Blood On the Surface in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

The air quality in my nook of California has been so bad that I haven’t actually left my house in three days. I’m okay with that, I caught up on some reading and enjoyed the solitude. Not having to speak to my mother is such a stress reliever. I know I have some tough choices to make coming up, but being able to blame an Act of God for not leaving my house is a nice change of pace.

My friend invited me to some outdoor festival thing hosted by a drag queen and I got dressed over 2 hours ago, but I’ve just been sitting here procrastinating. I really don’t want to go out. Mainly because I’m not sure that I really trust myself to go out anymore. What I mean is that my mental state is in such a mess that every time I’ve gotten myself into some pretty dodgy situations, which isn’t really new to me, but in the middle of it, I’ve kind of stopped myself and realized what a dangerous space I was in and got myself out of there.

I haven’t really had alcohol on a serious level since Palm Springs Pride Saturday which was almost two weeks ago. I think I had a beer on two different occasions since then, but I just don’t find any appeal in drinking right now. So it’s not alcohol to blame for my poor decisions.

I mean, I know that I’m mentally engaged in some rather specific philosophical moral gymnastics right now, but what exactly do I think I’m doing with myself? I’ve been drowning for the past couple of years, I see that more clearly now than before. Right now, I’m just treading water, and that’s not good either.

I did finally find my reason to live. I found it when I was randomly trying to talk my friend off the ledge, and I was giving it some half-hearted speech to try and dig her out of depression. In the middle of talking, however, I landed on a really good point that suddenly clicked in my head.

I had dated Shawn before when I was like 21 but he moved away and we remained friends. When I was about 27, he decided to come visit me when I lived next to my grandmother. When he arrived, I introduced him to her and she was very pleasant. The next morning, I went over to help my grandmother get up and make sure she had her coffee, etc. When I was over there, she whooped and pointed at my neck, then she started dog-whistling… Shawn had left a hickey on my neck.

The rest of my family told me I looked slutty and had nothing but negative comments. But that story came back to me because I had been feeling like there was no one left to love me after she had died. Of course you know that, I typed that every time I wrote an entry throughout all of 2017 and half of this year… although I’ve written so infrequently, it’s probably only been 4 times.

I remember my grandmother telling me in my hospital bed to be happy, and I didn’t quite get what that meant until I was relaying that story to my friend. My grandmother was the most uptight, religious person in my family, but that didn’t matter to her because she wanted me to be happy. She wanted me to be loved.

And if that isn’t here, then I need to go find it, no matter how much longer I have to live… if it’s only 7 years like they say, or another 20 years, that’s what it is.