isolation [matty healy]

pt. 8: present

isolated.

haunted house; haunt my brain
vivid thoughts loco-mote this train

crooked window; glass is scattered
perfect picture of you is shattered

weaving spiders; intricate webs
dangle above unseeing heads

feast on fears; gnawed to the bone
haunted heart best left alone.

———————

i jolted up in my bed before the sun was out.
the first thing i did was furiously rub my eyes, trying to erase the images of the nightmare still playing.

things i hadn't thought about in so long, people i hadn't seen or spoken to in so long- they all still managed to worm their way back into my subconscious to torture me. the bastards.
i looked at my phone, and it was around 4:30 in the morning. i groaned and stood up, turning my lights to a low setting.
i sat in the middle of my bedroom floor, contemplating. i suppose i could sit here drowning in my thoughts, or i could try to go back to sleep.

i got back in to bed, trying to get comfortable, but it was pointless. the memory of the nightmare was too fresh. so instead i took one of my pillows and brought it downstairs, setting up camp on the couch. i grabbed myself a blanket from the linen closet and draped it over myself as i lay down.
let's try this again, i thought, getting comfortable.

i was still really exhausted, but my mind was racing, in a weird and detached way where i didn't really recognize my own thoughts. some random words were coming to the surface, so i decided to type them into my phone. it's weird to get inspired when you're half-conscious, but as a writer, it happens more often than not.

as i was taking in what i was writing, i thought, truly heartfelt. i rubbed at my eyes again. "feast on fears"? that's gross. keep going.

as soon as i was satisfied, i rolled over and passed out.

———————

(matty)

george and i finally talked things out.

he was still a bit miffed with me, but we had worked through the worst of it. i was really lucky because i don't know if anybody else would've stuck around after the way i've gone and fucked things up lately.

the drugs make you unrecognizable, but unfortunately i had been on them for so long before that george knew right away i had relapsed. it's the people closest to you who know right away when you've gone back to being a lying smack head.

he knew things were bad after the breakup, and i was just barely getting through the days okay. but when he saw the complete shift in my mood, and noticed my lack of appetite, and the way i was talking- the signs made it all too obvious for him.
he was disappointed of course. he had every right to be. he and ross and adam were the ones who made it possible for me to get to rehab in the first place, years ago, so i had massively let them down.

after i finally broke down and told him what i did, where i got it, and where i was hiding the rest of it, george told me that even though i fucked things up, he still loved me and wasn't going to give up on me. he had all these plans to move in with his girlfriend this summer, but he put it all on hold to help me get well again. that was when he came up with the idea of the road trip to texas. of all places.

i was angry at first. the drugs were still making their way out of my system while we were on the road, and going through the withdrawals was exceptionally painful this time around, because with it came the crashing, painful reality that my 4 year relationship was really over. it was done. she'd moved on quickly, and i couldn't take it. fucking someone else to get rid of the rage wasn't enough for me; i eventually ended up scoring one night and... here we are now.