I don’t know what sustained me in my last relationship. I think it was the long, protracted depth of masturbatory dreams, the absolute coziness of schizophrenic delusion that she loved me. I could sink deep into that, to lubricate my life to slip through the roughness. But in the end, I was blind, and not moving where I wanted to go, I was not even conscious of direction. I was static. I’m static even now, trying to move out of her gravity.

When I was younger, I took some cannabis pills that a friend gave to me. It was the first time I ever had even remotely related to marijuana. I waited for something to wash over me but nothing happened. I waited, eyes skyward, but no ascension came. It was just me watching the zenith rise away from me as I fell into numbness. I wanted a flood of feelings, I wanted immersion. Why do we need the feelings? Why can’t it all be good feeling? And why the avoidance of the cold darkness in life? What am I so afraid of? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m writing this to glean nothing more than an admission of the truth I’d always known.