I dream of things I’ll never know
The way you feel in my arms
The taste of your lips on mine
The way you breathe in your sleep
The way you look at me and smile
All of the little fears you tell
All of the dreams you share
Sleep riddled words over breakfast
Hearty conversation at dinner
Confessions from a bottle of rum
Laughter from our favorite movies
Inside jokes and silly looks
I dream of these things
I think of these dreams
And I hurt
Because I know
You have these dreams too,
But not about me.
You are the one
Who never left
You are the one
Who never was
Of my mind
The only love
I’ve never known
People always have things to say about my being single.
“You’ll find someone soon!”
“It’ll happen when you least expect it.”
“You’re lucky, you don’t have to put up with _____.”
“God has a plan for you.”
They think they’re helping, but they aren’t. They don’t know. It’s also different than when they tell this to their friends that have just gotten out of a relationship. I’ve never had one and I long ago passed the age where you’re supposed to have at least some semblance of an idea of what goes into dating. The older I get, the more difficult it is. The more I’m supposed to know, and the stranger it is that I don’t.
I won’t meet someone soon. I don’t go out. I don’t talk to people. I have the same group of friends I’ve had since I was 12. I can barely hold a conversation with the person at the checkout, so how am I supposed to meet someone and start dating? And when you expect to die alone, how can you possibly expect it less?
The people that say I’m lucky because I don’t have to put up with whatever bullshit relationship issue they choose are just fucking morons. They don’t know what it’s like to be alone like I am. When they look at being single, what they see is the freedom to do what they want without anyone to hold them accountable. They think of the annoying things that their partner does. They don’t think of the pain that comes with it, the crushing emotional and spiritual pain. They don’t remember all of the small things their partner does; the small comforting touches, the kind looks, or the intimacy that they share. They aren’t thinking about what it’s like looking at their bed and knowing that, for the X00th day straight, they get to share it with nobody. They also do not realize that when they are alone, they have touches and lovers to remember; that I have none of those small comforts. When I close my eyes and think of the women I have loved, I have to remember that not a goddamned one of them felt the same for me, that I have continually sought woman that want nothing to do with me.
And, finally… God did have a plan for me and I’m pretty sure I fucked it away 9 years ago. I know what it was, and I fucking ran. I hated Him and I told Him to take His plan and fuck off. I wasn’t going to do what He wanted after all He had let happen to me. I was angry, and spiteful, and a stupid fucking child. I made my biggest mistake for petty grievances and I’ve suffered the consequences. It’s not rational, I know, but in spite of all I have seen and learned, I can’t shake my faith in a Higher Power. I know all of the logical reasoning against a Higher Power, but there’s still that voice at the back of my mind that says “But what if you’re wrong?”, and so I believe, even if I can’t yet bring myself to live it. And if I believe, then I have to accept that He has plans, and that there are pros and cons to following them. I can’t dwell on the what-ifs, but I can see where the path diverged.
When I wake up in the morning,
I lie in bed for an hour,
Our maybe just a half
I close my eyes
And let my mind wander
And I dream
Or maybe even you.
And in this time,
I am not alone
As long as my eyes are closed
I am not alone.
It hurts when I must
My eyes open
And reality seeps in
No longer can I hide
No longer am I loved
For you are not here
And my life,
Just as my bed,
But for me
I would give
What little I have
For my dreams
To come real
If even for just an hour
And auburn locks,
A smile that gently mocks
A beautiful body,
Demure but naughty,
She shares it humbly
The beautiful nerd,
She knows every word,
To every movie I’ve heard
I would hold her close,
Kiss her on the nose,
And listen to her woes
Perfection in my eyes,
Believing all the lies,
Ignoring all it implies
When reality must invade,
All those thoughts I forbade
She is nothing like what I made
For in all reality,
Her and I would never be,
As there is no one left for me.
I just wanted something pretty,
Unadulterated and full of beauty,
But everything for me was broken and shitty.
I think that this is as close to a love song as I can get for now. No matter how I start it, it always comes back to being hurt. It shouldn’t be surprising, really. Every almost relationship I’ve ever had has ended in pain. I can’t seem to stop it unless I never start it, but the loneliness of that is worse than any hurt I have ever felt at the leaving of someone I cared for.
Although, starting is just as difficult. I have trouble going up to anyone. When I try to, I feel that I am offending them by even showing an interest, which says a lot about my self-esteem and how I view myself.
Always on the outside,
Forever looking in.
Withholding who I am,
And holding it within.
Words press against my lips,
Like an insect in its shell.
Rotting in my mouth,
And condemning me to hell.
I cut myself open,
Hoping to let them out.
But all that comes forth,
Is blood and doubt.
I do not know my fate,
But I know it’s not with you.
So I search and dig for hope
Through my jaded world view.
Wondering, is pain all I have,
Or is there something more?
If this is all there is,
What do I hold onto it for?
I have to find the strength,
To overcome my fears,
To slay these demons,
To step past these tears.
