, at this beach, and being with you is like running as fast as I can, harder and harder, like your chest is crashing and heaving and you can't possibly suck in enough air.
And it's sand, right? 
So my feet are slipping and my ankles are rolling and cracking and it hurts.
I'm doing it anyway.
I'm racing toward a giant wall of water like it's something I want.
I hit it.
I just smash into the waves like glass and break into a thousand pieces and it's salt in my mouth and sand in my eyes. 
I can't feel my nose and my skin is pink and raw.

That's what being with you was like. It's exactly like that.