It shouldn’t have been him.

I went and got a haircut. I came home and put on a face. My insides don’t match my outsides. 

I’m sitting at my kitchen table and I’m scrolling like I’m trying to find a seed of courage in my phone. I feel like something has been lost inside of me and I can’t quite grasp what it is. I feel full and I feel empty. 

I feel – that’s just it.

When I was doing my makeup I kept having this thing that has been called dissassociating but it felt different this time. Like it lasted minutes instead of seconds.

I had to look away from the mirror because I kept feeling like the person I was seeing was different. That somehow the person I was feeling like I had become, was something else. That the thoughts inside my head, had finally found themselves in a body that I did not recognize – but that I really had because I had been watching this person’s life from afar.

This feels strange today. Is this how I grieve? Am I constantly in grief over the life I left behind, the people who have died, and the person I used to be?

Who am I right now, if it’s not the person that I am seeing in the mirror? 

I am changing so fast that I don’t feel like I have enough time to keep up to myself. My hopefully final proofs of my book are in Richmond right now and they have cleared customs. Monday night I will have them by the latest. This is huge. But I keep wanting to pull back because I don’t know if people will really actually think it’s worth reading. I mean, I was 18 years old when I started writing it, and I talk like a child. I acted like a child because deep down I was.

That voice that starts off in the beginning is so naive. But it changes, just as I changed. And my voice becomes something else – as I become someone else in entirety. 

I hope it’s readable. Because I want people to know what it was like for me. That my life wasn’t so horrible that I decided to start doing meth. It’s that when I tried it for the first time, in a recreational fashion – I was instantly done. 

I sometimes laugh at the small amount that I speak of through the book. That it only took half a point to keep me awake and content for about 24 hours. Because I was a child even though I was not a child’s age. I almost wanted to remove the parts where I talked about my consumption amount because I didn’t want people to think I was an idiot for thinking a point was a large amount of drugs – because it was to me. 

Everything was so different.

I am trying to distract myself by thinking about things that are not about tomorrow. Because tomorrow we will all gather to pay our respects to Kevin’s family and his friends, and it’s making me feel sick. 

I can’t believe it was him. It shouldn’t have been him.