What was supposed to be a simple three-day weekend somehow spawned a monster. The kick-off was selling two treasured belongings to take care of responsibilities. I never expected to be parting ways with these, but alas - I am. I do have some resolve in knowing where they are going, and knowing that who will have them will cherish them even more than I have. But I accepted it, knowing I could spend three days with someone I care about and excited about sharing that time really put all thoughts out of my head about these items, but more important, how close of a nerve it touched upon from my past. That above all else, needing to be with someone that loved and cared about me was a distraction from my past. It was strength and foundation.
In an abrupt and brilliantly chaotic moment, that weekend away became a weekend of internalizing hurt. Crashing in on an already stunned and shattered heart, was the flood of suppressed past. It's such a mystery to me that somehow in 10 years with May, Allisin was but a visitor in our homes, and now, she perches upon my thoughts each and every day. We're doing each other no favors currently. She reminds me that I deserve this hurt, I refuse to allow her rest... so we fight.
Tuesday morning, functioning off of fragments of sleep, and a rum/vodka/whisky induced pyroclastic floe inside my head, I realize that all of the bedding is blood-stained, and I have 20 minutes to shower and get to work. That creeping swathe of pain when the hot water hits the wounds was nauseating, I buckled. It's never like that. But to work I went. Of course I wasn't able to focus, and of course I was going to fuck something up, and my boss, for the first time ever, called me out on it; yelling as he wrote me up and sent me home. Quite startling, like a slap back to reality. Amazing how sobering the fear of being unemployed and homeless is. He called me that night to see if I was okay, and apologized for the demeanor, and told me he made arrangements so I could take the week off and get my act together. I failed.
Tuesday, I was reminded that I had plans to meet up with a friend for coffee and catch up. "Good grief", I thought, "this isn't going to be catching up, this is going to be a therapy session." I told her I was in no state to hang out, she told me that's the perfect reason to hang out. And she was right, I felt okay finally. I voiced it... I felt like I could be okay.
Serendipity had other plans and kept me up til 6 in the morning. I chose to disembark on the same train from the weekend. Actually with a little less sense of caring and sort of hoping we hit something and derailed. Again, fate stepped in; took the pretty, shiny, pointy things away and took me to a movie. I thought I was okay, but not voicing anything and only witnessing in silence someone else's twisted mind, left me with mine. Didn't sleep.
Thursday - I wanted to run away. Actually, St. Augustine was where I wanted to go, but a glimpse at the bank account reminded me that you are staying put. It just didn't get any better. There is still laundry on the bed from Sunday waiting to be folded. Nothing in the art book got done, tables are still covered with fucking everything. And what's worse, I realized I am still as capable of jealous feelings as I ever was. Even though I have no right to feel them, and it's utterly a selfish act, there they are. Ripping at what's left of my arms and heart. I don't even remember how that day closed, I think it's my night of 3 hours of sleep.
Friday - likely my last chance at solitude and dealing with myself. "No?! Not possible? Okay, yes, let's calm your freak out and shattering life... I think I have enough quality of life in my own to get you through this." Constantly reminding myself, I deserve this, or else it wouldn't be. Plans to have lunch with the work wife were my escape. And escape I did. "2 for 1 drinks u say?" "Thank you, yes!" It was nice to see someone I didn't have to fear, fix, follow, or fabricate to. So fucking nice. I needed some time that evening to just go and be adsorbed and invisible. I thought The Falcon was a great opportunity to do so. At least until I hear "10:15 Saturday Night" and I am right back to hurt; to missing; to wishing. I had to go. Yeah, goths are supposed to be mopey and sad, but I didn't want any of it, I just wanted to leave.
Unfortunately, those feelings never left from Friday. It's my current live-in girlfriend. Quite needy. She's convinced me that I am making mistakes, that I let something amazing leave, and that I probably should continue doing stupid things to myself and send the one that got away texts all fucking night like a pathetic teenager... oh and I should drink and drink and drink and be drunk. I have a problem saying no. It was also decided that going to sleep was prohibitive to making the least of this vacation.
Now, it's Sunday evening. It's raining. I am blasting deathrock... I can't really complain at the moment about anything new. Birthday is making full use of having a queen-size bed all to himself, and I don't really care what happens the rest of the day. This vacation fell apart, period. And I was given the opportunity to heal as much as possible and be ready for Monday, and I never left my head, so it just got darker and dimmer. But I am ready, I think, to shelf it all and just go back to work. I think I can focus, I have to, and get back on track with my job. It's where the stability is and is controllable, so I need to put my energies there.
