I can't find her anywhere, and I think she fell out of my pocket while I was down at the bay.
more below.
I was down at irondequoit bay having a weird trip back to my childhood running along the rocks of the pier, and I took a couple photos of her down by the water.
I thought I put her back in my pocket but I couldn't find her anywhere. even if I had immediately turned around and gone back, and even if I was using a flashlight, there's no guarantee that I'll find her.
She's been my anchor through all the terrible shit I've been through in the past year. having her in my pocket was a reassurance. if I had a doubt, she was there like a rosary for a catholic, something to cling to in moments of doubt and pain.
fuck. I'm crying over a plastic horse. I feel so useless.
She was like a friend---listen, I'm a writer, alright? that's what I am, who I am. I write. when it comes to my characters, I know them better than I know myself. I can tell you why they like or dislike any given dessert, what they had for breakfast for two days ago, how often they look at their watch, their childhood memories, old lovers, what they hope to accomplish, why they think and act the way they do.
This imagined version of her was my sponsor. she was my guidance, my hope, my ability to trust myself again. and it feels like a friend has died.
She's not the first character I've "buried," either. I had this story I was working on, called "Clockwork." The main character (kind of the antagonist really) besides the mane 6 was a pony that shared a name with the story. but the problem was, he was me, and as the story neared the middle it imploded under its own weight, a dark pastiche of my suffering through a fisheye lens. He was me before I attempted to overcome addiction, and like I was during that period, he was completely insane.
at the end of the story, or should I say the planned end, he was literally ripped apart by reality in order to fix a riff in space-time, and ceased to exist. it was a terrifying and painful scene. since the story collapsed before that point, I did him a favor and buried the story with him.
Can I explain? can I put it into words to you what it's like working on the details of someone's life, only to find them gone in an instant? With so little left after I bottomed out & cleaned up, the characters I wrote and the characters of the show are friends to me in a way that probably makes me sound a little mad, but almost as meaningful as the closest friends I've had in real life.
It very may well be that when I go back to the lake tomorrow, I'll find her there laying on the ground, but there's no way to know for sure. I've found a replacement version of her on a necklace, but if it's not obvious from this post, it won't be the same.
I've lost my traveling companion, and I'm in tears over a plastic figurine and an imagined friend.
May your wings carry you home, girl
fly away for me now
and may you never feel broken again.
