“It.” by Nicole Despotopulos

Art by Patrick Driscoll

There is an emptiness in me that I drown in.

I cannot seem to swim out or swim away.

I am trying.

“Bullshit you’re trying.” It thinks.

Can you see through me? I ask to myself when I pass people.

Is it that obvious I am hurting?

My one true love is the bottle.

It’s been five years.

Almost.

Nothing seems to separate us.

It is an unhealthy relationship, I will admit.

It knows I am lost in my own emotions.

It knows I wish I could not feel.

It knows I wish I could not hear, could not see, could not breathe.

“But I will make you feel better,” It tempts me.

“I will make you forget everything,” It lies.

I still don’t forget those three days at the hospital after I tried to die.

I still don’t forget that Fourth of July night when I blacked out,

Only to wake up with someone I considered a friend on top of me.

I do not forget the tears.

I do not forget the times I wanted to rip every inch of my skin off.

I do not forget the constant loneliness.

I do not forget the isolation and regrets.

So, screw you, “my love”.

I wonder if I ever truly loved you in the first place.

I will go on without you.

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