LOVESICK, LOVESICK, LOVESICK, OH!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART OH NO!
LOVESICK, LOVESICK, LOVESICK, OH!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART OH NO!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART, LOVESICK ALL ALONE
I'M NOT GONNA TAKE YOUR SHIT ANYMORE
GET OFF OF MY TIT! GET OFF OF MY TIT!
YOU'RE NOT MY BABY!
20 July, 2012
Every Day
Seems kind of ridiculous, I have to do this every day, 3 or 4 times a day. My arms are shred; they hurt to the point where I am taking Advil hourly. It needs to stop. I have to stop or risk infection, and then that requires explanations; an avenue I'm not exploring. It's ridiculous and laughable. Also quite pathetic.
I walked around the neighborhood behind Dandelion yesterday for a couple of hours. Had my Tarocado, so the heat was tolerable. My mind just sort of wandered, and I allowed it to before realizing the hurt I was unfurling. Reality took hold of my throat when I found myself standing on Summerlin; a street that will never simply be Summerlin anymore. It was at one time, quite innocently home to the Gai Building, and IHOP. Now it's a scar running across my ribs and my arms. Fuck. I do not want it to be this way. I have no faculties to fix the wound or fill the hole, and I don't even desire to feel wanted by anyone else. It's nearly a week later, and all I can manage is 2 or 3 hours of sleep, and I can't do it in the bed that now mocks and betrays me... no - I have to do so on the couch or floor. Birthday seems quite happy with my choice of abandoning the bedroom - it's his room now.
So, I've done so little on this forced vacation. Haven't healed any. Had some nice distraction, but it brought me right back to thinking about the person missing from my life. Am I horrible person? I try so hard to be unexpected, caring, real, honest, and supportive - but it seems to never bring favor to my life, just a lot hurt. Maybe there is some delight in being an unfeeling, self-absorbed, douche and asshole. Fuck and follow, and never feel. Had coffee and a movie with a friend; going to have lunch with the work wife; got the car serviced; and bought some art. With only the weekend left to go, I am quite certain I will not be in a functional state come Monday. I understand why people go to work drunk or high - it seems like a great idea right now, because I am not going to have the focus to do my job.
Ugh, fuck, even my thoughts are muddled about this. I'm incoherent and just need to stop trying to articulate them until a later date. I really wanted a road trip to St. Augustine this week, but money and then plans derailed that. Maybe Sunday. I need to go escape somewhere comforting, because right now, that is not here.
I walked around the neighborhood behind Dandelion yesterday for a couple of hours. Had my Tarocado, so the heat was tolerable. My mind just sort of wandered, and I allowed it to before realizing the hurt I was unfurling. Reality took hold of my throat when I found myself standing on Summerlin; a street that will never simply be Summerlin anymore. It was at one time, quite innocently home to the Gai Building, and IHOP. Now it's a scar running across my ribs and my arms. Fuck. I do not want it to be this way. I have no faculties to fix the wound or fill the hole, and I don't even desire to feel wanted by anyone else. It's nearly a week later, and all I can manage is 2 or 3 hours of sleep, and I can't do it in the bed that now mocks and betrays me... no - I have to do so on the couch or floor. Birthday seems quite happy with my choice of abandoning the bedroom - it's his room now.
So, I've done so little on this forced vacation. Haven't healed any. Had some nice distraction, but it brought me right back to thinking about the person missing from my life. Am I horrible person? I try so hard to be unexpected, caring, real, honest, and supportive - but it seems to never bring favor to my life, just a lot hurt. Maybe there is some delight in being an unfeeling, self-absorbed, douche and asshole. Fuck and follow, and never feel. Had coffee and a movie with a friend; going to have lunch with the work wife; got the car serviced; and bought some art. With only the weekend left to go, I am quite certain I will not be in a functional state come Monday. I understand why people go to work drunk or high - it seems like a great idea right now, because I am not going to have the focus to do my job.
Ugh, fuck, even my thoughts are muddled about this. I'm incoherent and just need to stop trying to articulate them until a later date. I really wanted a road trip to St. Augustine this week, but money and then plans derailed that. Maybe Sunday. I need to go escape somewhere comforting, because right now, that is not here.
