SHAKE

KYLE, 33
'Shake it off'.  My dad used to say that.  I hated it, it was so condescending. I was in little league, a catcher and I sucked. I did. I sucked. And these guys would just ram into me. Into home. Full force and I would just get the wind knocked out of me. And he'd call from the stand. 'Shake if off'.  'Shake it off Kyle'. 'Let it go'. I mean that's what people say, and you don't really think about it, it's just what people say. Well not everyone, like when you get into a car accident you're supposed to stay put. Survivors have been known to have huge adrenaline rushes, and just run for miles in a minute, just run into a field or something, and just shake. Right after an accident. Because that shock, that feeling needs to go somewhere. Physiologically animals do it, they're scared they shake, they show it.  They release it. But not us ' we stand up straight, we breathe, we toughen up'.  But instead modern medicine, they tell us to stay still, don't move.  Sit tight. So it just sits there in us. The trauma or feeling or whatever you want to call it.

And I was just sitting there at my desk, at work. About 4:30 at work, and finally I was still, really still, feet  flat on the ground.  And my hands and my feet just went numb, and my arms twitched, vibrated. Because they wanted to move, needed to move.  And at first I wanted it to stop. I tried so hard to make it stop. The feeling. So much so that I couldn't breathe. 25 minutes. And it wouldn't, they just kept moving. Cause God, it's been months. I've been trying to shake this thing, ignore this thing for months. deal with it, And at first I resisted, the pulsing, the bubbling, because I've talked about it, you know. Talked about him you know? Thought I made whatever peace I needed to make, for now at least, whatever peace I could. Because how do you, I mean that takes time.  But there I was just moving. Twitching under my desk, as people walked down the hall. Shaking under my desk.  And I just decided to sit in it, sit in the shakiness, sit in the discomfort, and let it pass through me. Be free in it. Almost enjoy it.  Let bits of it go. And I don't know what it was. I don't know if it's stress or tension, or thoughts, or regrets, or not forgiving stuff, or him or I don't know.  I just know that when it was done, I slept in for the first time in months I was so exhausted I slept right through my alarm. Annie had to wake me up. And I could hear him. "Shake it off Kyle. Take your time, and shake it off, It's your game". I should have been a better catcher.

SARAH

Prospective addition for the play 'Carrying'

It was better. It was better that way. It wasn’t something I was ready for or he was ready for. It was just better. At least I thought it was, think it was. And I felt better because I knew I wasn’t the only one. Before it happened I had taken my friend Erin, and I sat in the lobby and watched these teenage boys, wait for their girlfriends and play xbox. With their hoods up playing video games, kids playing games. And I was a kid. And I’m not saying we used it as birth control or making excuses for the girls I knew, know that have had three or four. Or excuses for me or whatever. But it was better. I was 23, 24. A year out of college. And it wasn’t like I had been with a lot of guys, and it wasn’t like he was an important one. Before this, important. He worked at the bar I worked at, he played keyboards in some ironic cover band, he sent things into McSweeneys, and was tall, and sweet and I didn’t know his middle name. Because we had only hung out for a month. But I usually ask people what there middle names are, it gives you a false sense of intimacy. I mean you don’t think about that, if you thought every time you had sex ‘would you be willing to be bonded for the rest of your life with this person in raising a human being together’ no one would get laid. So it was better. It was the better thing to do, and I called Lisa and cried and decided. And she offered to come and go with me, and he offered but Erin said she would. And the appointment was all set, and the night before I just started bleeding. And I bled until it was gone. I just sat in the bathroom and I bled. And I felt relieved and guilty all at the same time. And I’m not saying that I’m being punished or whatever, with this thing, now, because I don’t know that I believe in something bigger to punish me. And maybe it was my body just rejecting it, saving it. And maybe that’s what this thing is too I don’t know. But the thoughts we have, something has to be listening right? Even if it’s our smallest cells listening, something has to be listening. Something has to grow.

A FINAL REQUEST

DAVID, 37
Validation, That's all we want right? Validation? You see me, you hear me, you care that i exist. That somehow my non existing would make some sort of hole, some void, that I'd like to think you couldn't fill but you probably could.

