100 mg of Sertraline

On paper it seemed like Abbey and I were the perfect match for each other. We loved all of the same movies. We expanded each others musical tastes. We traded books. Hours were spent pouring over Ansel Adams and Henri Cartier Bresson photographs. Abbey painted copies of Degas' ballet dancers. I pounded away at my keyboard writing fantastical scripts. She could read my mind when I'd look up at her. I could finish her sentences as if they were my own. On paper, it all seemed to fit.

So how is it that the world can let two people who were once so in love and felt destined to be together, let them fight and yell and scream and be mean and say hurtful things?
What kind of fate is that? Why even bother?

"What if I got it wrong?
And no poem or song
Could put right what I got wrong,
Or make you feel I belong.
What if you should decide
That you don't want me there by your side?
That you don't want me there in your life?"

I want to scream these words at the top of my lungs for the world to hear. I want to curse the Gods. I want to spit in their faces and make them feel for a moment the emptiness my heart has felt since Abbey left.

Abbey is gone. She said she "couldn't do this anymore" because it hurt her too much. She said the blast had changed her. She couldn't keep drudging along in something she wasn't happy with when she and I still had full lives to live. She said our relationship wasn't healthy. She said she didn't want to be the cause of pain in my heart anymore.
So she packed her things, gave Sawyer a scratch on the head and left.

She let go. She let go of me.

For the record, there's nothing she can't do. She can do anything she sets her mind to. The fact of the matter is she doesn't want to keep trying. She doesn't want to see through the bad and good. Which I guess in turn means she doesn't want me.

Then, BOOM! It's six months later and she's touching someone else as I sit here writing to you, recounting the last few years of my life, dissecting every moment I can remember, trying to figure out how it all went wrong.

I could care less that the world around me is literally falling to pieces because of an atomic blast somewhere over the airspace of Kansas and Oklahoma. I don't care that my fingernails and teeth glow in the dark at night. I'm not bothered by the new eye growing in place of Sawyer's blind one. I don't care that I don't have a job to go to, or that I can't check my emails. My world has completely shattered against the ground and this time it doesn't seem like some glue will hold the pieces together again.

Kindly, Dr. So-and-So has me popping 100 mg of Sertraline every morning to help curb the depression, obsessive compulsive disorder and moments of anxiety or manic highs. To help pass my time, I'm scheduled for an hour long therapy session every other Monday.

Red and blue Tuinals. Lipstick red Seconals.

It's very not precise, this pill popping business.

No matter where I go, I see Abbey. I see visions of the life we had, and the ideas we had planned. This city is full of ghosts of a life lived so long ago. I need to find a new place where I don't see a reminder of her on every street corner. I know that no matter where I go, she's forever inside my head, but I can't stand the sight of this place any longer.