Keyframe

I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

"Well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say.

I never want to let you down, or have you go

'it's better off this way.'"

- "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" My Chemical Romance (2004)

Alejandro

I forgive myself for not understanding. I forgive myself for making mistakes. I forgive myself for causing pain and suffering to myself and others.

Inhale.

I forgive myself for not understanding. I forgive myself for making mistakes. I forgive myself for causing pain and suffering to myself and others.

Exhale.

I forgive myself for not understanding. I forgive myself for—

Shit.

What was the rest of it?

My eyebrow quirks with tension after a spent five minutes trying to chase any stress out of both my mind and body, candlelight still flickering behind my eyelids. Just—focus. A deep inhale, and an even deeper exhale to reset my mind.

I forgive myself for not...

My eyebrow twitches again.

I should call her.

No I shouldn't.

I forgive myself...

Do I really?

A chill runs down my spine, and I can suddenly feel my clothes on my skin, my hair brushing my forehead, my crossed legs stacked on top of each other, and, finally, my upturned hands resting on my knees. Annoyed, I finally open my eyes—admitting yet another failed attempt to meditate before extinguishing the candles surrounding me.

The loss of the scarce illumination leaves my room almost pitch black, allowing me a brief respite from the outside world even after my meditation is over. But a sliver of white sunlight still filters through the gap in my curtains and outlines the furniture in my sitting area—a reminder of the bright day outside of my window that tells me I can't hide in here forever. That, despite my attempts to retreat into my own head for closure, reality still pushes along whether I want it to or not.

You shouldn't known you wouldn't be able to focus, fuckhead.

Along with running, cooking, and, (most recently) Lily, meditation has been a grounding factor for the perpetual whirlwind that tends to constitute my mental state. But I should probably start being real with myself after I've tried and failed to find peace in my head several times this week.

Both Dr. Suzuki and I can tell that I'm running on dregs of stability: I'm guilty, restless, disoriented from not being able to talk to Lily, terrified of what she might say once I can, and, if that wasn't enough, debilitatingly horny after growing accustomed to being with her so often. Honestly, I wish I could just hibernate until we leave for California to avoid all the turmoil that this situation has brought on, but here I am.

I'm sure that what I did on her behalf makes me a bad person, and I know I was wrong, but I'm still so confused. I mean, honestly, it scares me that I didn't really regret the choices I made until now. I would've done it a million times over if she didn't react this badly, and I'm just...wary to really consider what that says about me.

I give one last substantial exhale as I stand, gathering my candles and placing them back into their drawer to avoid any accidents when Paola comes in to clean. And, with a press of a button, my curtains slide open once again to reveal a bright, crystal blue day through the floor-to-ceiling windows.