everything i'm afraid of
Hey. I hope you are all doing well. My apologies for such sparse correspondence. I have been taking exams and wandering.
I’m sitting alone at the airport. My parents are in the Sky Lounge. What do I do with my hands? Get another coffee. Write something down.
I’ve been somewhere strange. I sent Edmund White my writing and he said he likes it. I’m not sure what this means, but I think I’m a writer. I’m on break from classes currently and am spending time back home in Atlanta. It’s already spring here, the gray sky and wet concrete the only remnant of winter. It rains more here than it does in Seattle
I missed home. I missed being fed. I was in Palm Beach visiting my grandparents for a day. They live in a wealthy Jewish golf retirement village that we call “the bubble”. I was getting coffee at their breakfast compound using some unwieldy machine when this sixty-something man probably named Dr. Jacob Something came up behind me and said, “machine couldn’t be any louder, huh?”
I’m in Athens, Georgia. It’s strange being in someone else’s college town. Watching students file in and out of libraries, classrooms, art spaces, rehearsal halls and knowing none of it is there for me. My world lies elsewhere, somewhere much colder, less polite, but with better coffee and more familiar faces, corners, classrooms, bars, and crosswalks of my own. Home is where the rent is, right? Athens is filled with nameless beautiful men with slightly curly hair tucked into baseball caps and perfect bodies, slightly plumped by beer and southern comforts covered by collared polo shirts and khakis. It’s a place of gentility, the rare quiet judgements, but mostly friendliness. I could see myself here if it wasn’t so hot.
I see myself in five years with a small truck and a roommate. Maybe even a dog. It’s a miracle that I can see myself in five years.
I wrote that all a few weeks ago. It’s been hard to write lately.
Edmund White asked me what draws me to studying Christianity. I told him that God became human and we killed him. It’s all decline, collapse, destruction into salvation. Destroy yourself completely and make something new.
I’ve hardly touched the script for the play I’ve been working on. I read it and feel like I’m looking through a word search trying to find the right string of words to set me free.
Planning for the future is like making your bed. It’s just going to get fucked up anyways.
Imagine a photograph. Do you know how photos were taken before digital cameras? Light was captured. Now it’s all approximation. But film isn’t authentic, it’s just film. I’m somewhere in the out of focus. I’ve stopped wearing anything but grey, black, white, brown, and navy. I spend my time alone out of necessity. All my friends are either dying or I see them dead. When I close my eyes, I mean. In front of me, they are alive and beautiful. I love the body. Yesterday someone laid on top of me naked and I felt their whole body press down on me. The center of the world pulled them down into me and for a brief moment we were inseparable, one force driving downwards into nothing. Drive the car at night. See the lights turn from dots to lines. Dots to lines. Buildings become each other. Paint the whole piece then spill your water on the canvas. That’s closer to reality. Motion blur, river water, feedback.
I want to be your comfort. I want you to be able to rely on me. The truth is, I’m hurting in a way I don’t understand. The feeling you get before you get sick. Your bones feel wrong somehow. Your skin is sensitive. I’m there. I don’t know the illness. I imagine something horrible, fatal even. There is something I am not saying. I hate watching my parents age. My mom acts different when the sun goes down and I’m terrified. I’m imagining a world fully alone. I’m imagining arctic cold with no relief. I’m imagining freefall with no ground. I’m imagining space with no boundaries, just expanse and expanse and expanse. It’s not dark with no light, it’s light with no dark. You can’t turn it off. You step outside into the sun for the first time in hours. Your pupils ache as they try to dilate. That, forever. I hate watching my parents age because it reminds me that this is an expanse with no boundaries. I see wrinkles on my mother’s face. She’s fighting them back with Botox and pure spite. She is so beautiful. What a shame that her beauty brings me so much pain, knowing that one day she will hold me for the last time. I’m certain I will die when she dies. My dad knows the answer to every question. He knows what to do. He does not need to draw from experience, simply logic and evidence. He’s an attorney. He has a heart the size of the world and it is easy to hurt. He’s a sensitive man. He cries watching Modern Family and he will guide you through breathing exercises if you tell him you are anxious. He loves me so much. When he dies I am certain I will die with him.
I’m afraid of letting myself down. I’m afraid of doing anything at all. I’m afraid I don’t know who I am and I’m afraid to find out. I’m afraid that the life I live isn’t sustainable. I’m afraid that I don’t care. I’m afraid that my brother is going to die. I’m afraid that my sister is unhappy. I’m afraid that my friends will forget that I exist. I’m afraid that my friends will remember that I exist. I’m afraid the outfit I choose in the morning will decide the course of the rest of my life. I’m afraid that if I don’t tap this counter three times with my knuckle that my brother will die. I’m afraid that if I don’t count all the hard consonants in every sentence I speak, my mother will die. I’m afraid to write and I’m afraid to read what I have written. I’m afraid that I will never do anything good. I’m afraid that I will never make anything better. I’m afraid that the center of me is uncaring. I’m afraid that I’m selfish. I’m afraid that I’m lonely. I’m afraid of the friends I’ve made. I’m afraid of every conversation I’ve ever had. I’m afraid that someone will read this and take anything away from it. I’m afraid to hit the ground. I’m afraid of my search history. I’m afraid of social media. I’m afraid of phone calls. I’m afraid of loud knocks on doors. I’m afraid of text messages. I’m afraid of losing control. I’m afraid that I will never be able to sustain myself. I’m afraid to go to jail. I’m afraid of missing my sister’s wedding. I’m afraid of being an absent father. I’m afraid of being an alcoholic uncle. I’m afraid of being the guy who just never went anywhere. If you see me, please see through me.
I have a list of baby names:
Ingrid, Nikolai, Abraham, Isaac, Tobias, Darla, Anastasia, Eleanor, Blair, Silas, Louise
Somewhere there’s a water tower. There is no forest, just trees. You aren’t missing a thing.
I told Mom I’m scared of being a failure. She told me, “You’re my David.”