Lost and Searching

Writing

Suicide and Saying Goodbye

6 years ago, I tried to kill myself.

Well, kind of. I wanted to kill myself. I held the knife to my wrist and I pressed. I pressed as hard as I could. I held it there while angry tears ran down my face. I pressed it while people watched. While nobody tried to stop it.  I wanted to press it in, split the skin, and watch it bleed.

But I couldn’t. No matter how badly I didn’t want to be alive, I also didn’t want to be dead. I never managed to pierce the skin. I ended up putting the knife in a wall and walking away.

It was the culmination of a lot of years of depression and running from things. From growing up bullied, to falling for women that never wanted to be with me, to my parents divorce, to being jobless and broke. I had never dealt with anything, ever. I just pushed it all away and let it pile up in whatever space I could find.

It never went away though. It was always there, jut like the depression. And when the depression started getting worse, I became intensely introspective. This led me to find all of the things I tried to run from, and they came spilling out. I couldn’t stop them. I was drowning in them. I had no idea what to do anymore. Everything was pain.

On the night I had the knife, I was at a party. There were probably about 20 people in a relatively small apartment, with a fairly even mix of men and women. Everything was normal for most of the night. I was drunk and being more sociable than normal. I had even had a bit of luck with one girl, but then she left. The night was starting to wind down and I watched as people kept pairing off. Everyone was finding someone to hook up with, which is cool, but I was alone… again.

I’m not sure why this was the night that that was too much for me. It had always happened that way. There was never anyone around that wanted me. Nothing has really changed in regards to that. It always hurts when I’m the one that ends up all alone, but it was never that bad. I don’t know if it was the alcohol, or the growing depression, or what, but this was the night.

I can’t even tell you where I got the knife or why I had it. It was just sort of there. I think we may have been fucking around with them and trying to throw them into a wall. I can’t be certain. I was drunk and that part is hazy.

After I put the knife in the wall, I went back in and, as far as I can remember, tried to sleep. I slept fitfully for a while and then called my mom to see if she could pick me up as I didn’t have a car at the time.

I didn’t see anyone from that night for nearly 6 months. I didn’t really realize it at the time, but this was the final straw in a break with reality. It had been happening for a while, but that was when it all finally happened. After that, I stopped going out. I didn’t see anyone for months and I barely left the house. I pretty much didn’t leave unless I was getting food. I spent as much time as possible on the computer playing stupid little games to distract myself from all of the stuff that had piled up. However, I’ve written about all of this before. I’ve just never recognized it as what it really was: a break from reality. I took time away from the world to deal with all of my shit.


I don’t write about this with sadness. I never felt an ounce of melancholy while writing this tonight. In fact, I’m feeling better than I have in a good week. For some reason though, this story felt like it needed out finally. I wasn’t necessarily hiding it, I just didn’t know how to frame it and express it. I’ve mentioned it and sort of written about it before, but never in detail. It was time for it though. Time for one last tale.

I think this is a good final post for this blog. I don’t really have much need for it anymore. I’ll blog again, but most likely not here. This was the journey out of my deepest depression. While the story isn’t over and there’s still much I need to work through, this phase of it is done. It is time to move on to other venues and outlets.

So thank you, and goodbye.


Things I’ll Never Know

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
I know.

You have these dreams too,
But not about me.


I Wanted Something Pretty: An Almost Love Poem

Knee socks
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.


Blood and Doubt

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.


Dust in My Throat; Barbs in My Heart

Tendril heart

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.

 


I Just Wanted to Say

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.


It’s Okay to be Fat, but Only if You’re a Woman

You don’t read much about male body issues. I read a lot about body image issues, but it’s pretty much all written by females and for females. I can’t recall a single article I’ve ever read about male body image issues. It’s as if they don’t exist. The world is trying to get women to feel better about their bodies, but they’re pretty much ignoring the men. Women aren’t the only ones with body fears.

I have pretty serious body image issues. I mean, how could I not? Yes, I’m 6′ tall, but I weigh upwards of 550 pounds. Even when I weighed 350, I hated my body. Now, I wear pants with a 56″ waist. I wear size 5XLT shirts. There is literally no store in my town of 180,000 people that sells clothing in my size. There was, but it closed down last year. I have to buy my clothing online and I pay at least $40 for a single t-shirt, and that’s the cheapest item I buy. The selection is fucking horrible too. Women have an entire industry dedicated to making cute clothes for big girls. There is nothing of the sort for men. If you are over a 2XL, good fucking luck finding something cool to wear. Even the big & tall places think big guys only want to wear suits, button ups, or polos. I want to fucking wear geek wear. I want Star Wars and Deadpool, not plaid button-ups. You would think the comic book industry would understand this.

I only own 7 shirts. Not because I don’t want more, but because they are the only ones I could find that didn’t suck. I own one hoody. It’s literally the only one I could find, and they don’t make it anymore. Pants are easier to find, but they pretty much only want to make cargo pants, dress pants, or jeans. I’m not sure if that’s a universal thing though as even when I was less fat, I only wore Dickies pants and shorts. Really, they don’t make much clothing for big guys and that which they do make is super fucking expensive and not at all a style I want to wear.