For the hope of something more
Is greater than the pain of nothing left
So I struggle on
Heartbroken and bereft.
I know that I could love you
With the passion of a thousand poets
But I keep it all to myself
I would paint you a thousand pictures
Perfect and beautiful
To capture every part of you
I would write you a thousand love songs
Romantic and pure
To let you know you are loved
But all of my words turn to dust
Catching in my throat
And keeping the words from you
So I hold it all in,
Knowing that the joy of your presence
Is better than the pain of your denial
But my love is unrequited
Misplaced and hurting
Poisoning everything between us
Because you cannot do the same
I will always love you more
Than you will ever like me
One thing I have realized lately is that while I do not bond easily with people, the bonds I do develop are very deep. I don’t get into friendships (or more) easily, but when I do I go all the way in. So when I develop a crush, it is very strong. Thus, if it has to end, it is very painful. I have to dig out a very deep and sensitive tendril that burrowed deep into my heart and there is nothing but pain in it. After a while, the majority of it is out and I’m just left trying to excise the little bits that shot off from the main tendril and dug in deeper than the rest. Sometimes they’ll wriggle and painfully let me know they’re still there. Other times, I’ll come across one and see its atrophy and remove it painlessly.
But, no matter how hard I try, each and every one of them left at least a single barb in there that I can’t get at. It’s in the deepest parts of my heart. The section I can’t cut into without destroying intrinsic parts of myself. So, they’ll always be there; occasionally reminding me of each of your faces, your smiles, and your names. Because no matter how much I hurt afterwards, I did love you for a time and I cannot forget that.
Do you ever spare a thought,
For the one you forgot,
Do I cross your mind,
With a thought unkind,
Or am I left behind?
But I know I do not,
For in everything I sought,
I knew it was all for naught.
Because I can see,
That it’s not me,
And we will never be.
No matter what I do,
Nor how much good I sew,
It is not enough for you.
I want to stop writing to you, or you, or even you. It’s pathetic at this point. There’s nothing but pain and sadness in the words I can give to you, for that is all you’ve given me.
I want to write to Her. I know there is something happy to write about there. Even if she turns out to be you, there will be a period of happy things to write. I expect to die alone, so I very much look forward to those brief times when you are Her, even though I die each time She becomes you.
The words are on my tongue,
But they cannot pass my lips.
I try to speak my peace,
But my brain says cease.
I only wish to express,
The things I cannot confess.
How I burn for you,
Or how I love the things you do.
A feeling started too young,
And dreams of things undone.
I kept you away where I could see,
Hoping one day you and I could be.
Now that day has come,
And I can’t get it begun.
So I bide my time again,
And wish for a time unseen.
The journey I sought was not one of worldly adventure. I didn’t want to travel the world and see the wonders of the world. I didn’t want to climb Everest or go on safari in Africa. I didn’t want to see the pyramids or visit the wailing wall. I never wanted to jump out of a plane or off a building.
The journey I sought was very different. I wanted to spend my entire life getting to know somebody. I wanted to live with her and love her. I wanted to start a family and have children. I wanted a house with a garage where I could work on cars. I wanted love, and that was all.
The journey I got was nothing like either of those. I ran from my fears and struggled to make it this far. I fell so far that suicide was an option I considered. I took the dark rode, the one you never want to see. I didn’t mean to. I ran, and I got lost.
The journey I have now is one of rebuilding. I’m trying to put the pieces back together, those that got broken on the way and those that were always broken. It’s a long journey and it isn’t easy. There’s still much left to rebuild though.
I turn 27 today. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I’ve typed about 8 different blogs out so far. I really don’t know how to shape this one. I already did an end of year ‘What Happened in My Life’ post, so that’s out. Yes, it makes more sense to do on my birthday, but I already did it so I’ll skip it now.
Getting older always reminds me of my fears. I’ve worked on some, but most are still there. I’m no longer terrified of leaving my house, but I still have issues in social situations. I put myself out there and fell for someone again, and while that did blow up in my face, it didn’t drive me as deep and dark as it has in the past.
I don’t write about it much anymore, but my fear of dying alone has never left me, I just don’t focus on it as much anymore. I don’t always have time. But, on the day when I am definitively older – to the point of increasing the number that is stated when asked my age – it is hard to ignore this particular fear. It will never leave me until I have proof of other outcomes. I had always known I would have sex at least once, so that didn’t do a single thing to change my fears. If anything, it cemented them. Yes, someone was willing to have sex with me, but she didn’t want anything to do with me in the ways that I need. She wanted friendship and I do not need friends. At least, not from someone I want to know in a more intimate way. I’ve got a lot of friends, but there is nobody in this world that I am aware of that wants anything more from me. And knowing that hurts. It hurts so fucking much.
I wish this fear would go away, but I cannot shake it. It has been with me longer than I can remember. I want to be done with it, but I don’t know how to excise it. I can ignore it most days, but it is always there on some level.
