Brand None

There have been thousands, if not millions of works written about living here. In this hellhole everyone claims is possibly one of the best places on Earth. I’m telling you it’s not. I thought it was, which is why I moved here almost three years ago. But it’s just not.

Where to begin? The rent is literally “too damn high,” I pay more than $1k a month for a bedroom in a shared apartment with four roommates and nearly an hour commute to work each day. The days are long. You get off work and it’s already almost 7:30pm by the time you get home. And cooking dinner? Forget about it. Hop on Seamless and order anything you want and continue to think of ways to burn the modest income you do make into a heaping pile of ash. Don’t worry, cocaine is prevalent you can just cut the ash in.

Worst of all, people pretend to have this immense emotional depth when they don’t. Or maybe I’m being cynical. Perhaps they have emotional depth but it’s decrepit, broken and warped into this fucked up ideation that you’re somehow really special and each person you meet is quick whim of an experience. You don’t view people as the living, breathing, feeling people that they are, but as an experience for your own selfish pleasure. No one is special. Everyone is the same. Or maybe I don’t belong here and you all can go back to humping like rabbits.

It’s probably me. I’m an average looking, depressed and lonely woman hiding away in my Bushwick bedroom writing this now. I don’t know how I got here. My past seems to be twisted in cobwebs made up of the people who are no longer around. Why can’t I move past this dull, aching period of my life where I don’t see anything good coming my way?

At the same time I’m really hopeful, but what’s confusing is that I feel both of these feelings so strongly at the same time. I’m hopeless, but because I’ve always had something to look forward to I make myself believe that there is something out here for me despite the constant disappointment.

You wrapped your arms around my lower back and gripped your hands at the sweet spot where my thighs and ass meet. Your eyes met mine with fire and you lifted me up. My back pressed against the wall, but it arched as you kissed me deeply with the water running down my face. My legs hooked along the lines of your lower back and the same steam that masked the windows swirled around us.

The water carrying mascara ran clear and the flush of my cheeks became evident. You grinned and lathered up my body with soap as we drunkenly giggled. Your eyes—God I can’t stop talking about your eyes—kept meeting mine, and you’d bend your 6’3″ frame and kiss my nose when you saw fit.

You hummed love songs and I pretended they were for me. We always pretend when we’re together.

I normally hate being intimate in the shower, I even fought you as you tried to to persuade me to follow you in there. But I’m so glad I did.

your words
have been an anchor
in times of slight,
my morose manifests,
i knew you’d understand
and i’d never be alone

your words
were more than lines
they’re a way of life
the path that punishes
but not as much as
you punish yourself

people hate what you do
what will they think of me
when they find out i’m
just as perverted as you
it’s sad, but true

i choose to
no longer give my body
to someone who has
such little respect
for my personhood

no more late nights
even though
i’ve never climaxed
this hard
before letting you
between my legs

no more locking eyes
you’ll never tell me
to look and
keep looking
into your soul
ever again

no more manipulation
you don’t get to say sorry
and not stop the behavior
it’s abusive and intrusive
signs of a weak man
with an even weaker heart

no more pondering
what getting to know
you would have felt like
your unsightly interior
eclipses my attraction to you

our story is over
a sight for sore eyes
pierced the heart
the blood drained out
emptying me of
all the hope i had for
you, goodnight

you keep coming over past midnight
no one knows I know you
we don’t know each other at all

i love looking at you
your eyes ignite desire within me
i cant seem to stop letting you
make a hobby out of me

i haven't met lips,
or a tongue,
that move in such a way
the exact same rhythm
as me

your chords thunder here
alone in my room
i let you speak of sentiment
we both know is not true

when we don’t exchange words
do you feel lonely
as the sun runs through my window
that’s when you turn ghostly
i won’t hear from you again

truth is, my depth is unmatched
so far as i can tell
won't show you who i am
you’re only privy to my shell

the fire just burned
too bright,
im done fucking you
that was our final night

Today a dude on OKCupid sent me the following message:

“Are you today’s date?
Cause you’re a 10/10!”

That was probably the most exciting thing to happen to me all day.

I worked out at the gym this morning and it felt good – HIIT cardio, arms and a bit on the rowing machine. I listen to Christina Aguilera’s “Stonger” which feeds into my fantasies of getting the best beach body ever and making Ray regret ever breaking things off with me. It made me run faster.

While I was lifting, a sales manager at my work named Mike started using the bench right next to mine. He smiled at me. A tight closed-lip smile, the kind you’re not sure what they mean. I wonder what he thinks about me. I’m a squishy pear shaped girl who’s not horribly overweight, but I’m no hottie.

I wish someone would approach me in the gym and show me what to do. I’m obviously new at this. A cute trainer to tell me how I’m going to throw out my back is welcome to say hello.

I went to Phil’s tonight. We talked on the back porch about his new relationship and my lack thereof. We walked over to my house and smoked some weed. We laughed and watched a show for a bit. Then he went home.

I stayed up past midnight again doing nothing. Sleep despises me.

I stayed home today. I woke up at 6:15am and sent an email to my boss, Brent, and said I was feeling sick. It was a go-time decision based largely on the fact that he sent out a department-wide email a half hour earlier saying he would be out of the office too. I feel a little guilty but fuck it, he knows all the shit I’ve been dealing with.

I spent my time wisely though; cleaned my room and washed my bedding. I know I’ll sleep well tonight. I also watched a rom-com and finished the first season of that shitty TV show I started yesterday. But mostly, I was feeling pretty down.

I thought a lot about this one-night stand I had the weekend before last. This guy on OKCupid started messaging me, and while I don’t normally respond, he seemed oddly normal and very much my type.

