Spencer Moseley

Content note: This piece explores themes of depression and suicidal thoughts in a fictional context. Please take care while reading. "Things really took a turn when you dyed your hair jet black," I said. "They turned before that." "When?" I persisted. "This was always me."  I heard the shakiness in the voice. I could feel their anxiety so fully. How could I empathize this completely? Never mind that. I dug my heels in.  "You wrote poetry before." "I wasn't really a poet though. I was a wannabe poet." "I liked your poems." The shaking came next. The breaths grew shallow. Red flush to the face. "If you think I can just be that unstable loser I once was—" Wait.  The "I"... wasn't me...  Someone else was talking to me— Questioning me.

The clinks of silverware on plates. The sizzle of eggs frying in hot oil. The smiles of my waitresses, their soothing voices. It was almost too much in Houston's Avalon Diner. Not objectively too much. Just too much for me. You see, for me to not have anxiety, I need to be curled up with my dog watching TV and partially dissociating in a comfy bed. And outside of that experience, fear accompanies me in some small way.  "I'll umm, yeah umm. I'll umm have the, uhh, water and a coffee please." "Would you like to order food too?" (I think she said that, couldn't quite hear her so I assumed that's what she said).  "Oh, yes, umm, I'll also have the uhh, turkey, cheese—swiss cheese—and avocado omelet." "Yes sir," and she said it with an affectionate smile I didn't feel I deserved.  Jesus, dude, how many times you gonna say umm and uhh?? The wait for each item was perfect. I was able to finish a chapter of my book between each...

Person 1: Holy shit, there’s a person standing on top of that building. Person 2: Holy—damn, you’re not kidding. Except he or she… they? Looks weird. Person 1: Yeah. I see a face. Person 2: Same. And a giant heart underneath it. Person 1: Where’s the rest of his body? Person 2: Yep. Wait is it a him? Oh yeah it’s a him. I see it now. Person 1: He has no other body parts. Just a face and a heart. WTF. Person 2: Is he trying to jump? Person 1: He’s definitely looking down at us. He’s smiling. (beat) Now he’s panicking. Person 2: Oh god. I can see his heart pounding. Like… aggressively. What the fuck is this? Person 1: I just wanted to see the Empire State Building. Person 2: Should we call for help? Person 1: OH SHIT. HE’S JUMPING. Person 2: Wh—what the— Why is he falling in slow motion? Person 1: He’s not falling. He’s… hovering. Person 2: He’s fully freaking out. But also— He's... fine? Person 1: I don’t want to catch him. Person 2:  Ew gross. Why would we? P...

i don't wanna keep living in a world where we pretend the “Baskin Robbins” logo shouldn’t be a robin (the bird) “basking” in the sunlight. we simply have to be better as a species and make this happen. not for our sake— for posterity. would we really want aliens to visit us and NOT see that? that’s the real question. a superhero whose only power is that he has a detachable penis. now that’s a story i can get behind. he uses his own dick as a whip, swinging it by the shaft while the hairy balls knock out his foes. okayyyy, spencer. stfu. lately i’ve been feeling like a silly goose. not always in the good way. i think it’s cuz i let judgment get to me. like if i’m singing in a grocery store (not too loudly, i’m not a psycho) and people look at me unfavorably, i give fucks. i literally hand them a fuck. they open the fuck-letter and it reads: “i’m sorry for being me. you are entitled to this letter as emotional compensation for making you feel uncomfortable while you looked for ...

tell me a story, said my son. i tussled his hair. tussling is my thing. love a tussle. and i cracked open dr. seuss to page 40. just kidding. no dr. seuss book makes it past 3 pages, i’m pretty sure. GREEN EGGS AND HAM… then something about yams. idk. i lost the plot because i’d been selling bullshit all day and i was tired. but my son was fascinated. he was past the thumb-sucking age but now in the nail-picking stage, and he hung onto every word with this neutral expression, barely suppressing how excited he was that i was reading to him. i’m not sure what he got out of it. ok, just kidding again. he loved me. and i loved him. and reading to him connected us. and dr. seuss had enough rhyme scheme and a passable plot to keep his young brain engaged. i sipped my coffee. it had unsweetened almond milk and was an unsweet coffee. it had this fake flavor i could tolerate and slightly enjoy. chobani’s unsweet creamer was also weird. i guess all diet drinks are. he lulled into sleep at pa...

un. cer. tain. ty.  what a word. this encapsulates my whole life transition lately. i feel very much uncertain and anxious. i always have and i suppose i always will. i think on the positive side of this, i am very sensitive to others and myself. i can read people. i can see when i've taken a joke too far. i can tell when someone else has taken a joke too far. but the downside is a sickening anxious feeling in my stomach. i crave certainty. because to me certainty = safety. but safety also = boredom. so i've been trying to transition to seeing that sickening feeling as an opportunity for adventure. that sickening feeling is interesting for me. it can overwhelm my brain to where i can't process thoughts. it would be like driving and then all of a sudden a wall comes up in front of you on the highway and you crash. airbag deploys. driving halted abruptly. that's how waves of anxiety hit me. i can start to feel like taking my skin off. i pick at my nails to manage this fee...