costa concordia

12/21/2025

(content warning: eating disorder, alcohol abuse, whining)

i used to like the mornings

i’ve had the ballad of the costa concordia by car seat headrest stuck in my head lately, an 11-minute 30-second song cataloguing a mental breakdown that feels very young adult in nature. that’s the opening line: “i used to like the mornings,” and i did for a time. i’m not so sure anymore.

i looked forward to messaging them when i woke up; we had similar sleep schedules, so it all worked out. suddenly my circadian rhythm’s shift wasn’t so annoying because the newly allotted time had purpose. it became routine, good morning and good night texts, sending reels back and forth as we woke up.

now i’m usually coming to a new disappointment as they flake out on plans, or take hours to wake up, or dodge taking their meds despite asking me to remind them. it’s not their fault, it’s the depression, i know this, but the malcontent remains. they say i can tell them anything and then they brush over most texts i send about my mood. their good mornings and good nights get shorter and shorter, sometimes just a petname instead of the well wishes i’d grown accustomed to. it shouldn’t hurt, yet it does.

the breakdown of the ballad includes a central, repeating line: “how was i supposed to know?” to drive a van, make dinner for myself, hold a job, not get drunk every thursday, friday, saturday, and why not sunday? how was i meant to steer this ship? how was i meant to live as an adult when i’m still so young and unprepared?

i’ve felt that lately. they got upset with me for my self-destructive tendencies, skipping meals and drinking and bottling up feelings, and i think they were within their rights to, though the hypocrisy grates at me. they smoke cigarettes, self-isolate, forget their medication, and i give them patience. i slip, they grow irate. i’m not entitled to the same grace i extend.

they tell me they want to take care of me, support me no matter what, and then they barely ask how i am anymore without prompting. i understand what they’re going through, i don’t blame them, but how am i supposed to believe those words when there’s never a follow-through? they push themself to hang out with friends and give up when it comes to me; that is fine, for the record, though it doesn’t lend credence to their claims that i’m their priority. i’m just not, plain and simple.

“it was an expensive mistake. you can’t say you’re sorry and then it’s over. i was given a body that is falling apart, my house is falling apart, and i was given a mind that can’t control itself.”

“and what about the pain that i’m in right now?” this has stuck out most to me. i’m struggling as well, though i know deep down it’s not as bad and therefore needs to be set aside. they have tangible, material circumstances that are causing their current distress - pet loss, a crushing job, chronic dysphoria, seasonal affective disorder. i have nothing. i’m just like this, no particular reason. nothing but the inherent rot inside me.

i’ve always wanted someone who’d just sit with me in the bad moments, let me lay on top of them when i have a migraine or brush my hair back after purging. i thought they could be that person, though i was too quick to assume. my main regret is all the pain i’ve caused them by imposing unfair expectations.

i’m coming to expect the status quo. i have to force hanging out, so if it’s up to them to come over, it won’t happen. there’s a good chance they’ll pull back or feel worse no matter what i do, try to initiate sexual intimacy even after telling me they dissociate during the act. i’m trying regardless, though i am very, very tired.

another car seat headrest song comes to mind, this one off of disjecta membra, an album absent from streaming platforms: the hard part. it uses the same chord progression as sober to death and i believe it’s written about the same toxic, immature relationship. i related that song to my ex as our relationship was crumbling. i hope things aren’t so dire this time around.

the solution here is likely adult communication as it tends to be, but i’m not sure a discussion is useful at this time. they’ve got enough on their plate without worrying about our relationship; i fear my issues could come off as accusation or rejection instead of the constructive criticism i’d like it to be. they may not have the ability to change right now, so i’ll save my thoughts until they do. even if it makes my throat tight.

i’m supposed to be writing love notes for their advent calendar and instead i’m complaining about my partner. what an ungrateful piece of shit i am. i just need to do one nice thing for them while they’re struggling, yet i can’t even manage it without pitching a fit. ugh.

sometimes i want to recover and other times i believe i do not deserve to eat. this is one of those times. it’s a matcha for breakfast, soju for dinner kind of day.

~april