They can hire someone new for my job, and my parents will be sad in so much as I'm an extension of them. The love they feel as any parent does out of obligation, not to demean it, but  it's not a love they'd feel if I was wasn't their kid, just someone they met at the farmer's market or a dinner party. So that's them. And my friends have other friends, other people to call and vent to, or laugh with, and yes on occasion they'll miss me, and say it's a shame but they'll learn to fill the void. And it... I will be something that sneaks up on them from time to time. And you can and will meet someone new, or have already. Look at you meet people every day. And I am and will not be your last one. The deli guy where I get my coffee will think I moved, as will my cobbler, my pharmacist, people so rarely say good bye. There will be one less person at mass on Christmas, one less voice cheering for the phils, one less person waiting for the N train at Ditmas.. And the cats will eventually make noise to alert a neighbor, or the smell will be too much, or Johnny will come over like I asked and pick them up, check on 'em. Please don't come over, you're allergic or say you are or whatever. It will be okay, they'll find other laps.

And eventually the money I owe will be paid,  my things will be sold and dispersed and people will have pieces of me. Things  that they'll find in their closet or catch their eye on their bookshelf. I'm giving Stef my copy of Denial of Death,  just cause it'll piss her off.  And a friend from college or high school, or a drinking pal will say one day 'whatever happened to?..' and they'll think for a moment to call and then go on having their drink. And that's not a slight, it's just ilfe.

I don't know that we ever get this feeling of validation, and maybe a secret little part of me thinks I will after the fact. And another part knows there is no after the fact. My mother would hate me for saying it, but let's face it it's a possibility. I am an autonomous one. I have had no measurable impact on my community, created nothing of great substance, have no real family, no official relationship, no dependents, no ones life or livelihood is resting on me. And you will say my dear that I am wrong. That I am needed. You will scream from the rafters that I am validated. YOU will validate me. Scream, validating my existence. And I won't be there to hear it. Because the truth is, it's not something you can ask for? And if you have to ask, it's too late.

Kerry, 28

Ok, so I don't want to know about your hopes and dreams. I know about too many people's hopes and dreams, and where they are from, and their parents, and siblings, and their thoughts on relationships, relationships that we never had. I listened to too many people's hopes and dreams who became no one, I've invested in and imagined and counseled too many hopes and dreams that left. and the truth is I'd just be pretending to listen. And I'm sure yours are great, and your upbringing was great, and fucked up and all that, and you have some schpiel on love that is going to make me think you're damaged in a really lovely way, that I am going to think I can fix.
But I think. I think we should just be direct here. Because i have this problem. More of a habit really . Where I'll let you, men, boys, whatever, have all that small talk and the entire time I'm thinking, do you really want to sleep with me? And I know that biologically most men want to sleep with any vagina, unless unless of course they think the head and the heart that go along with the vagina are attached. And by my listening to all this; your hopes and dreams and bla bla bla, whatever, you are going to think that I want more , that I want to be a part of those hopes and dreams and thoughts on relationships, and future thoughts on relationships. And I don't think I do. I might but I don't know. Because I don't know you. But I do know that before I decide any of that, listen to any of that, invest in any of that.. can we just point blank just get to it. And see if that other stuff works. Can we just see if we have fun? Like actual unweighted fun! Because I'm tired of listening to things I"ll never be a part of. And one day when we're tired of having fun, you'll ask me about my hopes and dreams and aspirations and for the first time I'll speak. And they'll mean something, because you'll know me.

New Zealand

KELSIE
My daddy used to climb through windows, I just used to assume that's how all daddies got into the house. Their shadows fought and I assumed that's how adults talked. We weren't allowed remotes, barbies or cable, and we went to qauker summer camps where they made us watch 'the red balloon'in french every friday, so these were things that were assumed would not happen. Things like this did not happen when your parents had masters and used the pool at Cornell. He threatened to move to New Zealand and I assumed that's where daddies went. A land full of divorced dads eating kiwi and citrus on an island. He went away, then came back again, then went away. And this seemed a natural dance. She cried, then seemed happy, then cried again, then cried more when i caught her crying. That's what mommies did, pretended to be happy.