This is about more than just clothes though. The US already hates fat people, but they seem to hate fat men the most… unless they’re funny. In media, the only fat men are either constantly shamed and the butt of all jokes, or they are the one making the jokes. John Goodman, Billy Gardell, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Ralphie May, Gabriel Iglesias. These are some of the very few positive male role models of size that I have. Of them all, Goodman is the only one that ever had anything other than funny roles. I realize that women don’t have many either, but they do have Oprah, Melissa McCarthy, Mo’Nique, Roseanne Barr, Mia Tyler (pretty sure there isn’t a SINGLE big male model…), and so many more. Big women in media still take shit for being big, but they are respected and don’t have to rely solely on how funny they are to get respect. They can get respect because of who they are, not how they act. And people stick up for them.

This is also evident in porn. There’s an entire and very large (no pun intended) genre of porn dedicated to large women. For the most part, they are not portrayed as disgusting or gross and are even referred to as “Big Beautiful Women” (BBW). There’s really no corresponding genre for men (I’ve looked). Yes, porn is directed at men, but there’s really no representation of big men in porn. If they are there, it is purely for ridicule and disgrace. The men in porn are almost always muscular, or at the very least, skinny. Even the creepy ones aren’t fat.

Men don’t take as much crap in the media for being big though, so that could help explain why there is less talk about body issues with men. Men are generally allowed a bit more “wiggle” room in their size. The acceptable size for men is a bit larger than it is for women. That doesn’t mean all sizes are accepted though. If you’re exceptionally large (as in, not just 15-25 lbs overweight), you’re probably going to get dirty looks because of your size. I know women go through this as well, but they have support. They have people that speak out for them and help to change this perception. Men don’t really have support like that.

Women, now, are taught to embrace their body. That all types are okay and that you should not feel shame for your body type. Guys don’t really get that. Nobody really talks about our bodies. There are no blogs dedicated to making us all feel as though we are normal. There are no photography exhibits showing off all of the different sizes of men or nationwide commercials saying that real men have curves. Society says that men do not have issues with their body image. They deal with personality but ignore that our bodies affect us the way that a woman’s body affects her. Men are not supposed to have body issues. That’s a woman issue.

In the end, I’m not trying to say that women have it easier. Not at all. Our society is still gender-biased towards males. I know that this issue is difficult for both sexes. What I am trying to say though, is that men do not have the support that women have. If you are not a physically fit alpha male trying to dominate everything in sight, you are not considered at all. If you have issues with how you look you’re told to suck it up because nobody cares.

Or, I could be completely off with all of this and I just haven’t looked hard enough/don’t know where to look. I don’t know. I just know that as I wrote this blog and read others about body issues, I felt very alone as a big man having issues with his size. Because of that, I lashed out some. I know that women have it rough as well, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be upset about this either.


Single: a Gaping Void

Your version of single is very different than mine. When you look back, you look back with knowing and understanding. You look back and you get to remember those past relationships that you had, even though they failed.

Me? I get to look back and remember my fuck ups. I look back and hear “oh man! Do you remember her? That was one of the ones you fell in love with! But do you remember what she thought it was? She just thought you two were really good friends. She said you were like her brother, you dumb sack of shit! Her brother! Ha! How could you not see she didn’t feel the same way? Idiot!”

There are no truly happy memories for me. All of my relationships weren’t, even when I thought they were. No matter what I thought, it was always wrong. They never called me boyfriend or thought of me as anything other than friend. For whatever reason, I wasn’t good enough to be that for them, not even when they told me things they didn’t tell their boyfriends. I was always on the outside looking in.

Your version of single is a separation. You are in between relationships. Maybe you’re actually looking forward to it because you haven’t been “just you” in a while. You’ve been here before and you’re pretty sure it will change soon enough.

For me, it’s a void. It is a complete and utter lack of anything. I don’t know if it will ever end. I never even wanted this, I just have to survive it.

You wonder who the next one will be. I wonder if I’m going to die alone eating lead.


The Journey I Sought and the One I Got

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.


Happy Birthday, Motherfucker!: Facing Fears and Gaining Hope

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.


Music Will Not Turn Me Away

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?


Because YOU Were Happy: A Poem About Pain

It didn’t matter
That I was sad,
That I was lonely.
Because YOU were happy.

It didn’t matter
That I was in pain,
That I cried myself to sleep.
Because YOU were happy.

It didn’t matter
That I hurt myself,
That I cut my flesh.
Because YOU were happy.

It didn’t matter
That I wanted to kill myself,
That I was ready to say goodbye.
Because YOU were happy.

It didn’t matter
That I had to hide this from you,
That I couldn’t tell you about it.
Because YOU were happy.

