Please Don't Go Before I Get Better

by Madisen Kuhn

  and place them on the windowsill above the sink

  i am half of a heart with pure intentions

  spinning in a world that is blurred

  except for your face

  but you have kissed other girls

  and left trails of goose bumps across their

  breasts

  and they’ve fallen asleep in the same

  bed that is now mine

  i have loved other boys

  written poem upon poem about butterflies

  with their fingerprints

  on dusted and shimmery wings;

  i don’t think of them anymore

  all i see is you

  and all i wish

  is to be all you see, too

  movement

  i think we’re soul mates,

  and in another life,

  we would meet

  in the right place,

  at the right time,

  and grow old together.

  bed of roses

  i will never grow tired

  of his arms around me

  and listening to his slow breaths

  while he sleeps

  as i stay awake

  to entertain the stars

  happiness: you have to try

  “happiness is all about perspective.” it’s what they all say, and they’re all right. everything could be going wrong, but we have the power to choose to be optimistic and focus on the positives. little things. lavender epsom salt baths, sharing meals with people you love, and the way the sky changes colors when you’re walking your dog in the evening. my heart is heavy, but at least i’m alive, at least it’s beating. this is something that i’m terrible at. i have become such a pessimistic person and it’s eating at my soul. this isn’t who i want to be. i used to be able to see the good in everything, in everyone, and now my brain goes straight to the negatives and into a spiral of hopelessness. this has a lot to do with my anxiety and mood disorders (and having those extra obstacles is out of my control, it’s not my fault. i have to remind myself of this), but it is still in my control to do the best i can to maintain my mental health and change my thought processes so i can be the happiest and greatest version of myself (this is also something i have to remind myself. my mental disorders are not an excuse to lie down and accept defeat). so i read this book that tells me to decatastrophize, and positive self-talk, and meditate, and i try. i found a therapist, i went to the gym with my boyfriend last week and felt sore for three days straight, and i’m doing my best to not let my fears keep me from living. today, as i was walking back from picking up a package at my apartment’s leasing office, i thought about how perspective is #1, and environment feels a lot like #2. i lived in delaware for the summer, in an apartment way too big for the four of us, by the highway, surrounded by vacant shopping centers and not much else, and i was very sad for the majority of july and august. i wasn’t happy there. i felt isolated and alone.

  i could’ve been happy there. i could’ve changed my perspective and embraced the little things that made me happy, but i didn’t. i could have done more, but i didn’t. i didn’t really try. but the thing is, if you’re in a place that you like, a place with good energy, it’s a lot easier to try. in delaware, we had a couch, a coffee table, a tv on tv stand, a large dining table; here, we have a mattress, two nightstands, a small kitchen table, and a projector. there is nothing on the walls, not many personal touches, but it feels more like home here than delaware ever did. it’s just as hot here, but less sweltering, and the leaves will change colors and become crunchy stepping-stones soon. kids ride their scooters on the sidewalk and talk to me about my dogs. our neighbors introduce themselves and smile instead of avoiding eye contact. i feel less isolated, and more inclined to be a part of the space around me.

  i don’t feel like time is frozen, like i’m missing out, i feel hopeful. i feel happiness on the tip of my tongue. i feel like i can become the person i’ve been talking about being for what feels like so long now. and most of that is perspective, i’ve grown tired of always being so tired and not doing anything about it. but it’s also where i am, and i am somewhere far away from where i grew up, far away from all my friends and family, but i feel surrounded, and comfortable, and on the verge of something wonderful.

  naked

  i’ve begun to use the shower curtain as a veil—the

  flowing water to camouflage my tears—whenever i need

  to cry

  i am afraid to cry in front of him because he told me i

  must cry to succeed; to collect the tears as fuel to hurl

  myself into better things

  he’s told me i cannot simply cry as a gesture of defeat, that it makes me weak, but sometimes i need to cry, not for any other purpose except to let the hurt leave my body and whirl down the drain

  hurt that says

  you are your father’s daughter

  you are incapable of empathy

  i tell him that it isn’t true, and he tells me not to touch

  him

  i am too self-conscious to weep in front of a man whom

  i share my bed with, a man who has seen all of me, so i

  cry while the water burns me and he is fast asleep

  i sing hideously along to “wolves” by phosphorescent

  i cry and i am so glad he is unable to see me so

  vulnerable, that he is not there to tell me to stop

  i cry without inhibition and let snot drip over my lips

  i cry because i cannot deny my humanness

  i am not always strong

  or empathetic, or right, or wrong

  or capable

  neither is he, neither is any of us;

  every once in a while,

  i wish he would join me.