17 July, 2012
Finally...
Haven't slept well at all; barely eaten anything; can't focus at work; and have just a general feeling of being numb. If I could even rationalize my feelings, I wouldn't know where to go from there. It makes me sick and depressed, and the void is deafening. No text asking about my day, no smile, it's just a big hole and nothing to fill it with.
Plans I made last week to meet up with a friend tonight, seemed like a bad idea, but I wanted to catch up with her, and touch base before she started school again. Stephanie met me at Drunken Monkey and we grabbed our snacks and coffee and unloaded. Even though our introduction was through an online dating site, we didn't connect in any kind of romantic way, we did manage to become friends and have had intelligent and honest conversations since. She doesn't pull punches which I appreciate. Just hearing what someone else was doing with their life was somehow therapeutic, and dissipated my malaise. I was relatively vague in the acts, but quite descriptive in my feelings, and though she offered no epiphanies, she did listen intently. That, and the cd I made for Bethy Williams earlier this year was enough to drag me from my shell.
Not sure if I will sleep tonight; not sure what to expect tomorrow; but right now, I have some clarity. The void is there, it does hurt, and all I can think about are the movies that won't be shared; the concerts that won't be shared; and the experiences we never even had time to imagine. My dad has told me since I was a child, "Everything happens for a reason, son...", and even though I can't imagine what they might be at the moment, I know he is right.
Plans I made last week to meet up with a friend tonight, seemed like a bad idea, but I wanted to catch up with her, and touch base before she started school again. Stephanie met me at Drunken Monkey and we grabbed our snacks and coffee and unloaded. Even though our introduction was through an online dating site, we didn't connect in any kind of romantic way, we did manage to become friends and have had intelligent and honest conversations since. She doesn't pull punches which I appreciate. Just hearing what someone else was doing with their life was somehow therapeutic, and dissipated my malaise. I was relatively vague in the acts, but quite descriptive in my feelings, and though she offered no epiphanies, she did listen intently. That, and the cd I made for Bethy Williams earlier this year was enough to drag me from my shell.
Not sure if I will sleep tonight; not sure what to expect tomorrow; but right now, I have some clarity. The void is there, it does hurt, and all I can think about are the movies that won't be shared; the concerts that won't be shared; and the experiences we never even had time to imagine. My dad has told me since I was a child, "Everything happens for a reason, son...", and even though I can't imagine what they might be at the moment, I know he is right.
01 July, 2012
Oh you manipulators...
Sitting at work on a Sunday night; not a single day off. Not until next weekend, but I will be broke then as well, so what's the point really? It always seems like the summer when the extra cash dries up, and it's too easy to blame it solely on the electric and fuel costs. It is somehow inexplicable to me. It is nonetheless depressing as hell. I want to make my friends meals; take them out; treat them to some spoiling - but I can barely afford to keep myself fed as of late. Way, way too much debt.
I haven't been to a music store in months, outside of seeking out a gift for someone. That's like a crack addict without anyway to smoke it. I am however keeping a list of the things I discover on YouTube, Last FM and through friends. It's getting quite long. It was evident that I was out of touch with what is currently radio-friendly. I imagined Gotye to be some obscure, indie artist putting out depressing but catchy pop tunes - but no. First, Glee and now 7-11 - I had to wonder if I somehow wore a badge of shame for proclaiming such greatness to my Facebook friends? I kind of feel like the virgin I was promised was actually just reborn.
Find myself without a voice, or at least a direction for that voice. Can't talk to L about H, or H about L; I can talk to K about H and L, but I only get back what I want to hear. I have very different but very strong feelings about both H and L - and it's simply not reality based to think that this can be cohesive. Romantic, Hollywood notions about friendships being these bonds that demand respect and are priceless is to an extent not just a fantasy - but people's emotions and feelings aren't fairy-tales, unless they are of a Grimm nature. Who better than your lover should be your best friend? I can attest to the reality that it is simply not enough. I can only hope to find the kind of bond and unspoken understanding that Maisy and I shared with someone else... but at the end of the day, we had to admit that the bond we had was as best friends. As friends - we never once had a problem. This paragraph is directionless, and meaningless, and pointless - I am just trying to pry the words from my synapses so other things can process. I know there will be an audit forthcoming, and I will be utterly without receipts to reflect my spending. I don't know if I am doing what's best for me, and I don't have a lot of confidence that the other parties involved are keeping an honest eye on the books. It scares me. I don't think I am nor want to be a selfish person, but I am in love with the beauty of this moment when I can hear your thoughts, feel your breath, wrap myself in the splendid intoxication of your words... and I want for nothing else. The opinions I have of myself are anything but the ones were scrawling into the subtext of our conversations. I don't see me like you do, like anyone sees me. I am so skeptical of happiness - because as quickly as I can build you an ivory tower, I can take razors to my skin and bleach my veins of sensation. It's not true that you can never be happy unless you can make yourself happy... it's more appropriate to say that someone giving you happiness will never be happy if you can't make yourself happy.