But it fucking mattered
That you didn’t see me,
That you didn’t care about me.
Because I wasn’t happy.

I wasn’t happy…


Examining My Ideas of Love

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 Didn’t Want to Say Goodbye

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.


Questioning Language: Does the Evolution of Our Language Reveal Our National Intelligence?

I’ve been thinking about language. Language is a living and changing thing. It changes slowly, but it does change. Based upon how the majority of speakers of a language use words some fall into disuse, change meaning, change spelling, or any number of other things. Gay is not used to mean happy anymore. Nobody says gadzooks (Chrome doesn’t even recognize it as a real word). Encyclopedia lost its æ. ‘You and me’ is now accepted in place of ‘you and I’. Words change. Language evolves, but not always for the better.

The thing I have been thinking of most is words changing spelling. Specifically, does this change happen because people can’t spell words? Will ‘your’ one day be an acceptable form of ‘you are’? Are contractions now just accepted as whole words rather than a mash up of two other words? WTF has entered the lexicon as a word (of sorts) that expresses an emotion or reaction far more than actual expression of ‘what the fuck’. What is our language becoming? Will we recognize it when we are old?

The grammar nazis are losing. Intelligence is dying. Unless we actually choose to turn away from it and celebrate intelligence, grammar, and proper use of words, our language and our society is fucked. Newspeak for all! I wonder how George Orwell would feel knowing that we are moving ever closer to his satirized language. I think he would be disappointed, I know I am.


Single Isn’t What It’s Cracked Up to Be

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.


Insomniac Writings: Looking at the Good

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.


Sleeping Alone

Another Night

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.

 


Looking Back on the Year

I suppose this is where I start thinking back on the year that is ending today. However, I spend much time thinking about what has and has not happened, so these things are never far from my mind and summing them up in predetermined segments like a calendar year rather than as the journey they were seems odd.

Can a year be your best and your worst? A lot happened this year. Some good, some bad, and some heartbreaking.

I started making art again and have made a ton of it, even going so far as to sell a piece. I began writing again as well. I have created 70+ posts here for the purpose of expelling and exploring my demons. I have begun to open up and talk to people about the things that I am dealing with. I have grown as a person, though I still have a long way to go.

A lot has changed, though a lot remains the same. I still struggle with loneliness and socializing. I want to fix it, but I’m not there yet. I also managed to fall for someone that would never care for me, again. I may have lost my virginity and cared for someone this year, but I still ended up getting hurt in the end and am still dealing with the fallout to this day. I don’t know when I’ll be past it, but I know that I am no longer thinking of it constantly, only when I come into contact with her… or try to masturbate, but that’s another story.

In all, I’d say the year was neutral. The highs were high, and the lows were low, but they averaged out. It was one of the most active years I have had in a long time, and I think it was just a precursor. There’s more to come; there has to be. This year has been all about building, and growing, and opening up, but for what? I do not know yet, though I think I’ll find out in 2013. I have no idea what is in store for me for the year ahead, but I hope it’s good. It would be nice to have a truly good year for once.

This post should probably be longer or more in depth, but I think i am still too close to all that happened this year to really see it for what it is. As 2013 progresses and unfolds, I think I will start to see the outcome of all that I did in 2012. I just hope it comes out for the best.


I’m Sorry: An Apology To Myself

I am sorry, so sorry.
I’m sorry for everything that I let happen to you, for all that I could not stop.
I’m sorry for all the children, the ones that caused you pain.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t stronger, that I didn’t stand and fight.
I wish that I could have done something, but I ran away in fright.

I’m sorry that I hurt you, that I could not love you.
I’m sorry that I mutilated you and took my anger out on your body.
I’m sorry that I didn’t learn a better way, one that left you safe.
I’m sorry that I pushed you away, and forced you to hide.

I’m sorry that I ran from you, that I did not stay to help you heal.
I’m sorry that I didn’t see just how bad you hurt.
I’m sorry I was so weak, that I could not show you love.

I’m sorry that you could not turn to me,
I’m sorry for ignoring your pleas.

I’m sorry for everything that you didn’t get to be.

But you are me and I was you,
And we were scared and we were broken.
We didn’t know how to handle it,
We didn’t know what to do.
We tried so hard, but we fell so far.

But I am here now, I will not leave.
We can talk it all out,
We can finally heal.
I’ll never leave you again.


Struggling With the Past

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…

In a Pharse digital

 

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.


Endings Intertwined: Saying Goodbye

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

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.


With Lips Sealed

All you ever had to do was ask
I would have been yours
No reservation
No hesitation
Body, mind, soul
I would have been yours

But you never thought to ask
It never crossed your mind
Not even once
Not even close
Just a friend
It’s all I ever was

I tried to show you
What I could not say
I loved you
I love you
With everything I am
But I could not say

I knew what would happen
The words would come
And you would run
Forever gone
Without a word
With no second thought

So here I sit
And so I burn
With lips sealed
And words unspoken
Just to be with you
Though I can never have you