I don’t know where I was/am going with this. In spite of all that I wrote above, this year has been good to me. Yes, I got fired and I was broken hearted, but I’ve been working on a lot of stuff and getting myself right for once. In all, I was happy this year. I haven’t been able to say that in a long time. I’m still pretty fucked up, but it doesn’t seem as bad as it was before.
I don’t fucking know. So much for an awesome birthday post. Instead, I bawled my eyes out and lost my way in the middle. I’m such a mess. haha At least now, when I laugh at that, it’s in a joking ‘oh, you!’ kind of way rather than a sardonic ‘You stupid little fuck up’ kind of way. I’m still not where I want to be, but I’m working on it.
26 was for working on things and getting past stuff. I started a lot of things last year, I hope to see them start paying off during 27. I have hope that 27 will be a good year. I don’t think it will be the one I am hoping for, but I think it will lead to it. I’ll not find what I am looking for just yet, but I think by the end of it I will be closer to finding it. 26 was good, but 27 will be better.
It’s a bit fucked up how excited I get when my favorite bands have new albums out and I get to listen to them. Right now, I’m listening to How I learned to Stop Giving a Shit and Love Mindless Self Indulgence by MSI and it’s better than the first time I had sex. I’m pretty sure this is what love feels like. My pulse is racing, my face is flush, there’s a grin on my face that won’t leave, and I want nothing more than to spend all of my time with it. I am excited about all of the twists and turns that the music will provide in its playing. And it will change every time I listen to it. It will grow and I will love it more, even if it doesn’t excite me as much as it used to. Eventually, it will be comfortable and I will listen to it until I know everything about it, but I will always find new things in it. Even if I move onto other things, I will always be able to return to it and enjoy it and love it again.
I suppose none of that is fucked up. What’s fucked up is that I have had more meaningful relationships with albums than I have ever had with a woman. Music has never hurt me the way that they have. It has never told me it just wanted to be friends, that I was too weird, that it just wasn’t interested. Music has provided me more emotional support as well. It has helped me through every heartache and painful moment. Music has never left me either.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Alternatively: Why can’t I find someone that won’t hurt me?
I’ve been rewatching the first season of How I Met Your Mother recently. I’ve watched this show since the first season aired live. I fell in love with it pretty much instantly and have watched it near religiously ever since.
In watching it again, I see why I fell in love with it. That first season was powerful. From the initial date with Robin and Lily and Marshall getting engaged, to Ted finding Victoria and how beautiful that relationship was. I always wanted that relationship to work and it broke my heart when it didn’t.
That love for the show was cemented in the first season finale, with the end of Lily and Marshall and the final connection of Robin and Ted. One of the most beautiful and heart-wrenching moments in modern television is Lily in tears yelling ‘PAUSE!’ and climbing Marshall to kiss him. In that moment, she loved him with everything she was, but she knew she had to go and couldn’t let go just yet. That was the first time I ever cried watching a TV show. They were perfect, but they broke up anyways. You knew it when it happened, but you still hoped it wouldn’t happen.
This show has been my current ideal of love for much of my adult life. It replaced that which was shattered when my parents divorced. It seems silly, as it is just a show, but it’s pretty easy to emotionally connect to the characters of a show when you don’t have that in your real life. So, I have unknowingly clung to it as a romantic ideal, as though one day, maybe, I might get to experience some of the stuff Ted went through and eventually have a grand tale of how I met my wife. I want it, but I know better.
The thing that sucks is knowing that all of the grand and magically romantic moments that Ted creates throughout the series are not real. Love doesn’t happen like that in real life. You can’t make it rain to convince someone to date you. You don’t get the girl after being denied and staying friends. Sure, it looks awesome on TV, but the reality is that when you get shot down, you tend to stay there, no matter what you do. It sounds cheesy, but I want that kind of grand romanticism, but I know that it isn’t real. I know that even if I tried it, it wouldn’t work. Nobody wants that from me. All it’d do is kill the friendship.
I’d put the effort in, if I thought it might change things. I’ve been taught otherwise though.
I’m sorry things got weird. We had a connection, I thought that meant it might lead to something more than friendship. The movies lied to me, they told me that’s how it works. They don’t bother telling me that most times, it doesn’t mean anything.
How was I supposed to know otherwise? Nobody told me that part. You just seemed like an awesome chick and we got along so well, so I thought we could be more than friends. I didn’t mean to make it awkward, I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.
I got confused. Nobody ever listens to me, so when you did, I thought it was because you liked me back. My friends never treated me that way, so I missed the cues. It didn’t help that you’re flirty, but I should’ve known it didn’t mean anything, it never does. I should’ve known I wasn’t special to you.
I still think about you; wonder how you are. I could ask, but it hurts to talk to you. I’ve gotten better about not looking at your Facebook profile, and I deleted the pictures you sent. I wish we could still be in each others lives, but I’m too ashamed of how it ended and too hurt by the loss. Maybe another time, but not now.