He didn't move to New Zealand, he stopped climbing through windows, and got a place with his very own door in Rodchester. Which might have as well been New Zealand. He got a job there as an adjunct, teaching future engineers poetry. Slowly mom let us use the remote, and listen to Whitney Houston. She slept more, and snuck cigarettes in the basement. Daddy picked us up on weekends, in a taurus with leather seats. Seats that would burn you in Summertime. And he was forbidden to climb through windows, or set foot on sidewalks, and look her in the eye, so he stopped doing so. And it didn't matter that they had masters degrees and Phd's cause they couldn't talk.
And Daddy got a girlfriend named Carol, who was a social worker and wanted to talk to us about our feelings, once a month, at the Ground Round, and I just wanted to eat popcorn. And Jenny wondered how much Carol would have to pay if they weighed her for a meal. Carol gave us a barbie, which we took the head off, and buried in the basement under the stairs, next to the cigarettes. We named her Zelda, and visited her grave often. and Daddy got tired, tired of us, tired of fighting for us and with us. And Wednesdays and weekends turned to every other weekends, turned to once a month, turned to birthdays. And slowly Rodchester got farther and farther, and the taurus with the leather seats came less,and less and I developed an allergy to kiwis.

The One

ALEX,27
Monogamy is a myth. It's a nice concept, it's a comforting concept.A protective construct. And maybe it works for people, or they think it works, pretend it works. But if you're a certain person your innately denying part of yourself. No one is completely monogamous, no one gets everything from one person. You can't expect to get everything from one person, you can't expect one person to be everything. If you do you're just setting yourself up to get fucked, and not in a fun way. And you. you're a romantic, and maybe yeah, maybe there's some judgment or filter in your head that makes you sexually monogamous. That makes you feel dirty or impure or less than for having impulses and attractions to more than one person. Because the truth is people are attractive and we each act on that attraction in different ways. You, you act with words and emotions. So you sexually commit to one person, cause that's comfortable for you. And I get that, you know cause you aren't necessarily a physical person. But don't fucking lie to me and tell me that you're emotionally monogamous, that you're intellectually monogamous. That you're incapable of loving more than one person, of sharing with more than one person. So how's that different than sex? How is that less or more intimate than sex? How is that any worse or better of a connection than sex? How is it any less or more hurtful? IT's not, it's what you attach to it. In that moment there is one person. And in that moment there's only you with that person. And as for sustaining that, I don't know that it's possible. Maybe it works for you, but don't tell me after you commit to someone you turn off your heart, you turn off your mind. It's just a different form of connection.

It's better

For Sam. An old old one, but a good one. From the archives
ALLIE, 27
(Nolita playground smoking a cigarette)

I’d go crazy. I would go absolutely insane. No smoking, or alcohol, or anything. Can you imagine David with a baby. I mean he’d totally be smoking pot around the kid. Not cigarettes but pot. He’d be a good Dad. I mean my kid would be reading Proust at bedtime.. But I would go insane. You know how I crave things now. I’d be like ‘Babe, get me icecream and salami’. I’d feed my little jewish baby icecream and salami. And David would be all about my pregnant belly, and want to fuck me all the time. Like hold on to it. And that’s just weird. He’ll probably be turned on by it, he’s turned on by everything. No really…he’s turned on by my B.O.
And I’d like to think I’d be a cute pregnant woman. You know with the little belly. But really I saw my mom with Alex, I’m going to be gargantuan. I am going to be a fat assed, bloated wide faced, messy pregnant woman. I’m really going to just look like a fat person. That’s the whole point of being pregnant, you have an excuse to be fat, and people congratulate you on it. I mean people shouldn’t have other people.
Maybe that’s irresponsible, but .They aren’t even people. I mean kids. They don’t know anything. You have to teach them everything. They’re like little naked aliens running around. What’s this? Why does this happen? And I don’t know. I don’t know why anything does or doesn’t happen. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t even know what I want for dinner. Are you hungry? I just… I don’t know. And I guess my parents didn’t know either but things were different then. You remember those paper fortune tellers you used to make. Like you’d fold the paper and fill the inside with yes or no, or like numbers on the outside. And I used to always ask the fortune teller what age I’d be when I’d have a baby, and I’d get so excited when I got 28. For whatever weird reason that just seemed right to me, seemed like adult age to me. Like this magic age, My mom was 25 when she had me. And maybe she wasn’t ready, maybe she just had to be. I mean thank god you know, because it just wouldn’t be right…right now. I know I’ll probably get knocked up and he’ll have to marry me (she laughs) but right now it’s good.,better it didn’t happen.

