I've been doing a great deal of reflection lately while keeping in mind my affirmations. I think I've been doing a pretty good job of branching out and exposing myself to new situations that are important to my growth. In fact, since prom, the ball has really started rolling. In the last two months I've been all over the place and going along with all the ups and downs. I'm living well at the moment.

As for an explanation of the title, I think it's important to clarify that there are two stories to be told here, both occurring on the same day (June 17th). The first being my aunt's funeral, and secondly the graduation party of my dear friend Corinne.

My aunt passed away from the coronavirus back in December on Christmas Eve. I was not that close with her, in all honesty, but I've never experienced a human loss before in my life so I guess the idea of it was intimidating. The funeral was held at a cemetery in Montclair on the humid morning of the 17th, and my entire family attended as well as the side of my aunt's family that I have never met before. I think it's important to note that my perspective on death is not that profound or oversaturated. I can't sympathize for dead people and all emotions that I feel in the wake of death are only pertinent to myself. Of course I am deeply affected by the death of loved ones, but I don't feel bad for a person's death in any sort of empathic way. Thus, at the memorial service for my aunt, I struggled to create any strong emotions out of the fact that she was dead. The pain only started to set in when I found myself in a room with 40 or so devastated people crying their eyes out. I was trapped in the presence of very real, perceivable hardship and it was cast over me like a wave as soon as my relatives spoke. I only found myself in tears after my cousin of 11 years, Mackenzie, went up to the mic to express her grief in the most heart-wrenching way possible. She was brave to be up there, but she looked deeply hurt. I've never seen a young child look the way she did as she cried. I remained like a statue as tears ran down my face for the remainder of the service, and I realized that this is why people cry at funerals. It's not just because of death- it's because seeing the people you love in states of great pain is as hollowing as death itself. I walked away from this experience puzzled by my own affliction, but have since come to terms with it. My sadness is for all who loved and were loved by my aunt. A great humility fell over me that morning...

...A humility that was quickly shed as I arrived to Corinne's house in a skimpy ass outfit for the most banger party of my life. And I use that word, "banger", sparingly. Corinne and I went to school together but the cliquey atmosphere there never really allowed me to become close friends with her. Now that high school is over, everyone has kind of gotten over themselves, including myself. After prom, I reconnected with a few people from my school who were outside of my usual social circles (including Corinne) and began actively hanging out with them. It's interesting, because many of these people are so out there compared to myself. They had completely different experiences than me. Corinne in particular is a party person, and I was really excited to attend a party in the company of a person I trust. Her party was held in her backyard, and for the first few hours of the night, her family was there. At around 8:00, her family left and we spent the rest of the night drinking, smoking, and chilling in a huge tent in her yard.

What they don't tell you in movies about average cool teenagers is that they are surprisingly supportive and mindful people. They are not sociopathic, manipulative assholes who bully disabled children, despite what the media may tell you. Every fear I had about "fitting in" with Corinne's crowd quickly diminished as she and her friends told me how excited they were for my first party. Strangely enough, Corinne's best friend, Sami, was there and we absolutely hit it off. Prior to that night, I only had one interaction with Sami in my sophomore year which ended poorly and we both thought we hated each other or something. Turns out we actually get along really well and have quite a few things in common. We talked all about high school and our lives and everything, and it was refreshing. We then got high in the upstairs bathroom, which was hilarious within itself. I also got to talk to members of Corinne's family and see a different side of her life. I found that first part of the night really enjoyable. After the sun went down, the rest of Corinne's friends arrived and suddenly we had free reign over the backyard. It was a small group, only about 8 people, but a party nonetheless. I was familiar with everyone there and didn't really have to cling to anyone like I anticipated. Sami also seemed to be checking in on me which I really appreciated. The dynamic was unlike anything I was used to, but something I could get comfortable with quickly. The events of the night took their course, with Sami, Alec, and I departing to McDonald's in the pouring rain, and then to a sketchy area behind Quick Chek where I hit my first bong. All I can really say about "losing my bong virginity" as Sami put it is that it was the highest I've ever been in my life. Once we were back at Corinne's, we drank some Bud Lights and I forget the rest. I woke up in her basement the next day feeling very satisfied and hungover. It was fucking amazing.

