Voicemail


It’s 3 PM in the afternoon and I’m scared.
I feel like dying. I feel like every breath in my body is slowly, painfully getting sucked out of me. I’m in this hopeless state again. The space, silence, and hindrances you put between us become barrels caging me. The sky doesn’t feel as comforting anymore.
My soul doesn’t have a sense of sight, but it knows when the bricks start piling up around me again. I feel blind. I can’t see any future. Why did you close the door? I’m so scared. I don’t want a life or future without you. Where are you? I know you’re inside.
I have a million things to say. Why won’t you open the door? Can I at least get my things in there? Don’t you hear my knocks? I just went outside for a bit. So what’s with all the doors and windows locked? Did I do something wrong?
Why are you doing this to me? Did you plan this? I still remember us exchanging 'I love you’s the night before. What is happening?
Everything feels like a dream.
This crippling fear of completely and permanently losing you eats me alive. One moment, it stops aching then begins the next— more uncontrollable and intense this time. I want to vomit.
Is this why poets say not to make homes out of people?
I’m afraid to sleep. I’m afraid to dream. Sleeping means being half-awake the next morning and the start of another panic attack. Dreaming means nightmares and my subconscious replaying how I felt awake. I can never rest. My heart physically hurts, I feel like it’s going to burst. And not in a good way, like how I told you when you kept staring at me with that gleam in your eyes and a shiny look on your face— as if I’m the most beautiful and most ethereal thing in the world. No, not like that.
I feel like I’m walking on egg shells. One miniscule thought and I’m back to zero. I’m in this loop of temporary calmness and spiraling anxiety, fear, and hopelessness. I feel like I’m free-falling and somehow I can’t tell it to anyone. 
It’s like somehow a gun appeared in my hands and I became a criminal for something that I didn’t do. Why is there blood everywhere? What happened? What is this sentence for? This is a wrongful conviction, love.
“The pain of abandonment is much easier to deal with than unwarranted anger,” you said a long time ago. No. I’d rather burn out with you to ashes than be left hanging in the cold air alone. I’d rather have unwarranted anger than this empty inbox and space made palpable by fear. You can never make up for the hopeless pain you inflict.
“Your call has been automatically forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. The mailbox is full and cannot accept any messages at this time. Goodbye.”
I’ve been standing here for days. Where do I go? I am homeless.

Text and Visual by Samantha Fabian


4 comments

  1. i love this visual and i feel for these words. you are your own home, samantha- try to ingrain that

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  2. thank you so much, angelica. that means a lot. :')

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  3. god i love the visual so much

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