Superseded or Not

It was getting late and I was starting to run thin. Really thin. I had to get out, I had to go and see the only person who could make it feel even just a little better.

I was supposed to do some work with Chad the next day filming a play, so I needed to go back home anyway. Truth be told though, if I had wanted to stay he would have been able to manage without me. And again, truth be told, even though I went home he did manage without me. After a series of long winded nonsense I ended up borrowing my aunts car and driving backing home around 11. On the drive home I almost died, several times. Something hit me on the way back, maybe it was realizing my grandmother's mortality for the first time or.. something else, I don't know, but I couldn't stop crying, and at that point in time it was the most and the hardest I had ever cried. I couldn't see the road through the tears for most of the ride home. I was so incredibly scared, but not for fear of my own safety. No, that fear always comes later.

It was the last night I really felt like I was loved. I got home and the house smelled like cinnamon. Patrick wasn't at the house but told me he would be shortly. I went into my room and curled up on my bed and just stared blankly, so afraid. When he showed up he came in and laid beside me and held me while I cried into him and told him what was happening. He told me he was sorry and kept stroking my hair. The more I laid there the better I felt. He has a way, even now, of making me feel like there's hope, like everything will be okay. I told him I loved him so much and he squeezed me tight and said he loved me too. I told him how grateful I was to have him with me and how much it meant to me that he was there with me. In a way I felt so lame because I was crying so hard. He's one of the only people in my life I ever let see me cry, mostly because I feel so close to him. He doesn't judge me. It's okay to be myself. I was so tired though.. if I was smarter I would have asked him to stay with me until I had fallen asleep, but I'm stupid and didn't want to sound demanding, even though I think he would have understood. I told him I was going to sleep and he kissed me on the forehead and put a blanket over me and told me goodnight. It was the last night I really felt like I was loved.

The next morning I went back up to the city, though I really didn't want to go. I called Pats on my drive up and he talked to me and I really appreciated it. Once I had arrived though, things just got worse and worse. I no longer remember details, just a vague haze of bad news and slight hope. I ended up staying the night in the hospital and writing this, as opposed to sleeping. Around three or four I called Pats again, so incredibly broken, just grasping to the sound of his voice for comfort. He told me some story about his day shopping in the city with a friend, and I learned that he bought me a gift, which.. was very sweet. Then he told me about some innocent kiss that happened at the house. He said he wanted me to hear it from him first and not someone else and me get upset. Secretly, before he had finished explaining the entire story my stomach was turning quite a bit. Bad memories, bad times. But I believed him when he finished, even though that bad feeling didn't go away for about an hour. I've always trusted him. I always will. I told him I was coming back down the next day and we should hang out if he could. He said okay.

It was a Monday. I got home and I guess he was about to leave to go to the city with my roommate and a friend to look for Halloween costumes. He offered for me to go with, but I declined. We got in a fight. It was probably my fault. I fucked up. There's no worse feeling than letting the only person who can always cheer you up no matter what, down.

It went down-hill from there. I still don't know why. But it doesn't matter because I can't change it. I can't fix it.


I can't forgive myself for fucking up again.