Corinne's party was important to me because it was a clear opportunity for me to break down some of the social standards I had for myself throughout high school. I think I took a lot of tropes about high school at face value when I was younger. I know I was kind of a weird person at school, but sometimes I wonder if my marginalization in academic settings was purely imaginary. It doesn't really matter now, since I have one of these classic alcohol-infused parties under my belt now. Things are going to change soon, and I need to be ready. In two months I'll be in college and distant from people like Corinne and Sami, but that doesn't make their company any less valuable to me. In fact, they will probably never see the full extent to which they've helped me. These things are so confusing and deeply rooted that it makes saying thank you even more difficult than saying goodbye.

So yeah, June 17th was interesting. A lot to process, that's for sure. I never know how to end these long anecdotes about things happening in my life. I'm looking forward to the future and all the changes it will bring. I'm looking forward to writing about it, too. Like I said, I'm living well that the moment.

Simple as that.

Mom,

I'm writing to tell you that I have picked up on things now. I’ve become wiser. Maybe that’s why you sounded afraid when I told you I saw it in me some months back.

“I’m not interesting enough to spend time with. But I’m interesting enough to pay the tuition. I’m just a fucking checkbook.”

Yes, you are, and I want nothing to do with you beyond what you provide me financially. You seem to have forgotten the years of intimidation and harassment you’ve inflicted, or maybe you just don’t realize that I hate you. Since I was a young kid I’ve never seen you succeed at understanding me, but I'm just too kind aren't I? Too forgiving? Too good of a kid to question authority?

At 13 you threatened me out of anger for my poor grades and behavior. You made me stay silent at family gatherings. You ignored my obvious issues with anxiety and self harm because you thought I was looking for attention. At 14 you berated me and put me on medication, and then at 15 you didn’t believe me when I told you I had a dependency issue. Yet you would use the drugs as a way to control me. At 16 you told me I’d look disgusting at prom and graduation. You rolled your eyes in frustration when I came out because that was a burden to you. At 17 you refused me gender reaffirming care and threw fits about pronouns and my new name. All throughout my childhood you convinced me, whether your realize it or not, that I would never be anything more than a disappointment to you.

Now I’m 18 and you tell me I don’t appreciate you enough and that I’m selfish. You think my friends are weird and that I have too much metal hanging off my face. Well, you know what I think? I think you should look in the mirror. Every year I see the wrinkles on your face become more prominent and watch the gray hairs replace the brown. And now, when I look at your bitter, exhausted expression I feel an emotion I can only assume is hatred for the years I spent trying to tear away from you. Even if you try your best, even if your intentions are good, at this age I feel like you have failed me. I am not bound to you. You tell me you want your daughter back. Well, I’m not your perfect little girl anymore. And truth be told, I never was.

Here's to less letters in the future.

Sincerely,
Ricky

I don't like feeling like I'm slipping away. My self-assessment has been poor lately, and I think it's because I've been high every night for the past two weeks. So, with the suggestion of cannabis comes the tale of the person who exposed me to it, a friend of mine I've been wanting to talk about here for awhile: Will. Buckle up, this one's a slow burner.

Will and I went to high school together and became close friends in our junior year. He was a semi-popular person in school because 1. he is gay beyond belief and 2. he is so tall that it's kind of hard to miss. That's a very shallow deduction of his character, though. What I see in Will is a gentle, kind, introspective, beautiful person. It only took hanging out with him once for me to realize that he is profoundly intelligent and emotional. It's hard to explain. I guess a good way to put it is that Will and I are very similar people intellectually, and naturally we became very close because of our demeanors. In fact, I can't say I've related to anyone more than I have to him. He was the only one who could hold a conversation with me about a variety of subjects, from our mutual love for nature to our mental health. We both knew exactly why we were friends. We never argued or assessed our relationship verbally because we didn't have to. When you get along so well with someone like that it feels like fate. It's a wonderful feeling. Will is not "like a brother" to me, he is my brother.