Goodbye, and remember that I cared for you once.
People like to tell me they wish they didn’t have anyone, like I don’t. They don’t really know what they’re talking about though. Even if they were single, they wouldn’t be alone like I am. When they’re cold and alone in the dark, they’ll have past relationships to look back on and give them hope and warmth for the future. When it’s me, all I have to think of is the times I got things mixed up and fell in love with women that didn’t want anything from me. When I close my eyes, I don’t get to think of happy times with someone I loved.
They don’t want that. They want to be unencumbered. They want to be able to do whatever they want whenever they want without answering to someone. Except, that isn’t what it is like. Yeah, I don’t have to be accountable to a significant other, but there is always someone that will want me to account for things. A boss, a family member, a friend. And the freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mostly spend my time doing nothing to distract myself from everything.
They want out, and I want in. I’d gladly trade places.
There have been major romantic story lines in just about every single one of the shows I watch regularly this week. Abed and Troy, Troy and Britta, Mike and Rachel, Leslie and Ben, Nick and Jess, Raj and the girl from the comic book store, and a couple others I can’t think of at the moment. It has been odd but good. 3 of them brought tears to my eyes. I’ve even dreamed of romantic encounters, though I don’t remember details. Is it a sign? Is it just coincidence? I don’t know. I’d like to think of it as something positive though. Things are rocky for me but everything feels like it is right on the precipice of happening. Like it is waiting for one final push and it will all happen.
I hope it does. Solid good would be nice for a change. Things have been hesitantly good lately, and I am happy about that.
Music isn’t just an important part of my life, it is intrinsically intertwined within it. I cannot live without music no more than I could live without air. I listen to music most of my waking hours. It is a place for me to escape and it is a place for me to embrace. It is an outlet for emotions I have always had difficulty expressing or understanding. And it has been my closest companion, sharing things that I cannot share with others.
It is also a defining part in what I look for in love. I want someone that cares for music the way I care for music. I don’t want Her to share my exact tastes in music, I want her tastes to complement mine. I want to be able to share my loves with her and have her share her loves with me. Music was my first love, and I’d like to share that with someone I would love for the rest of our lives. Unfortunately, I have only ever met one woman that had a passion for music that could rival mine, but things with her couldn’t last.
One of the things that hurt the most when we had to part was that I no longer had a companion in music. It had ended long before we parted ways, but its loss was still felt. We had talked in music, sending each other songs all day, every day, for almost 3 months. It was our first connection. And it was beautiful. It was what I had always wanted, to share my greatest passion with someone that could appreciate it and was willing to share her passion with me.
But it wasn’t enough. We had amazing connection through music, but there were too many other factors that wouldn’t have worked; I see that now.
So I go back to my music, my constant lover, and I journey through the sounds and find myself again. It will never leave me, even if I stray away from time to time.
Music will always be there for me to find and explore intimately. I have spent much of my life doing just that, amassing a modest (in my opinion) collection of physical media that I wish to expand. If given the chance, I would build an entire room designed for nothing but music consumption. I dream of a room painted white, with a soft carpet, a comfy chair, an immaculate stereo system, and filled floor to ceiling with music of all varieties. It would be there, waiting for me, and it would envelop me in sonic caress.
Ah, Valentine’s Day. This is, by far, one of the easiest holidays to hate (second only to Columbus Day, but that’s another blog entirely). However, the hatred is purely situational. I’m nearly 27 and have never had been on a date let alone had a girlfriend. I have never really celebrated Valentine’s Day because there is nothing to celebrate when you are ‘Forever Alone’. Nothing about this day is special to me. So, why shouldn’t I hate it? All it is is a reminder that I am alone, which is a fact I have trouble escaping most days, only to have it forced upon me on a random day in February.
That doesn’t mean I do hate it though. The only reason I dislike it is that I have no reason to like it. This is a day for love and lovers, and I have neither. If I had somebody, I would probably feel differently about this day. Maybe. I’m the type that will show his love at all times, so I do not need a day for people to tell me I have to show it. But there is a certain romanticism that comes with the day because of tradition. It is a day when you can go over the top in your displays of affection and it is considered normal.
In the end, I’m just waiting for a time when I can celebrate this day, but I will not celebrate the day for the sake of celebrating it. If I am going to celebrate it, it will be with someone I care about, not someone I found because society tells me I need to be with someone for a random day.
I’ve written about it before, a long time ago. It is one of my favorite poems that I have written. I was just 21 at the time and bitter. And that was back when I still really thought I’d meet someone soon. Never have I been so wrong. 6 years later and I’m just as far from love as I was that day, having gained naught but more heartache and a bit of clarity.
“Letter to My Valentine”
Fuck this day,
Today of all days.
What is it to a man who’s never loved?
Just another day, another one alone.
The day for love,
Is not a day for friend.
No memories of this day held dear,
Naught from any in a score of years.
I can offer no heart-felt platitude,
For there’s none my heart hath felt.