Shadowboxing

I love solo conversations, and the structures and games we implement just to attempt to communicate. What if?

LIBBY, 31

So there's this thing, I think it's called shadow sharing or something. It's Jungian I think. I googled it a little. I heard about it from this guy at a party in Laguna and it really helped him, seemed to have really helped him he was different.From it, you know what it sounds like, he wasn't all woo-woo and spiritual and stuff, at least it seemed like he wasn't.

And it's this thing where off the bat before we get into too deep, before we become a we, if we ever are to become a we, which I'm not assuming we will. We express what we're afraid of. That way we know we will project these fears, and these fears actually have nothing to do with the other person, since WE hardly know each other. Obviously this would have been better done earlier but I'm just learning it now so I think WE should do it. I mean what the hell, right? what do we have to lose?

Ok uhm I'm afraid... I'm afraid of even doing this. Not this but this shadowthing. I'm afraid that you will judge me for it, are you judging me for it? I'm afraid that you'll find me boring. Unattractive. That you'll leave, that before you do I'll lose myself in you, or that I'll only want you when you're gone, which will make me seem completely unattractive and boring. I'm afraid that you'll realize that I recycle jokes, and stories, that eventually I'll run out of them, and I'll start telling you things you were actually there for. I'm afraid you'll pretend you weren't there. I'm afraid that we'll be sexually incompatible that our torsos won't line up right, that you'll judge my cellulite. And eventually you'll stop leaving your hand on my waist. I'm afraid that if we do have children, which I'm not saying we will, I'm on the pill, but if we do I'll do everything, and maybe you'll vaccuum once a week and empty the dishwasher. But you won't run the dishwasher efficiently, so I'll rerun it, which you'll think is passive aggressive. I'm afraid I'm not cut out to have children. I'm afraid that by just saying that I sound like a clock ticking cliche, and you'll get scared. I'm afraid that by saying any of this I'm talking to much, and expecting too much and immediately I've stopped being fun. And it's too early to not be fun, I'm afraid I'm not fun. And I'm afraid that I don't really want to hear about your fears or even hear that you're afraid, because that's not attractive. Or fun. Don't want to hear what you think I will and will not do to you. Because what if you expect I'll do nothing, what if you have no expectations beyond this dinner. This spring roll. That you've never thought of me beyond Friday night beyond this Spring roll. And maybe you didn't even plan for this Spring Roll, and this evening. Or maybe I'm afraid that you have.
I don't know perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. What do you think? What are you afraid of? Is that low sodium soy sauce?

last production

LINDA, 56
When I die. I think I’m going to ask for ridiculous things. You know at my funeral. Because they have to do it. Just want to see how far they go. So what so I want Cher’s ‘Turn Back Time’ played as men in assless chaps and a teddy bear costume dance capoeira. ‘ I never knew Linda was into mixed martial arts’ they’ll say. And I don’t want flowers they die and are depressing and they’ll probably just get roses which are the most f’ing thoughtless flower known to man. No no I’m going to ask that in lieu of flowers sanitary napkins are sent to local women’s shelters. And I hope my brother has to go out and buy a crap ton on tampons. And it’s a win win cause no one thinks of homeless women on their rag. And clowns, not sad clowns but happy clowns, but not in little cars cause that’s just awkward but I want a clown there one that makes balloon animals. And a pony, ponyrides for the kids right next to the open casket. This of course is after the duet between Liza Minelli and Peebo Bryson to the Indigo Girl’s ‘Least Complicated’. Cause the thing is I mean about funerals? Who’s it for? I don’t care what they wear and what they say about me and who comes and who doesn’t. Because I’m not going to be there. And I don’t want them to have that satisfaction, of making up some story or saying what I was or wasn’t. Cause the truth is, the truth is I was someone who got pushed around, who did what I was told, what I thought was expected of me, who watched, who didn’t rock the boat too much. I never wanted to be noticed, never wanted to ask for anything from anyone. But not on this, not on this.

joe, 23 (in a bar)

Shit fuck nah. I don’t want to believe in something. I did that, it hurt. Maybe cause it was another person it was contingent on another person. You can believe in objects and ideas and concepts and hopes as long as the aren’t attached to people. Cause people fuck up, People change their minds, people change their feelings. Don;t don’t don’t fucking look at me like that. ‘ye of little faith or whatever’ Hope hope hope. People fuck up don;t attach your hope on people. Don’t attach your hope on me. And i tell you this i will tell you this from day one now now now is day one see. I am going to fuck up. I am going to let you down I am going to hurt you, might not intend to but will. So yeah we cool? Good. No building shit. Here. Okay? Good. Now what's your number?