  sufficiency

  when i feel like running away, i cannot find anywhere that i truly want to disappear in. i consider every city i’ve considered before—charlottesville, philadelphia, new york, dc—but they all feel like wrinkled laundry. too familiar, lacking promise, excessively expensive, uninspiring. they all have their own memories and energies that prohibit them from truly being an emotional island; a nonexistent dreamland, a new place where no one can reach me. i can’t seem to find the sense of escapism, isolation, excitement that my heart desires. i crave a city where i can be no one, where i can blend into the humming repetition of sidewalks and polluted air. i dream of living alone in a studio apartment with hardwood floors and large windows and white tile in an outdated bathroom. in this place—which is most likely a state of mind, rather than something so tangible as a location—i am alone, i am sufficient, i am free. i have no one to get annoyed at for not doing the dishes. I cannot blame the high electricity bill on my lover’s obsession with being cold. there is no one there to tell me that i must be more than i am. i am released from the choking grasp of constantly seeking approval from those who i want to love me without terms. i leave food out on the counter and throw it away in the morning when i notice it’s spoiled. i fall asleep in a ball with the covers wrapped around me. i meet people who hold no expectations for me—they simply take me as i am, as i pray that they teach me the art of acceptance.

  home

  i haven’t felt like i’ve had a home in quite some time. i’ve

  always been split between

  a few separate places.

  there’s hardly ever been any kind of consistency in my life, besides my dog, and growing up has made it that much worse. i’ve moved away from my parents’ houses, i wouldn’t call them homes, and this place i’ve only known for less than six months feels warmer than any house i grew up in. this bed, although smaller, sleeps easier. my heart feels content in the dark and still when the morning light creeps through my blinds. maybe it’s because it’s my space to create, space that makes me feel safe. a safe haven filled with carnations in glass vases and twinkly lights and mason jars as cups.

  i panic when things change; heart inside lungs, fingernail
s in palms, skin on fire. and as i’ve grown older, even my parents feel less familiar, less like home. i panicked when i couldn’t be there for my sister’s tenth birthday, the first one i’ve ever missed. i panic when i think about how very soon i’ll have to leave this place—these people, these mountains—that’ve become so comfortable. how can i bring myself to leave something that’s nearly “good enough”? i panic when i think about how i might never be able to stay put.

  and then i realized, in the middle of a walmart parking lot, of all places—

  written all over my flesh,

  “you are home,

  you are home,

  you are home.”

  these bones, this heart; i am my own home.

  i could sail across the ocean, or get stuck in the middle of it, but i’ll never be lost.

  i am home.

  tokyo

  you must keep falling in love

  knowing that it will destroy you

  if you believe that this—romantic love,

  infatuation,

  obsession—will set you free

  you will forever be

  trapped in cages

  you put yourself in

  let it hurt

  and bleed

  and grow

  and know that it is

  not meant to be everything

  you want,

  yet,

  it is everything

  it is everything.

  please, please, please

  ears ringing

  reminiscing

  the simplicity of 16

  nostalgic for the innocence

  and naïve optimism

  i’d just discovered the smiths

  and the allure of twisted souls

  the possibility of it all

  of connection

  of becoming

  of leaving a speck

  in the eye of a world

  that didn’t see me,

  not yet

  i could be anything.

  lover, rescuer

  a painful silence,

  dragging on of snoozed alarms

  set for no meetings

  you will feel a slight

  pressure to be better, to

  feel alive again

  and it is all up

  to you; you must be your own

  lover, rescuer

  dryer sheets

  i hope you know

  that when i tell you goodnight

  it’s simply because

  i love you

  and not because

  i need you

  attach

  i have become exactly what neither one of us wanted me to be—believing i am incomplete without you.

  commit

  i don’t just want him to love me

  i want him to choose me

  over

  and

  over

  again

  i want him to see a light in me—although it may flicker

  i want him to know,

  i want him to be sure.

  collapse

  sometimes, i’m afraid that he treats me like a deranged housewife in circle skirt and plaid apron, holding a knife, waiting for him as he arrives home from work. he gently sets down his briefcase and reasons with me, slowly pulls away the kitchen aid and takes me into his arms where he can hold me in place until he feels i am less volatile, until he feels it is safe to be honest without such violent reactions, until he can gather up the children and take them to his mother’s house, until he can safely tell me that he no longer wishes to stay.