Oh fuck.... I so don't want to be here, at work, espousing these thoughts right now - it's so depressing and reminiscent of a time when my world was collapsing in on itself. Who am I to judge what someone does or is willing to do to find love for their life? Fuck, I should be so lucky to even have half that passion and drive to want love in my life. I can't even fucking define love anymore. I know what it means to love a child; a friend; a family member - but to love another? Not a clue. I have been so wrong, so often - I'm not sure I'd even recognize it's clothes at the foot of my bed. I can't judge the stress and torture someone is willing to endure for this unyielding bond. Hell, I know what I was capable of ignoring under the pretense of love - so I have nothing to say on the matter. I'd be a hypocrite to try.
Well, I have said plenty I suppose. I am a word-user.
I haven't been to a music store in months, outside of seeking out a gift for someone. That's like a crack addict without anyway to smoke it. I am however keeping a list of the things I discover on YouTube, Last FM and through friends. It's getting quite long. It was evident that I was out of touch with what is currently radio-friendly. I imagined Gotye to be some obscure, indie artist putting out depressing but catchy pop tunes - but no. First, Glee and now 7-11 - I had to wonder if I somehow wore a badge of shame for proclaiming such greatness to my Facebook friends? I kind of feel like the virgin I was promised was actually just reborn.
Find myself without a voice, or at least a direction for that voice. Can't talk to L about H, or H about L; I can talk to K about H and L, but I only get back what I want to hear. I have very different but very strong feelings about both H and L - and it's simply not reality based to think that this can be cohesive. Romantic, Hollywood notions about friendships being these bonds that demand respect and are priceless is to an extent not just a fantasy - but people's emotions and feelings aren't fairy-tales, unless they are of a Grimm nature. Who better than your lover should be your best friend? I can attest to the reality that it is simply not enough. I can only hope to find the kind of bond and unspoken understanding that Maisy and I shared with someone else... but at the end of the day, we had to admit that the bond we had was as best friends. As friends - we never once had a problem. This paragraph is directionless, and meaningless, and pointless - I am just trying to pry the words from my synapses so other things can process. I know there will be an audit forthcoming, and I will be utterly without receipts to reflect my spending. I don't know if I am doing what's best for me, and I don't have a lot of confidence that the other parties involved are keeping an honest eye on the books. It scares me. I don't think I am nor want to be a selfish person, but I am in love with the beauty of this moment when I can hear your thoughts, feel your breath, wrap myself in the splendid intoxication of your words... and I want for nothing else. The opinions I have of myself are anything but the ones were scrawling into the subtext of our conversations. I don't see me like you do, like anyone sees me. I am so skeptical of happiness - because as quickly as I can build you an ivory tower, I can take razors to my skin and bleach my veins of sensation. It's not true that you can never be happy unless you can make yourself happy... it's more appropriate to say that someone giving you happiness will never be happy if you can't make yourself happy.
Oh fuck.... I so don't want to be here, at work, espousing these thoughts right now - it's so depressing and reminiscent of a time when my world was collapsing in on itself. Who am I to judge what someone does or is willing to do to find love for their life? Fuck, I should be so lucky to even have half that passion and drive to want love in my life. I can't even fucking define love anymore. I know what it means to love a child; a friend; a family member - but to love another? Not a clue. I have been so wrong, so often - I'm not sure I'd even recognize it's clothes at the foot of my bed. I can't judge the stress and torture someone is willing to endure for this unyielding bond. Hell, I know what I was capable of ignoring under the pretense of love - so I have nothing to say on the matter. I'd be a hypocrite to try.
Well, I have said plenty I suppose. I am a word-user.
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