Melvin,58

why? why why? why do we do anything? we want a response. I'm talkin, talking to you for a response. Pardon my french, but I fuck up, i do good I do whatever for a response, sor attention. And not in that lil kid I need attention, attention is a bad thing kinda way. It's human to want attention. It's human nature. And that lady that lady talkin to herself complainin bout her bag on Atlantic Avenue, does she want attention> Does she want a response? Maybe she wants a response from herself you know, from her own head, or maybe she want a response from you, so she can mumble 'crazy bitch; under her breath. Cause you know she will. She will. and if you don't respond to that she be mad too. Cause she's mad at the world she just responding to the world. And that's life. Things happen something else happens. He does this she does this they do that. and maybe i know the response I want, maybe I'm just talkin to talk. But I want something, it's not specific or anything but its someting. And it's not to be alone. Hell I like being alone. Grew up with 6 brothers and sisters never did get to be alone, used to lock the bathroom door and sit. But that's another story for another time. But why i tell those stories, a response. Response that this whole damn thing worth it.

SETH, 28

For Kaylin, and this kid I talked to in a bar the other week.
You know what your problem is? Everything has to be important. We're human beings we have to operate on a level of bull shit sometimes. Not everything has meaning or is a sign or something more than filler. If everything is important nothing is important. Like now, like now atleast 75% if what I'm saying is shit. Even this right? this is too intense. It should be bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, something awesome, bullshit. Then when that awesome thing comes out of my mouth it surprises you it surprises me. And I like quoting movies and talking about sports and fucked up things celebrities are doing that I'd do too. I like talking about Tom Yorke and how awesome tom Yorke is cause Tom Yorke is awesome. But it's not earth shattering and it doesn't make me an asshole or whatever cause I do that. And yeah there's Rwanda and healthcare, and the economy and recessions, and hopelessness you know? And we're all just stuck with this huge generational problem that we find millions of ways to discuss but are too lazy to solve. 'We're so connected' and i'm a hypocrite. I fucking love that thing, and I'm not using it to read the Times, I have the app but I'm using it to play scrabble and shit. It's just life's too short you know? the heavy stuff will hit us on its own, we don't need to find it.

more than tongue can tell

ABBY, 8

what if what if what if I had a sweatshirt with bunny ears and it zipped up in the center and I could see out but you couldn't see in and in it was a bunny face? Would you still love me? Would you still love me if I was a bunny? I wouldn't be a bunny actually but people might think I was a bunny. A scary mutant bunny? Would you still love me if I were a scary mutant bunny? What if I had an extra hand sticking out of my face, like a little baby hand? More high fives? and it could hold stuff, yeah it'd have five fingers uhuh. Would you still love me then? Would you make me remove it, like have hand removal surgery? but what if I had surgery and then had this hole in my face where the baby hand was? Like this hole in my face like bigger than a quarter, like the size of a donut hole. What are those called munchkins, midgets? well if i had a donut face midget hole would you still love me? What if what if I couldn't speak, if I could only scream? Or if I was consistently followed by a flock of sheep, or goats what about pigs, or alpacas? Do Alpacas travel in flocks? What if I was an alpaca? Would the hooves i had hurt your tummy when i came out? Do alpaca's have hoofs, hooves hoofs? do they eat tin cans? Would you still love me if I ate tin cans? Would you still love me if I wasn't yours, if I belonged to Mrs. Fetrow, or an alpaca, or the lady at the grocery store who smells like cat farts, or someone you didn't even know? Like a stranger.What if I was a stranger? Will I ever be a stranger? Will we ever be strangers? Cause if you love someone they can't be strangers right? If you love someone they can never be strangers...

SWEET.

