"Truth | Tough Love"

there's an elephant in the room:

your seizures sucked balls, and not in a good way.

for the longest time i really thought you had multiple personalities. back in the day, bullshit doctors told you they coudnt find anything wrong with you physically.

test after test.
insanity.
we all knew something wasnt right.

it has to be a personality disorder, i told you. you dont understand or have any clue what we are seeing here, james. you black out and have no clue what the fuck is happening to you, how you change, what you say, what you look like. if it was me you would be scared shitless.

i wanted to video/record your seizures. threatened that i would, but i just couldnt do it.

i didnt want you to see what we saw, heard, felt.
i didnt want you to be more upset, anxious, scared.

last night we all had insomnia. the night ticked by ever so slowly. i asked daniel what is happening to your body right now. is it decomposing? what does that look like?

it's not him, he said. plus the casket is made of steel. he's mummified. remember what his ears looked like on the last day? they were sinking. all the moisture is gone now. it's not him, he reminded me.

i know he didnt want to upset me so he downplayed it.
he loves me that much.
but i see right through it.

i want to know everything.
i want to know and feel everything.
i want to know what you look like right now in your grave.
i want to touch you and bring you back to life.
i want to know what is physically happening to your shell.
i want to know that the bugs in the earth are not having their way with your flesh - your beautiful pink skin that i used to pick at constantly. that light brown thick curly hair that you refuse to grow too long. those bright dancing blue eyes, and that space where that snaggle tooth grew. your plump belly and your flat ass. your gangly swagger. your light bright smile.

i want to know what you felt like when you died.
i want to feel that, though that sounds crazy, i dont care.

im losing my mind over here. fuck it. i need to deal, and this is how.

i suppose that i should be happy that you seized and died in your sleep, hopefully completely unaware, as opposed to seizing in the street, getting hit by a bus, falling into the train tracks, getting shot or stabbed for cursing someone out when your other "personality" decided to take over your body against your will.

i told this to ryan and daniel last night while we stayed awake, watching the clock, flipping channels, looking for something to fill the empty space. i said things to them that they didnt want to hear, didnt want to talk about, didnt want to listen to, asked questions they didnt want to answer.

i said all the things that we arent allowed to say, that people will find disrespectful to his spirit.

i said all the things that i would have told you and asked you directly if you were here.

and im saying some of them here now, because i cant be the only one thinking about this.

you know i would never disrespect anyone purposely, yet i need to talk and write about these things that nobody dares address in public.

i ride my bike back and forth from work, and find myself thinking what if i got hit by a car right now? would you be there to greet me? how would my family continue on without me? how can i make the most of every single fucking moment im alive so that nobody ever lives with regret after im gone?

what spured all this was a simple song i heard on a truth commercial:

"nothing builds character like watching a loved one die."

thanks, ryan, for reminding me. i couldnt remember tonight as i was writing this. i watched that commerical for the first time last night, as we sat there silent, and the floodgates reopened - immediately, without fail, woefully.

i cant stop thinking about you. sometimes i want to, i wont lie, because it's easier to pretend.

fuck character. i dont fucking want character, i just want you back, bebe.



i now understand why people become alcoholics, drug addicts, lunatics.
it's a coping mechanism.
it's a way of not having to deal with reality.
it's escapism at its finest.

now pass me my newports, and shut the fuck up.

xx zaida xx