I'M NOT ADRIFT | Eminem

Just waiting.
Lying together.
Silently holding our breath.
Silently hoping that we both still loved one another.
I still love him.
I don't want to vocalize it right now.
I just feel drowsy.
I'm sniffling.
I can't control my breath.
It frustrates me.
I take large panic breaths.
I feel myself becoming hazy.
I feel the sleep grasp.
It's waiting for me.
'You can rest now'
Look up at the stars.
Spread to the ceiling.
I try to leave.
Leave this moment, ready to continue on in the morning.

"Are you ok...?"
I don't get to leave.
I have to stay.
I need to respond.
Silence is scary.
When you say nothing, people always assume the worst.
They cry harder.
They hold you tighter.

That psychotic girl.
That girl who dropped out of high school because she spent most her time in some division of a hospital somewhere.
My friends were pounded with questions.
'Where'd she go?'
'What's her problem?'
They couldn't answer.
They could say where they thought I was.
They thought correct.
But it hurt too much to actually put it in words.

She's off screaming in a closed box some where.
They watch her from the two cameras in the opposing corners.
They watch her through the glass, not caring that she wants them to leave her alone.
They watch her screaming and crying, wishing that she could just be held by her mom.
She didn't care that it's her own mother that brought her here.
She doesn't care anymore.
She just want's to be in her own bed.
The strict and starchy sheets that are thin so you don't kill yourself.
Yeah.
Those got tiring
Now she's just cold.
She's me.

"I'm not sure if I'm ok. I don't know if I ever am."
I feel congested and the tears don't stop flowing.
This isn't about the fight.
I don't care about it all that much.
He's possessive, that's fine.

"Can I tell you something..?" He whisper into the darkness. It swallows his words like the padding of a sound-proof room.
It's his party downstairs.
I'm sure everyone's confused.
I don't know why he doesn't just leave.
There are people important to him down there.
He's wasting his time right now.

I ignore the deteriorating thoughts, deciding that I'd like to hear his voice.
"Yeah... sure"

"Being honest.... I don't know if I'm ever ok either.... I mean- yeah, in the regular sense. But feeling just ok doesn't feel all that good... I feel... afloat... just barely... like I'm just scathing disaster" His voice sounds melancholy, drifting in and out of his shifting thoughts.

"I'm in the disaster... all the time, but I'm so used to it that it doesn't feel like disaster... it just kind of feels unfortunate."

Suddenly I wonder if us being together is a good idea.
I wish I could ask him.
I want to ask him.
Though that might just make me cry more.

"Do you think part of the disaster is keeping it from everyone...? Don't get me wrong, I hate therapy and that 'open up about your feelings' shit... but doesn't experiencing a different reality alone get tiring?"
Yeah.
I guess.
It kind of feels like you're suffocating yourself.
Like you're drowning that part, watching her panic under the water, thrashing desperately.
Eventually she passes out, goes unconscious.
Then you walk away and pretend nothing happened between you until she emerges again, grabbing at your neck.

"My life feels like The Truman Show... that's the best way I can describe it... Like I know something no one else knows, like everyone else is an actor. Nothing adds up, I don't know who to trust and most of the time, if I hear a song on the radio that was stuck in my head, I'll bang my fist against the console and shout at someone to stop listening in on my thoughts... I saw the serial number on the back of a sticky note pad and threw the whole thing out cause the number had a six in it. I was born on the sixth, so to me, that was fucking terrifying. I search my microwave for cameras at least once a week and have duct tape on plenty of the electronics in my home because they could be bugged..."

I go silent for a moment.
I start giggling.
I giggle a lot.
The delirious kind.
The kind that makes people uncomfortable.
"it doesn't really unsettle me... not anymore. Sometimes...sure, but it really scares everyone else... I kind of just wish that I could go back to being fifteen, and try to fix something."

I feel him move, sitting up and gazing down at my figure in the darkness.
Laying on my side, hands up to my chest, I feel as if I could disappear into the mattress.

"I want to hear all of that... I really do, Nisha... I'm so desperate to know everything I can about you..."
I wait silently, not sure how to respond.
I partially feel guilty for hiding so much.

"you're fucking mind blowin'... I ain't never met anyone like you before... and I don't think it's cause you're a schizophrenic, I think you've just experienced so much hurt that you've had to build something incredible out of the ruins..."

I giggle more, I laugh dryly.
His words sound familiar.
Similar to my mother's.

I know he's probably confused.
Giving me a question filled gaze as he tries to scope out where my body begins and the sheets end.
It's really fucking dark in here, but my eyes adjust slowly.
I don't know why he turned the lights off. Somewhere between my crying and attempting to get me under the covers.
He wanted me to be warm.
He only ever wants to comfort me, but occasionally he needs his own reassurance.
Tonight he wanted comfort. He wanted to know that I cared about us.
That we mean something and Marshall isn't way over his head.

"You wanna know why I box...?"
It's a start.
I never really wanted to tell this story.
It's just one of those things that makes me look even crazier than I already present.
But I'm going to tell it.

"Sure, why not?" He chuckles softly, playing with the gold chain around his wrist before lying back down on his back.
He grabs my hand.
I have to adjust to the physical affection.
Sometimes I still don't feel used to it.

I feel like I'm floating right now.
My feet feel fuzzy.
My hands are strangely heavy.
I can't lift my head to save my life.
I sink back into the mattress, head not too far away from his.

"When I turned sixteen, my life kind of fell apart. I was raped the night of my birthday party and after that... it was kind of a series of unfortunate events. So one night, I was hanging out with a friend and I was fucking around with his work out equipment... and I asked him to do something for me..."
I remember everything about that year like it was a fucking movie that I couldn't stop thinking about after I saw it.
One of those.

"I asked him if he would punch me... and it felt really good...
Like ecstasy...
Like drugs... it was euphoric..."

Silence.
It's expected.

"It was like the whole world crumbed apart in that moment and also managed to build itself back together just for me... and I never got tired of it"
I breathe a sigh of fond nostalgia.
Abyss.
That's where I go.
It feels like the abyss, except it's less scary than people think... it's actually quite pleasant.

"I was covered in bruises all the time... I looked like the victim of abuse... not necessarily the product of an aching obsession to feel the weight of mortality..."
I laugh at it all.
I just giggle quietly.

We go silent... still for a moment.
Nothing completely quiet.
Music seeps in through the cracks in the door.
People shout and laugh, enjoying the party without it's host.
They're probably all drunk by now.

"Like I said... you're the most interesting person I've ever met..." He says this as if he were enamored by me.
His voice passionate and warm, he turns his face to gaze at me.
Attempt to look at me, really.

I can barely stay awake.
I need to tell him.
But I don't want to ruin this moment.
It's perfect just as it is.
It can end now, and it will be great.
Everything is fine.
I'm safe.
"I can barely stay awake... but... I love you so much Marshall..."