Brown hair, green eyes, 6’2” and apparently we’re like 96% compatible. He ended up coming over on Saturday shortly before midnight. I told him I had weed and was watching Boy Meets World, one of his favorites, and we agreed there would be “no expectations” and I could kick him out if he was a weirdo. He wasn’t.

We talked at first and smoked a bowl to relax. He’s from San Francisco, works for a magazine and spent the last few summers running a summer camp for adults. Interesting guy, I thought. He mentioned his place had a backyard and I told him mine did too, so I walked him to my backdoor to show him and he looked down at me, grabbed by chin and kissed me. It was awesome and I wanted more.

We spent the next few hours fooling around in my bed. Kissing him was gratifying. The last few people I’d kissed were not so – they’d either use too much tongue or not enough. Jesse was a great kisser and something about his touch excited me more than my last few encounters. And I wasn’t even intoxicated, which surprised me.

The sex was incredible. We used a condom, then another, and even though we were out we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I hate having unsafe sex but I did it anyway, and for some strange reason I felt kind of safe with him.

When I was on top we stared into each other’s eyes and at one point he said, “God, you’re beautiful.” We cuddled for a while after and he ran his fingers through my hair. How can a complete stranger show so much affection toward me? It was around 3:30am and I paid for his Uber. He said he hoped to talk to me soon and left.

He texted me the following Monday and said “So that was a lot of fun the other night.” I agreed and said we should hang again. “Haha definitely. You are amazing in bed,” he replied.

Haven’t heard from him since. I guess I shouldn’t have fucked on the meeting. Lesson learned. Going to try and stop thinking about him when my mind wanders.

It’s a rainy Sunday and I’m up early. I’m meeting my aunt and grandma at MOMA at 9am because I fucked up yesterday. It’s the very least I could do.

I stop for coffee and feel confident for a minute. The autonomy of grabbing a coffee and bagel to-go in New York City is a glorious feeling. It briefly connects you to all of the other lonely folks who come in, shake their umbrella off and order an espresso.

MOMA was ok. The main exhibit was a fashion setup on the 6th floor, where I learned Champion made the first-ever hooded sweatshirt. Go figure Champion is one of the main brands at Urban Outfitters nowadays.

A Louise Bourgeois exhibit was the second main attraction. I love art, I really do, but I can’t get into the art of picture as much as the art of words. I’ve tried. I find myself captivated by a piece of work where small poems accompany each of the sketches. That’s my favorite series of the day.

As I walk out of the hall I see this giant photograph of Louise Bourgeois. She’s a woman. I didn’t expect that. There were several kid-like sketches of women with huge breasts in her gallery. I guess since I thought a man drew them I didn’t pay any mind. Now that I know a woman was behind the pencil I have a soft spot for what I saw today. I think of walking back through with my newfound respect but don’t.

My grandma, aunt and I wander the rainy streets of Midtown with no set plan. Since I live here I was supposed to come up with a few fun things to do. I take them to Top of the Rock, but we can’t buy tickets cause there’s no visibility due to the weather.

We only have a few hours before they have to make their way to JFK. Not enough time to get out of Midtown, which I loathe, so I don’t have much to show them. I take them to a Mexican restaurant off of Third Avenue I used to get drunk at every Friday during lunch when I worked at the law firm after I first moved here.

I love my aunt. We have lively conversations about politics, current events, feminism, the environment and also less controversial stuff like dealing with loss, mental health, international travel and the inner dynamics of our family. She’s supported me a lot from afar since before I went to college. She tells me multiple times today that she’s proud of me. I believe her, but I don’t know why.

I go home and turn on Netflix. I pick an inappropriate show where a little boy fucks his pillow. I don’t care, it’s just running in the background while I swipe left on OKCupid and browse Reddit.

My room’s a mess. I should get ready for the week — I need to pack my gym bag for the morning. I don’t. I stay up late doing nothing and fall asleep without plugging my phone in. I might call in sick tomorrow, but probably not.

I said aloud today, more than once,
“Why is this happening to me?”
I know the answer:
I drank like a maniac last night.

My brain had it’s own heartbeat, radiating inside my skull.
My lips felt cracked at the corners and my mouth yearned for water,
But my stomach was so empty I knew it would just come back up.

Today is my 25th birthday.
It’s the first birthday in a long time I wake up alone.
It’s 12:20pm. I already missed the morning plans I had made with my aunt and grandma who are visiting from the west coast. I decide to lie.

“I didn’t know this yesterday but a few of my friends surprised me with a birthday brunch at this awesome place I’m heading to now.
It’s hard to get reservations there and I didn’t know they made it until late last night. So can I meet up with you after Freedom Tower? I’ve been there twice already.”

There was no brunch. There were no friends.
I woke up after noon feeling like shit because I went out last night.

I went to the bathroom and dry heaved into the toilet. Nothing was coming up.
Oh right, that’s because I forgot to eat dinner last night before drinking – again.

I threw myself a happy hour for my birthday. I sent out a calendar invite to all of the coworkers I like. A lot of them came out, which was nice, but I had no one to invite but the people that I worked with.

My two best friends who live in the area are out of town. Kaitlyn’s in Idaho and Phil went camping upstate. No hard feelings for Kaitlyn, but Phil knew this weekend was my birthday and decided to make plans with his new girlfriend anyway. But, no hard feelings for Phil either cause at least he has a girlfriend now.

Last week I found out Ray had a new girlfriend. Not that he just got a new girlfriend, but that they’ve been dating for months and it’s his coworker Gwen. I liked Gwen back when Ray and I were together. She’s a bitch now.

I also found out last week that the divorce is final. I’m going to change my last name back to Emery. It makes me think of my dad. Which reminds me, this is also the first birthday without my dad.

What a fucking shitty day.