He was just so sweet. SWEET. She hated when people called her that. It just seemed so airbrushed so generalized. She wanted to punch those people in their face with her sweet little hand. Cute. Cute was another one. Cute. If you are under 5ft 5 you are cute, you are not hot you are not beautiful, maybe you are pretty, but you are cute, sweet. At 5ft 2 she was sacrine. And here she was thinking this of him. Sweet. And the truth is, she wouldn’t have said yes. It’s just he was so-nice, and she was over her usual weight, and tired, and thought why not. It was just a drink, a drink with a nice guy. A nice guy who wore baseball caps and hadn’t bought new clothes since high school. Which was more annoying than sweet. She didn’t want to be a person who tried to change another person. So despite how sweet he was, this could go nowhere. Because she didn’t want to change him. And she wondered if that makes it worse, makes her more or less of a snob, that she entertained it for what she thought was his sake. It was one drink.
She didn’t eat before. She’d been trying not to. Not starving herself really. She drank a coffee. She didn’t dress up, didn’t try her usual to not look cute. She didn’t even wear lipgloss. It would be one drink. Not a pity drink, but a practice for her, I mean after all he was/seemed so very sweet.
He had a stain on his shirt, and his voice would pitch high, and he held open doors. But he laughed at her jokes, and asked questions, and after a while she was actually asking questions back. Questions she wanted the answers to. And after a while she stopped hearing the answers and saw how they were said, his gaze intense, genuine, sure sweet, but strong.
And as she looked at him and his eyes melted into his face, and his face melted away, and then they came back again. She thought I could sit and do nothing with this man. I could see this man working on science projects, and doing dishes, and maybe bickering with me now and again. I could sit in silence on a Sunday morning. And it wasn’t overwhelmingly animal or sexual, or because her hips felt big that day, or the insecurity of swollen breasts. and you may think it settling, or patriarchal, but it wasn’t that. She just looked at him and thought ‘ he won’t call me cute’.

apathy and rain

JEAN

I think the worst thing is not to feel. I wish I had a stronger feeling about this, but I don’t. I’m saying it apathetically, whatever. Which in itself is ironic or something. I drink 4 coffees a days so I wake, ambien to sleep. And despite the food I eat, pills I take, drinks drank, people I fuck, traffic I play in, I’m waiting to feel. I’m too tired to run, hand and feet numb Hands, two. I have two, thank you. Yeah I’m rhyming, so what? Even this this speaking there’s like a space, a space between my thoughts and words, not that I’m editing them, I’m not aware enough to edit I guess, not smart enough., no not smart enough I..whatever=There’s just space, like a delay. And maybe it’s the rain. And my lack of good wellies, or a ‘brolly’. English people say that’brolly’, brolly-englishpeople...english persons-and what do they call a phone a, a blower? Something. Anyway I’d like one. But I wouldn’t call it that because I’d sounds stupid, or screw ot, maybe I would. A fashionable umbrella. With clouds or the subway system, or wheat field by van gogh? If I had one I’d lose it. I used to buy a new one every time it rained, a ‘five dollar’ ‘five dollar’ umbrella on the street. But now, now I just get wet. And I don’t mind it really, have no feelings either way. The thing with getting wet, is you dry. It let’s up eventually.

GABRIEL, 22

for my bro.
I am trying to listen. Past the noise to your music. Listen harder listen harder listen harder hear less try less.past my heart beat , past my pulse, past my ideas of shoulds or coulds that I was convinced were a baseline. And sometimes I hear nothing, but the pendulum of my thoughts, the tick tick tick. And what do you sound like? cause I thought you'd be a trumpet thought you'd be a symphony thought you be an undeniable solo. But maybe you sing like the voice of a child. An angel bell, a bright ring hovering above the sound almost part but above and maybe I just got to listen harder.not to hear but to listen and forget the songs I know.‏ But I don't know what you sound like, and i'm afraid that I'll hear you, and afraid that I won't.

Weight

I'm not going to tell people not to be sad. Because there's a lot to be sad about in this world. But I guess the trick, is how long we sit in it, and if we have a choice in that matter after all? Haven't figured that one out yet.