All I have is empty words,
Good only for deaf ears.
An addendum from an older writer without his fire:
6 years on and still alone.
6 years gone and never closer.
I’d trade all that time,
For just a day with someone that cared.
I’d trade it all,
For an hour in love.
If loneliness were currency,
I’d be richest of all.
But even if it were,
There are none that would trade it.
So I write my pain and bide my time,
Waiting for the one that will relieve me of my riches.
6 years on and it is still relevant. When I wrote this, I never thought I’d be closing in on 30 and still alone. The kid that wrote that had no idea what wasn’t in store for him. He hurt, but he still hoped. He had thoughts like ‘If I see 50 alone, I’ll just eat a bullet’ without realizing that it was entirely possible. That kid never thought he’d have sex and be more alone afterwards than he has ever been before.
I envy that kid some days. He didn’t know how much the world could suck. He wasn’t aware that the answers he sought would bring more hardship and questions than anything else. He thought things would turn out, because that’s just how the world works. Most importantly, he wasn’t jaded.
And now (after I had written the above two paragraphs), I have written a second part to the poem. It is far less bitter than the original, but it seems somehow more sad. The original raged at the idea of the holiday because he was hurt, but you don’t get that angry unless it means something. The new verse accepts that loneliness is inevitable and has resigned to the fact. The original screamed ‘FUCK YOU! Love me too!’. The new one whimpers ‘Don’t let me die alone’.
This was the 4th drawing I made one night and the first in what would be an ongoing series dedicated to my own life. When I drew it, I had just switched from Holywood to Good Apollo I’m Burning Star IV: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness. Until now, I hadn’t ever given much thought to how perfect that album title was for the situation. In truth, it was chosen because it is a favorite album of mine and it soothes me. I draw much inspiration from it, having heard it hundreds, if not thousands, of times since I found it. It is one of the most important albums in my life, and it seemed only fitting that I would listen to it this night.
The original plan for the drawing session had been to listen to all 3 of Marilyn Manson’s albums about his fallen god in order, but after I finished Holywood, I started to think about the woman I was kinda-sorta involved with at the time and how that relationship actually existed. Being in the state I was in, actually seeing that I was not special to her in the ways I needed to be special was threatening to collapse my psyche and throw me into a downward spiral. So, I hastily changed albums and settled on something that I knew would bring me back from the brink and put me back into a safer place. It was my safey-safe. And there began my journey in art and self-exploration.
The upper right – ‘I almost lost you’ – came about from nearly spiraling when the album changed from Holywood to Mechanical Animals. When it was averted, I simply wrote the line on the page. At the time, it felt like a note to her, but looking back, I think it was just as much a note to myself. I nearly lost my mind delving into a situation I really wasn’t prepared to deal with that night (it took me nearly 8 months from that date to finally confront it and I’m still dealing with it today).
The words are ‘*MROW*, ‘My Dear’, and ‘Whore in Sheeps Clothing’, which come from “Keeping the Blade”, “Always & Never”, and “Welcome Home”, respectively. At the time, they were written to my first. They were evocative of our childishness (the *mrow*’), my unrequited love (‘my dear’ crossed out), and my eventually pain and lashing out (‘whore in sheep’s clothing’). They are floating in the scribbles, buried in them and written upon them. They were always on my mind, as the scribbles represent. But they were also shrouded in chaos.
These words were just the ones that came through as I was drawing, but the entirety of the lyrics of the three songs represented here capture the emotion conveyed within. They speak of the pain of loving and having nothing returned. Of wanting and not being needed. In “Always & Never” the Writer says ‘I’m still waiting here, my dear/For one kiss from you’. While this, to me, speaks of loving and wanting, there is also a literal interpretation in my own life: I had just one kiss with my first love, a very chaste peck on the lips, and I have been waiting for the next one for the past ten years. Not from her, but from anyone. With ‘a whore in sheep’s clothing’, I am not wanting to call her a whore. More accurately, it is about her being something other than what I saw and my inability to cope or be with what she truly was. I loved what I thought I saw, but the reality was far different from what I wanted and needed.
While I had my first in mind when I drew this, it turns out that it was quite apropos to the situation I was dealing with at the time. So much of that played out as an accelerated replaying of my first kinda-sorta relationship. It’s eerie. Even the names were similar. I cared deeply for both of them and they both came about during very chaotic times in my life. Looking back, it seems that the last one was there to close out the first. Through it, I found closure. I was finally able to put her to rest and move on from her. And while I am still working on moving past the latest, I was not crippled the way I was with the first. This time, I am hurt but I am not giving up and running from it all. I have chosen to stick around and deal with it, even if I can no longer do it directly with her.
This series, taken from a single night of drawing, was drawn with my future in mind. When I did it, I thought it dealt with who I was talking to at the time. I wasn’t wrong, exactly, I just wasn’t right about what it meant. She was there, but not as I saw her. She was a ghost reborn and she exited far sooner than thought. I think that going over all of this and finally posting it all and talking about it will be my way to say goodbye. As I lay it bare to the world and analyze it in the written word, I am seeing it in a new light. I am finding things within it that I hid from myself before. It was far deeper than I ever expected.