All last summer, Will and I hung out and traversed all planes of reality, from the great natural expanses set before us to the inner workings of our psyches. We hiked and took drives often, among other things like hanging around by his lake and with his equally chill brothers. In school, we were inseparable and we never stopped laughing. He introduced me to weed and in the latter half of summer, we got high together a handful of times which made us much closer. The amount of individual experiences I can recall with him are so many that I feel it would be useless to mention them in detail here (I've done that before... see "Ramblings of Maine"). In any case, around him I always felt loved and cared for. I hope he felt the same. Will and I were just strange people, and we were strange together. He taught me how to be truly happy with being myself, and I'll never not be grateful for that.

In the prime of our friendship, I realized that Will is (somehow) a more sensitive person than I am. Or rather, he can't handle the weight of the world as well as I can, which is sad because I do a pretty bad job. His empathy runs so deep that he is affected by almost everything around him, good or bad. Yet, despite his overwhelming purity and acuteness, Will was persistently plagued by trauma, mental illness, and horrible coping mechanisms. I guess it's true; we used to say he's like a frog, the way he is so vulnerable to the outside world. I tread lightly around his health because I knew that he had fears that he didn't want to confront with me. Everyone has boundaries, and it just wasn't my place to pressure him down a path he wasn't ready for. I don't blame myself, but I wonder now if I should've done something about it. Come winter 2020, Will and I were hardly speaking. I found out rather late that he had been admitted to three different psych wards over the course of a single month. I still have no idea why, nor do I want to hear from anyone other than himself. Currently, he is in a residential hospital and according to the one text I have from him, he seems to be doing better.

The whole psych ward revelation was genuinely scarring for me, even though many of my close friends have been to one before. But this was different. Will and I were always good at being emotional together, but what about apart? Suddenly I found myself deeply depressed by his absence, mourning his situation and hoping that his recovery would be safe and fulfilling. He is still away all these months later, and I think about him almost every day. He missed prom, which is still so painful considering we had excitedly outlined our plans for it together. Likewise, driving through his town is absolutely gutting and I cry if I think about him a little too hard. Everywhere I go, memories of last summer fill my mind, but amidst the gloom I find myself smiling fondly at the good times. The rainy days we spent outside, the hot chocolate simmering on his gas stove, all of it. It's bittersweet. I miss him more than I can put into words, but I am so relieved he is getting the care he needs. In the end, I know that what is happening now is for the better even if it hurts.

I think the reason Will's case is so important to me is because he was one of the only people who experienced the world around him the same way I did. We both felt so much and understood so little. I've never met another person like that and doubt I ever will. Despite our emotional dispositions, our friendship was never exhausting or fragile like so many turn out to be. I have a history of being in less than redeeming relationships, so attaining a friend like Will reshaped my understanding of a healthy one. Looking back, all I see is a strong, pure, mutual trust between us. Search as I might, I can't conjure a single moment of hurting or anything of the sort in the span of our friendship. Around Will, I simply was. And thanks to Will, I simply am. His return, whenever it may be, will definitely bring out some intense emotions.

This one's for you, Will. I miss you, man.

Will's Playlist

"Did we fall out a bit?" he asked suddenly. And oh, I knew the answer to that one.

"...Yeah." A moment of silence followed, but I still had an obligation to speak. "Do we need to talk about it?"

"Well we have to talk about it at some point."

I knew he was right. But I was unprepared. The nature of our conversations had been mournful lately, and I wasted all my time lamenting about the past instead of thinking of how to go forward. He seemed so hard to read lately though, and I knew that no move would be safe. I was walking on eggshells out of necessity until he could prove to me that things could be different. I didn't want to lose him. But a statement had to be made, and a frank one at that.

"I'm still confused about it. All I know is that it makes me sad", I jested uneasily, but it was true. And somehow, despite my anticipation of a long-winded discussion about our friendship, his response was surprisingly easy.

"Do you want to go back to being best friends or whatever?"

You didn't have to ask me twice.

"Yes," I laughed with relief.

I love staring at ants for prolonged periods of time. I know this sounds almost humorously stupid but it's something I have done my entire life. Every spring when the weather warms up, there are ants near this one small area in my kitchen, and I just sit down and watch them a couple times a week. I think it's so interesting how ants work and communicate. I like watching them tap their antennas when they bump into each other and slowly explore the expanse of my tiled floor. They are complex animals that work in such a unique and organized fashion, and it makes them incredibly efficient. Unlike humans, ants always have their shit together.