  piano songs

  the sadness is so heavy

  it sits on my chest, mimics the feeling

  of standing in the middle of a blizzard in minnesota

  i am so cold

  i feel frozen

  usually i cannot get my mind to seize scattered

  thoughts

  now, there is nothing

  white, blank, open space

  it is bitter

  and empty

  and numb

  i cannot even indulge in the hurt

  cannot cry along to sad songs or

  find comfort in the vibrance of an open wound

  it is all around me

  yet,

  there is nothing

  liability

  i feel so heavy

  because i feel that

  i am

  so much

  and i fear

  letting anyone know

  that i am not a feather

  because boys like

  simplicity

  and i am anything

  but that

  boys don’t settle down with

  manic pixie dream girls,

  they just kiss their necks

  for a while

  until they find someone

  a little more boring

  and a lot less burdensome

  september

  i have lost myself so terribly,

  but i’m starting to find a way back

  slowly.

  post-breakup treks

  i went downtown to a show at a record store. the bands reminded me of bands i liked when i was fourteen, songs you played when you were my age. they screamed and played videos of puppies on a screen projector above them. i watched the shadows move back and forth and thought about you a lot, but i felt okay. i got my period in the bathroom and smiled. the sticker over the light switch said “you are beautiful.” i thought the bassist was cute, but later i saw him with his girlfriend, who was the sister of the lead singer. they both wore glasses and matching flannels and smiled with their arms around one another. i thought they were probably perfect for each other. i thought they probably knew it.

  the singer said, “this next one is a breakup song.” at first it made me laugh and then i felt like i couldn’t breathe. i wish i wasn’t a wreck since you left me. i wish i wasn’t a wreck since you left me. i wish i wasn’t a wreck since you left me.

  as i walked towards the back of the open room and out through the foggy glass doors, i wished i smoked so i had an excuse to sit outside on the sidewalk. i sat there anyway, up against the cold brick. my ears were ringing. i kept hoping someone would hit on me.

  at ten o’clock, with black X’s on the backs of my hands, i sat outside eating cheese puffs from the convenience store across the street. then i went home. but i didn’t want to be alone, so i met a subaru outback in front of my house at midnight and left for a party full of people i didn’t know.

  we got there and i suddenly felt very small, like a child. i licked watermelon sugar off a lime-green baby bottle pop while everyone around me drank blue raspberry-flavored vodka and chain-smoked. it was very amusing—both to them, and to me. a girl told me she heard what had happened, and that she was glad i was keeping busy. a boy named josh i’d never met before kept hugging me. he remembered my name, and was very happy for no reason at all.

  and i stood in the middle of the hallway, listening to the voice of a stranger tell his friend about how he took photos of a girl kissing a boy who wasn’t her boyfriend so she’d know what she did in the morning, and i thought about how nothing should hurt because we’re all floating.

  i undressed and fell into bed at three.

  i didn’t cry today, not once.

  antidepressants

  i think since i’ve gone on antidepressants, i’ve been perceived as cold (well, i know this—i’ve been told this) / which is a really strange thing for me to experience because i am a very warm and sensitive person / but the logical part of my brain has taken over, and i’m not used to functioning in a state of composure rather than intense emotion / i really don’t think that i like it, i don’t feel like me, i need to set up a doctor’s appointment / but it has been really very nice not having so many panic attacks + feeling very happy for no reason at all.

  the guilt of indifference

  i’ve been listening to “make me dumb” by joyce manor on repeat
all day because it makes my heart feel light. i have this driving loop i do when i feel like clearing my head and i screamed it with the windows down and i couldn’t stop smiling. the weather was so beautiful today. i sat on my back porch and journaled. i ran errands in a dress and no coat. i felt so happy. this afternoon i cried for the first time in a while because i don’t know why i feel the way i do (or why i seem to not feel anything at all), but only for a moment. all i really feel lately is indifference and happiness. i usually care so much about everything, usually feel so desperate or uneasy or empty. i don’t really feel any of that anymore. i’m kind of just here . . . open and irrationally content. i met a boy in the dark last night past midnight at the playground. he smelled good and i liked the feeling of his fingers on my arm. i don’t know if i was just tired or if all my emotions are dulled, but i didn’t really know how to act. i didn’t know how i felt. i feel like i cannot read myself at all anymore. like i’m a stranger even to myself. it’s probably the medicine.

  remember all the poems i wrote about him?

  listening to a playlist an old “love” made for me. i’m thankful for all the connections i’ve had. i don’t feel bitter, i don’t feel longing. i look back on it fondly and feel warm, and grown, and i belly-laugh at my naïveté. my imagination and hopefulness is something i must always embrace. it is what i am best at—creating, romanticizing, embracing. i don’t know him anymore, the boy i used to know, but i hope he is well. people can be chapters that you close forever without it being tragic. i can listen to old songs that remind me of him, and i don’t miss him an ounce, but i wish for his happiness. how beautiful is that?

  blue tang fish

  obsessed with adoration

  thirteen, sixteen

  selfish and self-obsessed