I showed all of this to her, but it didn’t go as planned. I had hoped to share it with her, but I ended up just showing it to her. I think that was part of why I decided to leave. It was then that I realized that things were not as I had seen; that I had blinded myself to her because I was in need of closeness, which she could not really give. I had imposed things upon her subconsciously that she could never have lived up to. For that, I am sorry. For the rest, I am hurt.
This is every night in my bed. Unless I pass out drunk or exhausted, I end up staying up for anywhere from 20-100+ minutes just lying there, waiting for sleep and trying not to think. Most nights there is at least one time in this pre-sleep limbo that I will unconsciously reach over and feel where someone would be if I were not alone in the bed.
I’ll be 27 in 3 months and in my life I have spent all but 5 nights alone in my bed. 4 of those happened just a few months ago. I’ve never slept better than I did those 4 nights, but now I feel the absence even more strongly. The time before that I was 20 and my roommates interrupted because they didn’t want the night to end yet.
That is a lot of nights alone. Almost 10,000 of them (less if you discount the times I slept with my parents or friends as a child). That means roughly 99.95% of all nights I have been alive have been spent alone. It’s a devastating thing to see out this way, really. I have desired companionship and intimacy for over half of my years, but I’ve never known it. I’ve wanted to be held, but I’ve never had it. I’ve wanted to hold, but the times I have number less than a handful. I do not enjoy being alone, yet it is all I have ever known.
As it ties in with sleep and came after drawing this picture, I’m going to add a second story to this post rather than create a new one.
Last night when I went to sleep, I ended up having an amazing and unexpected dream. In it, my best friend and I were out and about and decided to go into a porn shop (not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea). When we went in, my friend went to a vending machine to buy a gourmet dessert (dream logic, eh?). While he was doing this, I decided to sit on one of the couches that they had in the foyer of this place. As I sat down, a very cute woman came up to me and started talking with me. She had the most amazing Russian accent and we were having a fantastic time talking. I eventually move closer and kiss her chastely on the cheek.
At this point, everything changes and we are suddenly at her family’s house having a huge Russian feast to celebrate something. We’re going around and she is introducing me to all of her family and we are having a wonderful time. I remember being nervous while I was there, as though it was the first time I was meeting her family. Overall, it seemed like a grand and joyous occasion and I remember a sense of loving all around.
That sort of dream is relatively unique for me. I never get the girl in my dreams and happy dreams such as this aren’t too common either. I rarely have nightmares, but most dreams I have a very abstract or suspenseful. Because of this, it was a nice change of pace and a great way to start the new year.
I spent a lot of time denying
Things that I knew.
Hoping if I didn’t say them,
Then they couldn’t be true.
But it never changed
Just how I loved you.
You weren’t my first,
And you won’t be my last,
But it hurts all the same.
You told me we wouldn’t be,
But my heart could not accept
What my mind could see.
I only wanted love,
But all I found was pain.
And now I try to forget
So that I might love again.
And pray that she won’t hurt me
The ways that you have.
I’ve written a lot in this blog. Of all that I have written, it is the poetry that I love the most. In it, I am able to make something beautiful out of my pain. I’ve written a lot of poetry about my pain and the effects of unrequited love. In truth, this was never what I wanted to write about. I have always wanted to write love songs. I wanted to write about beauty and love and passion, but I’ve never known any of that, so I couldn’t write about it. So, I ended up writing about dark things, weaving beauty into the words as best as I could. No matter how dark, I always tried to write it in a poignant or interesting way.
I wish that I could forget you. And you. And all the rest. The memories are painful. No matter how good it was to live them, they are forever tarnished by the fact that we will not be.
I know I should remember them for what they were and cherish them for the happiness I felt, but with the life I’ve had, I can’t. No matter how good it was, we never actually were. I was only your friend. None of you could love me the way I wanted to love you and knowing that degrades the happiness that I had.
Maybe one day I can look back and remember you all fondly, but not this day. On this day I am still alone and all I have is hauntings.
You were all my mistakes. If we had dated, I could forgive myself of them. But we didn’t and I cannot. I cared in spite of myself. I always knew I shouldn’t, but that hurt little boy that imagined a new family when his life fell apart wouldn’t let me leave you be. He had to cling to you and try to force his dream upon you at my expense.
I’m sorry that I ever cared. None of you wanted of me what I wanted to give. However, I will always care. I’ve hurt myself for it, but if I don’t care I can’t find someone that will care for me as well. It hurts so fucking much, but it won’t always be this way. There will be at least one that cares. I hope. I cant think about that possibility anymore…
This was the 6th of 12 or so drawings that I did one night while listening to Good Apollo I’m Burning Star IV Vol. I. I was in a transcended state at the time and have been looking for meaning in these drawings since I finished them. I realize that this is just shoved into this post here, but it will come around and make sense, I just didn’t have a good way to fit it in to start. (As a quick note, I did go over the couple digitally. My scanner sucks and either blew out the colors or didn’t pick them all up.)