Admittedly, the ants in my kitchen live a spoiled life. I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I deliberately put crumbs on the ground near their home just so I can watch them slowly dissect it all bit by bit. It captures my attention so easily, even as an adult. Millions of years of evolution occurred for me to witness that natural process. Ants are the hallmark of biotic life, the way they function in their colonies and endure the trials of nature. How lucky am I to be able to appreciate that? No ant farm or sea monkey aquarium could ever equate to the ants in my kitchen. They are, in essence, the lifeblood of my pitifully sparse attention. I could never hurt one. I am very careful about where I step in my kitchen from March to October when they are conducting their ant business. I wish I could be an ant for a day instead of the looming creature that stares down at them. I genuinely wonder what that would be like.

This entry is painfully innocent. I don't really care. I just really like ants. I think they are kind of underappreciated.

It occurred to me that I haven't talked about prom weekend here yet. I've been hesitant since I didn't really have the grandest of times. It wasn't even particularly bad, just uncomfortable. I'm a little sad I wasn't able to have the experience I wanted, but I should've expected it since I know Amanda isn't fun to travel with. We got uneasily crossfaded in a shitty motel together, and then she basically ignored me for the rest of the trip. I felt estranged for most of it, it was weird. But I did make good memories unrelated to Amanda, and I think they are worth talking about.

When we visited the boardwalk the night we went down to Seaside Heights, I had a highly specific goal. For years I've wanted one of those airbrush shirts, the kind they make right in front of you at those crowded, neon Jersey shore merchandise shops. I'm enchanted by the culture of these places- the shelves lined with overdone shot glasses, sweatshirts with the worst graphics imaginable, clear counters filled with cheap jewelry, it all interests me for some reason. And of course, given the location, I succeeded at finding the most jaded of artists for my prophetic request at one of these stores- an older man named Ron. Ron wore a rainbow galaxy shirt and a tropical blue fedora, and was charmed by my enthusiasm towards both his character and my shirt-to-be. Our spirits rejoiced over my vision, which Ron wrote down using this comically large pen that really drove the whole thing home. We chatted for a little while and he said that "since I was cool" he'd add some clouds and sparkles in addition to the gaudy pink heart with my name in it that I had asked for. When I came to pick up the final product, I reassured Ron that he had made my childhood dreams come true and we took a picture together because yes, he was just that chill. When I asked him about his job on the boardwalk, this is (roughly) what he had to say:

"I love my job, man. I can see the beach and I can be stoned. It's legal now, you know. And I get to make people happy, so that's good for me." - Ron

What a guy.

The same night, after we had returned to the motel and gotten mildly stoned, I was sent out to get water for Amanda and I. I'm not very functional while high, so I was fortunate enough to have booked a motel right across the street from a classic coastal corner store. The nighttime was already in full swing when I arrived, and I was the only one there. I love experiencing places in this way. The fridges hummed around me almost enough to drown out the tail end of Yellow Ledbetter, which played quietly from a speaker behind the counter. When I went to pay, a woman of 40 or so approached the desk and I mentioned the music. We talked about our mutual respect for Eddie Vedder and also Chris Cornell, and it was fucking rad. She high fived me before I left and I was overjoyed by such a simple interaction. I thrive off of stuff like that. Just the day to day experiences I have with strangers that allow me to feel at peace with humanity. It makes me excessively happy to be mindful of it.

This is why these things deserve to be written down. I want to remember them years from now and have them to look back on when I feel discouraged and upset. I love to daydream about the people I meet and wonder what their lives are like and what things they've seen. I'm also glad I'm able to bring simple moments of joy to other people as well. I hope I am able to do that my entire life.

Sidenote: This journal is now bona fide. It contains over 13700 words, excluding writing that is not my own. I wonder how far I'll get.

In the wake of these unfortunate events I am gracious for this journal. Having an outlet to reflect is helpful, even if I only have myself for reference. I remember during early high school I kept a physical journal as well, a crude and beat up book inscribed with various grim details that have still never left my mouth. It has since been buried away in my closet, and I visit it on occasion as a way of comparison when it comes to this type of "habitual" writing. There is more permanency in preserving a physical object, but I prefer the obsessive refinement of my entries.

