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IKE - I’m Not Even Mad

I'm Not Even Mad IKE It happened on New Year’s Eve. Cheap beer. Fake smiles. Some random farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. While I was pretending to have fun, he was shirtless in a club somewhere, tongue down someone else’s throat. They told me later. I forgave him. Then I left. Then I came back. Then I forgave him again. That was the pattern. That was the fucking ritual. Three weeks ago he said he loved me. Again. Like love is something you can pause and restart when it’s convenient. I tried to see him. He built walls out of silence. Now I just want to hear his voice. Not to fix anything. Not to forgive. Just to make sure I didn’t hallucinate an entire relationship. But I’m not even mad. No really, I’m great. I slept nine hours. Took five pills. Drank too much. Cried over dumb shit I don’t even care about. Totally balanced. Totally sane. I’m not even mad. I keep saying it like it’s a spell. Last night I invited strangers over. Everyone wanted something. Hands. Mouths. Noise. One guy tried. Got awkward. I got bored. He did his thing. I stared at the ceiling. He finished next to me like I wasn’t even there. I put a pillow over my head like that could kill the moment or maybe me. In the morning I kicked him out. Cleaned the house like a crime scene. Bleached everything. Deleted numbers. Ignored calls. Never saw him again. It’s not a memory. It’s just static. Sometimes we’re the victims. Sometimes we’re the assholes. Sometimes we’re both and nobody wins. Why am I telling you this. Why am I still fucking talking. My chest caves in and I blame the weather. I blame the year. I blame everyone who taught me how to survive but never how to sit with pain without numbing it. I’m not even mad. Look at me functioning. Look at me joking. Look at me holding it together with pills, hookups and distractions. Totally balanced. Totally sane. I’m not even mad. I just feel everything too loud and all at once. People will say about me he’s hot, he’s smart, he’s funny. Tonight he’s out on a date. I didn’t even want to tell anyone. I’ll lie if I have to. We said we’d never lie. We said feelings were dangerous. Sex was easier. But sometimes surviving is the only fucking rule left. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. If I say it enough times it has to stick. Right. I’m not even mad. I swear I’m okay. I’m productive. I’m polite. I answer texts. I show up. I smile at the right moments. Totally balanced. Totally sane. I’m not even mad. I’m just one bad night away from admitting I’m not. If I disappear for a while don’t make it dramatic. I’m not even mad. I’m just tired of pretending this doesn’t hurt like hell.