When I first saw this image, I thought I was seeing the embrace of lovers. It was beautiful, seeing them lying there together. As I continued to look on it over the weeks following its creation, my understanding of it began to change. As my personal situations changed, my understanding of it became deeper. Yes, this is lovers intertwined, but it is a fleeting moment. He can never say the second part of that lyric, the follow up to “In a phrase to cut these lips…”. The I love you will not come. He knows it is fleeting and that though he loves her in this moment, and she may care for him, it will not last. She is ephemeral, fleeting. He loves her, but she will not stay with him. So he bites his tongue and enjoys what he has while he has it. He’ll hurt soon enough, so he holds tight to the joy that he has, knowing it will sour when it all ends.
He is me and the drawings tell a story. They tell the story of my struggle with love, of all things I want, what little I have had, and, possibly, what I may one day find. It started with Anna and putting her to bed and it ended in blood. I will post it all one day, or I may add pieces of it here and there to posts as it fits in with them.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much before. I’ve cried enough that my eyes feel dry. I cried myself to sleep this morning and when I woke up, there was still my crying left to do. I’ve had a lot to mourn these past 24 hours.
Right around 4 PM Wednesday night, I got a call telling me that I was fired. Not because of poor performance or because I fucked up or anything so deserving as that. No, I was told I was fired because they had found cheaper labor in other countries. Worse still, they had brought them in several months ago and made us train them. Yes, I saw this coming, but no, I was not prepared. I figured they would at least do me the courtesy of finishing out my contract, they owed me that much. I was one of the best damned moderators that they had.
I never once applied for the job. I joined the forums back in August of 2009. Back then, I was just an avid player of a pretty awesome game <name withheld>. When I first joined up, I would mostly lurk, and read, and get to know how things worked there. After a bit of time, I finally started posting. First it was just to ask some questions I had had, then it was to answer questions that others had. Eventually, I got in the full swing of it and was spending nearly as much time on the forums bullshitting and answering questions as I was playing the game. I loved it. The game and the forums were helping me through my depression. I finally had a place to express myself, talk with others, and help.
After a few months of doing that, the Community Manager for the game contacted me and asked if I wanted to be a Volunteer Moderator. I jumped at the chance as I had been secretly working towards it for about a month. I never asked anyone, but I did what I could to emulate the moderators without going too far. I was so excited to be asked and get to do it! I had set a goal and accomplished it. I had not done that in quite some time. It was an exciting time for me. I got to spend my day plying the game I enjoyed and answering questions about it in a semi-official matter.
I did the volunteer gig for 9 months, right up until they decided to discontinue the volunteer position. At that time, the current CM for another game asked me to put in a resume to be considered for the Super Moderator position. Within 24 hours of submitting my resume I they were doing a background check and I had a job, provided everything looked alright. Which it did. After 3 horrendous years without any income whatsoever, I had a job. Things were finally looking up.
When they brought me on as a Super Moderator, they put me on a different game, <name withheld>. It was an awesome placement for me. I had been playing the game since the first hour it was live and all of my mod friends from <name withheld> were now working there, so it was like a reunion. I loved it. I was working 55+ hours per week and making decent money because of it. On top of that, I was modding a far more active forum and answering even more questions. It was probably the single best job I’ve had so far. The hours were rough, but the pay made it worth it. It allowed me to start doing stuff for myself, which I hadn’t ever really been able to do at any point in my life.
In all, it was a great time. The only sour part was that I ended up having to take a 3 month hiatus after one year because of some bullshit law regarding contract workers. That was tough, but I made it through, barely. After my 3 months was up, I reapplied and was immediately brought back on. During my absence, they had enacted some new styles of moderation, which were difficult but not impossible for me to work with. The real issue for me was my placement. I got a game that I didn’t care much for, but a forum that had a vibrant group of posters that I could care for. So, in spite of not liking the game, I came to love the forums. I had inherited them from another, but I tried to make them my own. I think I did a good job of it and I enjoyed my time there.
After a few months back on the forums, they finally asked me to do something that I had been waiting over a year for: to take over a game’s forums from the inception. I was finally given a game from day one and given some free reign to make them my own forums and help mold the community. I cherished the opportunity and did what I could to make it a great forum while still working on the previous forum I had been assigned to. Overall, it was a fun time for me and I would have loved to keep doing it, but after a couple months longer, they offered me a promotion, though it was just in title only (no pay raise or anything).