Like back then, I am finding solace in myself. Last night I stubbornly settled down with the idea that I may have been stuck in my hubris a little too long. The entries of yesterday, in which I seethed with rage for my circumstance, lack any and all wisdom or insight. I think it is necessary that I know my place; I understand very little in the scheme of things. I'm not as intelligent as I think I am and I should definitely be a little more humble. There are people who are 10000x smarter than me- the self-sustaining academic types who become easily and infinitely immersed in their own research. I am not like that, and I will never be. I wish it were easier for me to just be content with that, but I have it dangled in front of me all the time. I don't want to be taunted by my shortcomings anymore. And I want someone in my life who is okay with that.

I think now to the tribulations of my friends that have (with no fault of their own) made me this way. I feel a hollowing disenchantment about Jatin, who has not cut me off but tarnished my trust with the devastating idea of it. That's one way to make me feel worthless I guess. I am stuck in the shock of almost losing him that it has actually become debilitating. I also feel inertly stupid talking to him right now. I can feel his frustration towards me and I fear I might fail if I ask anything of him. So there's that, and then there's the argument I am having with Amanda, who is demanding I open up to her about my mental state. She does not understand that she *cannot* understand most of what she wants to hear, and that if I disclose anything to her it would be a wasted confession. I told her I wouldn't tell her because I am not comfortable with it. Still, she is disdainfully pouting about my personal business as if she has a right to know, and as much as I can sympathize with her concern, her behavior is obnoxious. I think I'm actually in the right for this one, but it's stressful to think that we are on weird terms because of this. I can't just choose to respond neutrally to these situations. Both my heart and mind are telling me that I should be upset, and so I am. But there is tweaking to be done in my approach. Should I be more direct? More demanding? More patient? I don't really know, and so now there is growing to be done. Growth that leeches off the distress I feel and the distress that may be yet to come if things go poorly.

Desire be, desire go. I'm no longer manic to the extent of having my mind turned to Jello, thankfully. I can be a little wiser about everything now I think. Writing about it is a great grounding technique, even if the emotional toll doesn't necessarily subside. This place brings me comfort. After all, the one person I know who will never abandon me is myself. I'm okay being my own best friend if I have to.

So here I am, fucking miserable.

I might need help if I think I'll hurt myself badly. I tried to mediate the self harm by driving to Brooklyn and back which I guess was a temporary fix, but I basically just sat with my thoughts the entire time and I think that made it worse. My mom is complaining that she hasn't seen me for a couple days and that I've been dismissing her. Maybe because I'm obviously completely unstable and deranged. Or because she terrified me the other day by spouting nonsense about my hypothetical rape and subsequent murder, which I dreamed about vividly last night. I can't cleanse my mind of it at all, amongst all the other stuff. Rape, death, misery, horror, crying, repeat. No one to talk to about it, nothing to distract me. As expected, a myriad of bruises have appeared on my legs and the sides of my body. It hurts like a bitch but at least I don't cut. And I was able to force myself to eat this morning, but I clocked in at 99.0 lbs yesterday so things will probably get worse before they get better.

This is what it feels like to lose control. It hasn't happened to me in awhile, honestly. I know from experience it won't last forever, but that doesn't make it any less painful. Episodes like this don't come out of nowhere, they are triggered by external factors such as overstimulation, interpersonal issues, or medication side effects (at least in my case). It takes a lot of time for me to heal and get back to normal. New surroundings, new friends, new drugs. The longest I will have to wait for things to change is July when I move into my apartment in Galloway. But for the time being, I need to focus on avoiding self harm and psychosis.

I'll let myself be incessantly stoned for the next couple weeks if that's what it takes. This is what comes before healing. I'll be okay.

I wake up after a long night
And the foreboding sets in
Past its time, I suppose
But alive in its consequences.
My body is spent
And my mouth tastes strange
Of something alkaline, almost
Metallic, unhinged.
What chemical has been poured upon me?
What insects crawl upon my skin?
Even the spiders in my room
Have brought their thin legs within
To their fragile bodies.
Shame, I denounce it
Things have gone wrong.
If I am in limbo
The day will be short
And the night will be long.