i’ll give you a little tiny tiny clue.

don’t call me. don’t write me. don’t tell me how fantastic your life is.

don’t bother trying to make up for being a complete jerk just because you “found something out” about me.

don’t try and pretend you’ve been a good friend when you’ve been selfish and mean. and cruel.

don’t try and say goodbye to me when i’m gone. don’t say hello to me on the street.

don’t don’t don’t don’t.

i’ll tell you that little something. that little secret. because it’s a big one. one that’s not so secret anymore since my rage has been
unleashed on the world.

life, as i knew it. is done. a new life. another lesson even. awaits.

i’m not sure how it all works out in the end.

but this, this misery, it has to have an end.

to begin again.

one surgery soon: bypass of the coratid to the subclavian. the coratid then to the vertebral. 6 inch scars down the neck. two weeks later the other surgery, same one but on my left side, another 6 incher to boot.

then…wait….this is the DOOOoooZy. then it’s the open heart, you know that one they were waiting for, that one they did all the tests for. the grafting. the aortic arch. then they graft the subclavians. they had to open up my chest see. but then they have to open it up again anyways so they might as well kill three birds with three stones instead of let one pebble kill me.

so yeah. not that you care per se. i know your lives swim along so happily. you know, the good guys always win and all that. so many babies, marriages, new lives brought into the world, new plans made.

i made a plan for school but that’s dropped faster than quick. done done gimme some.

i really don’t know. not the existential kind of know. but just knowing to know. i know i am somewhat afraid to die. i know i have been afraid to live.

i know i have let my heart get broken by too many foolish choices. i know some people can carry that card. i know most have thrown it away.

i know i never got to do some stuff on my to do list. i know these things, having to do them, might be the only list of reasons it even matters that i make it.

i hate all you normal unaffected people. with your fucking pristine families, your good jobs, you perfect paths to school. you are the end result of perfect pedicure, a manicured lawn. an untortured mind. you exist as a fruit basket. plastic. unchewable.

and i would rather be you for a while. it’s sad. but i said it.

i would rather be a plastic fruit basket than keep reliving the same pain over and over again.