An imaginary conversation about being lost

Can you tell me what happened?

I don’t want to.

You asked for me, so I’m here.

You don’t have to be here. You can leave.

You want me to leave? Why did you ask for me if you don’t want me here?

It’s not that, but you shouldn’t be here.

If there’s something I can help you with, I want to.

You can’t help me.

Do you know how you got here?

….

What do you remember?

I can’t talk about this with you.

Why shouldn’t I be here?

You don’t want to be involved in this.

Your brother said you asked for me and put me on the visiting list. So I’m here.

Please don’t.

Don’t?

Don’t treat me like I’m crazy.

What?

The way you’re looking at me. I can’t stand it.

Obviously I’m worried about you.

It’s none of your business.

If I’m your friend, and you asked for me, I hope that means I can be concerned.

You’re not concerned. You’re gloating.

Gloating because you’re here? No. God. No. 

You’re smiling. I can’t stand it. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine. 

Smiling is my default nervous face. Why are you here?

It isn’t my fault. I’m a good person. 

Of course you’re a good person. No one is questioning that. 

They are. Everyone thinks I deserve this. 

Can you tell me what happened?

No.

No, you can’t or no you won’t?

No. I don’t know. Don’t remember. 

OK

You don’t believe me, do you?

Actually I do. What’s the last thing you remember?

Being at work. Then I was here. 

Nothing in between?

No. Everyone keeps asking me. No. 

Has anyone told you?

Yes

Do you believe them?

I don’t want to. Did they tell you?

Your brother did. 

And you’re here anyway?

And I’m here anyway. 

Why?

You asked for me. You probably don’t remember.  

No. You aren’t here because you love me?

Dumb ass. That too. My time is up. Would you like me to come again?

Heh. I can always make you come again. 

Well that’s promising, anyway. You’ve still got the sense of humor of a 12 year old. 

Somethings never change.

Love you. 

Always. Even when I don’t want to remember anything else. 

Stopping yes, but starting?

As the entire Western world knows, Facebook loves to remind us of our pasts.

In my case, that includes not only all of the lovely pictures and funny things that I post (remember the vagina beauty contest and the vampire dildo? Fun times…) but also blog posts from that date in history.

Usually I just ignore them, because, well, I wrote them and don’t need to read them again. Lately I’ve been reading them. And they sound JUST LIKE ME. Is that a good thing or a bad thing that I write so completely in my own voice? I can hear the people on both sides of the imaginary conversations so clearly.

But it made me think about why I stopped…

Why did I?

I really don’t know.

It’s not like the imaginary conversations have gone away.

It’s not like I am not bleeding internally for the lack of a creative outlet.

It’s not like I am still weird and struggling like we all are.

So why not start. Maybe not with the self inflicted pressure of daily writing (you mean discipline?) but just now and then. When I need it.

Maybe.

I can stop any time I want.

My own personal Jesus

This post reinforced something I have thought about for a long time. 

Many American Christians seem to imagine a Jesus who is open carrying a Glock, wearing an NRA badge on one lapel and an American flag on the other while checking his investment portfolio on his iPhone at the same time. 
I tend to think he’d be at an airport right now raising holy hell and busting people out of detention. Or helping keep refugees safe on ships trying to get somewhere-anywhere-they’d be safe. Or helping in a camp somewhere. 

He wouldn’t be a patriot of a particular nation. He wouldn’t be advocating for building walls anywhere. 

Borders weren’t his thing. It was love.