Sometimes the ghosts that haunt you aren't dead
I am frozen to my core.
Seeing your name.
Reading your nagging.
You still think that's the way to get my attention. Were you drunk when you wrote it? Why did you search my name after all this time?
I hate that I search for you and can't find you. It's like you know it will drive me insane, trying to solve the puzzle of you.
It makes my skin crawl.
I can't prepare my defense if I can't see you.
What if you live her again? What if I run into you at a show?
I think I'd scream. But maybe the sound wouldn't come out, much like that night. As if my throat is clogged up like a bathroom sink full of hair.
It feels strange that I would see this post you sent a year ago now. Like an omen. A warning. I read over your old words, and was transported back to that time, to that room, to that moment.
I begged them not to put you in jail. If you are reading this somehow, I REGRET THAT.
I REALLY FUCKING REGRET THAT.
My kindness went too far. Oh, yeah, and I was brainwashed. Blaming myself for what you did.
But I was brave. I stood up to your constant calls and strange gifts. To the turning of a locked doorknob.
I held my head up and I got that restraining order. I kept you away from me. I stood up and did the scary thing.
Maybe that's the lesson, once again: Nissa, you can do the scary thing.
Or is it something more sinister?
I feel sick.
I don't want to dream of you tonight. I don't want the nightmares to return.