MICHEAL,32
They say a dead body weighs the same as a living body. Takes up the same mass as a living body. Not to be morose, but scientifically, same matter. Fine I am morose. But these two things physically tangibly are the same. So what’s the difference? The soul, the want to live, faith, the what? Cause whatever it is it doesn’t weigh anything, yet it matters. Separates us from them. Cause there are days that I wish that I was dead. Not dead really, but just asleep, on a time out. Vacation from my body, from this. And I don’t think that makes me instable or unstable or anything, I don’t think there’s a single person in the world who hasn’t thought about that, for a moment at least. Even a second. You’re lying to yourself if you say you haven’t. And I’m fine with those thoughts, because they’re natural. They’re human. Doubt is human. But what I’m not fine with is feeling so weighed down. So weighed down in this mass that’s supposed to be the same. And I recognize that within me is infinite possibility and blah blah blah the potential that is within everyone and the universe and God whatever. I’m infinite I get it, but right now, I’m infinitely in a hole. And every day I have to tell myself to stay awake. To keep my eyes open. To listen. To not go to sleep. Cause how else am I going to feel that thing.

Grey or Gray

The other day I learned one of my best friends made a beautiful decision to live his life, today a rally was held in NYC to protect that. This is for him, others, and anyone else who assumed life would go a certain way or can't.
LILA,32
It’s a complicated situation. But most things are. Complicated. When I was a little girl I thought things were black and white. Right and wrong. Good and bad. Either you loved someone or you didn’t. And surely if you did love them they would love you back, all of you, accept all of you. Hug you in acceptance, just because you loved them. And there was high school and college, and love and marriage and children and milestone markers that people gave you cards for. And that was life. It was recitals and barbeques and summer vacations and baseball games, and boring dinner ‘parties’ in which no games were played. And that was a given, that was our legacy, what was expected, maybe the car or the vacation or the house of the kids would be different than you expected but it would happen it would be yours. And I wanted that. Never did I not want that. I still do.
When I was in college I used to hate my body for making those things difficult, making them seem impossible. Special. I used to pray, I used to pray all the time not to make me like everyone else or make it okay for me to be ‘like everyone else’ or stop feelings or change them but just to be able to experience, in whatever way God or whoever saw fit, just to be able to have me experience and maybe take for granted those things too.
And I know, I know no matter what is and is not legalized I’m not going to have the same taken for granted experience I’m not going to have the same life. But I want the boring dinner parties and the recitals and barbeques and high school graduations, and vacations and a yard. And I didn’t think I was going to have to fight to get them.

Tricks

AARON,19
Sometimes I used to go to St. Mary’s church in the Hague. When the junkies would come out, line their shiny objects on the ground. That’s where I went. When there was no service, it was empty. And I’d take my little dog with me. Put my little dog in my sweatshirt, tucked away in my sweatshirt. And I’d splash holy water on my face, and then splash holy water on my dogs face. And sit in the back, and think of home, or not think at all. Faith, faith is a tricky thing. I fought faith a lot, and people of ‘faith’ fought me. You just ever do so much stuff that you don’t know what you want to be forgiven for? Wrong is relative, cause you’re just trying to live, survive.
I went to catholic school growing up. I’m Irish-Catholic. First generation. My mom wanted me so badly to be an altarboy and I couldn’t cut it. All I had to do was just stand there. And sometimes I try really hard to remember the first thing. The first thing I did where it started. I don’t know maybe it was playing with myself or something. Lookin at men. Mouthed off to my parents. I don’t know. And if I could remember that first thing, if I could ask for forgiveness for that first thing, and gotten it, then maybe I wouldn’t have done everything else. Maybe I wouldn’t be here.
But sitting there in the back, 17 years old, with my little dog tucked in my shirt, dirty, just sitting there I belonged, I was forgiven. Cause people didn’t get in the way.

Hungry

Becca, 24
Do you know what its like to be hungry? Like empty hungry. Hopeless hungry. Check clearing hungry. Three days. Three dollars. It’s an empty shakiness. And it doesn’t matter how you got here, or that you’re not the sort of person who gets here, cause there’s that physical fact. The hunger, the frustration in your stomach. So you dress up, and straighten your hair, and order water at the bar. And pretend. Bide your time. ‘I’m tired I should be getting home’ An hour before the subway stops. ‘Big day tomorrow’. The walk’s fine. I don’t want to be comfortable. I chose not to be comfortable. I had every opportunity, every opportunity. New clothes, mom’s car, ivy league. Never wanted for anything, I’m of able body, and able mind, and I chose this. I chose this. (This temporary artistry).
And I understand. I understand those that pretended with charge cards and mortgages, and empty homes. Because of the hunger.