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“I felt like I could speak. Me and him, we would do a lot together, like, paint. That’s when we were closest. Art was always, our common ground. He could make you feel confident in yourself. You know, like if I was nervous or scared he’d always tell me to just face it. He was loud, and powerful. He was hilarious. And he has this amazing ability, he could just walk into a room and he could take the temperature of it instantly, you know he, could just dial it in.. and um, I’m not built like that. and um, I didn’t have that. I was always shy, very quiet. I didn’t have many friends, I was scared, didn’t think I was funny. I always thought he was my bestfriend, like we just knew everything about each other, but um, as we got older I realized, I didn’t know anything about him, really. He just cut me off, cold. And that um, hurt, you know. And I think that just flipped a switch in me, where I was like, “ok, fuck you, watch this.” And because we had this a connection through art and he made me feel so rejected and lame and shitty and uncool, I made this plan. That I would go to school and get professional help and I was gonna work with all of the best professionals I could find. And it sounds ridiculous, me saying that now, but that’s what I did. Tand it was hard. I cried. And I had ink on my hands for days, I had people tell me I needed to be more poise, more precise, more focused. It was everything. And a funny thing happened, a couple of years later I started to find this space, this station for myself. And I was fast, I wasn’t afraid, and it was clear. I felt okay, you know. through the paint, I felt like I could communicate creatively, and that kind of confidence, you know, felt like, I was finally, like I was good at something, that was so new, and it was so exciting and I just wanted him to know that and fuck, I just wanted him to be like, “good job.” And the longer I didn’t get a response, the more the idea of our bond strained, the deeper into it I went and the better I got. And the more people I cut out the quieter my life got. And the routine of my art was so consistent and exacting and busy and hard and alive and I lost track of time and he’s gone.”

I’m scared I’m heading to the bad place again.

So when you gonna tell her we did that too she thinks it’s special.

I loved so hard I broke

I’m tired of feeling this way, but I don’t know how to fix it. How to change it. I just want to be free from these memories

It’s becoming difficult to live again

My first- maybe

Some days I say forget you and then some days I can barely get out of bed.