This is when the end game was enacted though. They brought in other moderators from outside of the US and moved us to another new moderation style that pretty much nobody wanted but would provide better coverage. Everything was changing. Initially, it seemed like it would be for the better, but things changed. Eventually, we started to see what was happening, how we were being pushed out. I tried to overlook it, tell myself that I was seeing things and that they wouldn’t get rid of us. And then I got that phone call. In that moment, it all came crashing down and I saw the man behind the curtain. They had manipulated us into training our replacements and getting them ready to take over for us. It was a sickening feeling to realize all of that.
I’m not overly bitter about it though. It was handled poorly, but the company had still given me nearly 2 years of employment which had been a big part of my healing process from my deepest depression. The job had also lead me to a lot of people that I will forever call friend. It was tough saying goodbye to the job and knowing that I wouldn’t get to see everyone every day any longer. They were a part of my daily routine and I knew it would be tough without them.
However, that wasn’t the toughest part. Compared to what else I had to do that Thursday, everything else was easy. After work that Thursday, I had to say goodbye to a good friend; my first.
It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I didn’t want to say goodbye to her. I wanted to stay her friend and have her around, but I wasn’t being her friend. I was waiting for her to change her mind and realize that she wanted to be with me, and it was killing me. Waiting for her and knowing it wouldn’t happen caused me pain every day. Every time she signed in, I hurt. I couldn’t do it any longer The only possible solution was to say goodbye to her for a time, no matter how badly I wanted to avoid it (and had avoided it).
That may have been one of the most difficult things I have ever done. The whiskey definitely helped it happen, but I knew it had to be done. I didn’t even remotely keep myself together for the conversation. I haven’t cried that hard in a long time. We weren’t even together and it was tearing me apart. It’s times like that that I wish I didn’t care, or at least, that I cared for the right ones. I have a hard habit of falling for women that will never be with me.
When it was all said and done, I ended up just crawling in bed and sobbing myself to sleep. She was never mine… but it killed me to say goodbye. I never wanted it, but what I wanted was never going to happen. The hardest part was that I shared a part of myself with her that I don’t let anybody see. I showed her my soul. I let her see just who I am inside of all of this. And that’s the part that hurts. The part that knows she could accept it and be okay with it but could never love it. And all it wants is to be loved. And it is the part that still hurts today, though it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. We weren’t together, I can’t devote long to mourning our parting.
If I had done this sooner, these last few months may have been very different. I might have been able to make some progress like I had been doing before she came into my life. I put a lot aside to pursue her, and even after she told me it wouldn’t happen, I still tried. I couldn’t help it. There’s a very lost little boy inside of me that just wants to be loved and he will attach himself to anything he thinks will give it to him, regardless of what I think or feel about the situation. I tried so hard to change things, to make sure I didn’t get hurt. The only thing that really changed was that I managed to tell her I wanted to fuck her and that I was able to end it. It didn’t matter though. I still got hurt. That doesn’t mean I won’t try again, it just sucks knowing I have to try again. Who knows, maybe this next one will lead to a girlfriend.
I just don’t know how many more times I can be hurt.
And now, I’m hurt and adrift with no real direction in any part of my life. The only constant I had was taken from me because they found someone willing to work for less money. I’ll survive – I always do – I’m just not sure what levels of survival I will have to use. The last time I got laid off it took me three years and a shitload of luck to get a new job. I hope it doesn’t come to that again. I might not survive it. I barely made it out the last time and I am nowhere near where I was before it happened last time.
And so he ran.
First from the pain.
Then from the shame.
And then from the demons he had created. They bore the names of the women he had loved; the faces he saw when he closed his eyes at night. He ran so fast. As fast as he could. Though he could not always see them, he knew they were there. It didn’t matter how fast he ran, they were always gaining ground. Occasionally he would find someone to help him in his battle. Oftentimes they turned against him in time, joining the ranks of his demons.
And so, he continued to run. He ran as far as he could. He couldn’t stop. He knew he couldn’t get away, but he couldn’t turn to face them as he knew he should. He ran, and ran, and ran, and eventually could run no longer. He collapsed and threw his arms about himself, succumbing to them.
He didn’t bother to try and fight them off. They consumed him and threw him into darkness. They prodded and goaded, relentlessly attacking him day and night. There was no escape that he could see, so he tried to make a break for it. He pressed the knife to his wrist, but he could not break the flesh. He wasn’t strong enough to fight them off, but he wasn’t weak enough to take this new path out.
He knew he couldn’t turn to anyone for help; these demons were his own, only he could see them and only he could slay them. He laid there for what seemed an eternity, beaten and broken, trying to see a way out. After a time, a plan began to form. He didn’t know where it came from, but he seized upon it. Blind and scared, he began to crawl, edging along towards salvation.
As he crawled, he gained strength. As he progressed, he saw what could be done and began to fight back. Slowly, at first, but eventually he fought harder, driving back the demons for brief periods of respite.
A breather, finally! They were necessary but short lived. He needs to learn to fight better to vanquish them for good. It is the only way to ever move on with his life. To this end, he writes, and draws, and is learning to talk. He has found a voice he never knew he had and he is learning how to use it to help him in his fight.