Okay

Okay is such a funny word. I love it. If you tell someone that you are okay they assume that you mean you are good. For me that is not what okay means though. For me okay means that my blood is pumping and my lungs are breathing, that’s it. Being okay has nothing to do with feeling good. Being okay has nothing to do with being happy. Being okay means being alive, no matter by how thin a thread.

I am actually okay today. I love saying that to people. Since I’ve started saying okay people think I’m good. Since I’ve started saying okay people don’t bother me so much. Saying okay lets me spend time with my darkness.

My darkness is like a pet. I really do like to think of it that way. It’s actually one of the few things that I can count on in life. Sure it likes to gouge holes out of me and leave me at the precipice of death but that’s how it likes to play.

Since I adopted my strange companion everything else pales. People are transparent and most of the time barely even there. Things loose meaning most of the time. The only thing that exists is my morbid new pet. It makes all reality seem like some sort of farce. It’s like I’m a puppet being pulled by people who live in a world that is dead to me. My lovely little pet is only trying to rescue me in the best way it knows. My one true companion loves me. One day joining it in the depths of oblivion is my one true joy. The thought of being with it forever is, dare I say it, almost orgasmic.

There are people though, that do not want me to be with my pet. Instead they try and tell me be whole, be happy, stay here with us. They call me selfish because I don’t want to be where I don’t want to be.

But they really don’t have to worry all that much. I’ll be around for a while. I mean, I’m okay; really.