challenge | creator

I can’t explain what pulled me to it. Why, in the midst of whatever breakdown I’m having, I hopped on the ferry with zero questions about where it’s going, who’s running it, anything. I just want to leave. I don’t care where I’m going, I just need to leave. There’s a part of me that doesn’t feel like it’s real, anyway; it could be a dream, a product of relapse. My fourth one, but I don’t have it in me to ask for help. In fact, my undying refusal to admit anything is wrong - ever - just cost me everything. Everyone.

They all knew.

As much as I try, I can’t hide a thing from the people who know me best, and in the end, I always end up alone - not because they leave, but because I do. Because I can’t stand it when people know too much - feel too much. I don’t know why I ever thought it’d be different.

Too proud to admit I’m struggling, but what the hell am I doing now?

I hadn’t meant it when I said I didn’t need them or their help, but the burning sensation remains on my tongue. How long ago had I said it? How long have I been on this boat?

There’s a heavy fog, blocking a view of anything surrounding me, but it’s oddly smoothing, the nothingness. The not knowing, not caring. If this is a dream, I’ll just sit back and appreciate the break. Not having to do anything or talk to anyone. Not having to say I messed up. Not having to beg for help.

How many stupid pills did I take?

I next find myself on the side of a dusty road with a splitting headache. The weird boat must have been a dream, I decide, but that doesn’t really answer where I am or how I ended up here. I don’t even know what city this is - I don’t even have a guess. All the touring and traveling I’ve done, and nothing looks at all familiar except the overwhelming amount of dust that vaguely reminds me of Pahrump. The heat is otherworldly, even with the sun setting.

Maybe I finally did take it too far.

Maybe my relapse finally did me in.

Maybe I deserve this?

Maybe it’s a dream too.

People walk past, seemingly unfazed by me, making me wonder how long I’ve been there that it doesn’t even seem weird to them; long enough to be drenched in sweat is all I know. I find myself looking around for Jacob and Isaiah in a fit of panic, but if I called them right now, I’m sure they wouldn’t come for me. I’m sure they’d just tell me to figure it out, and I can’t blame them - that’s what I always wanted, after all. To figure it out on my own. No help. No one to worry about me.

Not my band. Not my family. Not even strangers on the street.

I push myself off the curb, rubbing my head. There’s no bruise even though it hurts like hell. I’m not bleeding. I don’t hurt anywhere else. I had to have zoned out. This has to be a dream too, and if it is, I’ll enjoy the nothingness for awhile before I have to go back to the real world and face everyone again.

I have to find out where I am still; I don’t see a sign, so I turn into the first building I come across, a restaurant. It’s trying to mimic a 50’s style diner, but the dim lighting ruins the illusion of it. Even though there’s still some daylight outside, as soon as I step in, it feels like a place you stumble into at 3 AM after a night of partying, when you’re too drunk to care much about the aesthetic value. Everyone just ignores the constant flickering overhead, so I do too.

No one looks up when the bell chimes, not even the woman at the host stand. There’s a distant sizzling sound coming from the back and no music, just the idle chiming of silverware against plates.

“Are you lost, honey?” The host asks me, finally lifting her eyes but not her head.

I don’t want to admit I am. Maybe I’m not?

I just shake my head. “No, I just -.”

“Then have a seat.”

“Sure…”

I find a seat near the window on the left side of the building. It looks dark, darker than it had been when I was outside. I decide to accept it, let it be what it is - confusing, weird, but not really my problem. Not my concern. The cooks start laughing in the back, the only sign of life in the whole place. Everyone else looks dead or dying. It dawns on me I probably look like that too - no sleep, wandering in off the street hungover. I feel oddly at peace; oddly accepted. “You look new - what brings you?” The host asks me. I hadn’t realized she was at my table and I don’t know how long she has been.

I shake my head. “I don’t really know.”

“Thought you said you weren’t lost,” she remarks, putting a menu down in front of me.

“I’m not.”

“Mmm.” She doesn’t seem convinced, but ultimately shrugs me off. “You look new, but you definitely belong.”

I’m not sure what she means by that, but for some reason, it’s reassuring. Maybe I do.

Maybe I’m not lost.

Maybe this isn’t a dream, but a beginning?

Or maybe I just desperately need some sleep. Desperately need help but that’s a problem for a later time.

“You know what you want?”

I don’t register the question at first. I can tell she’s been waiting for a minute by the way she’s staring at me, eyebrow arched. She looks dead in the eyes too…

I can’t even think of eating. “Uh - can I just get coffee for now?”

Her laugh echoes throughout the entire restaurant as she shakes her head at me like I’ve ordered something totally ridiculous. “You’re out of luck, honey. Fresh out of coffee.”