What Stays Personal? Thoughts on Personal Blogging

I am an endangered species – a personal blogger

The blog. A web log. In Internet years, these things have become antiquated. When blogs were new, the concept was mostly personal. You didn’t have news entities or people making a living off of the thing, people just wrote about what they wanted and put it out there. I’d wager that most anyone doing such a thing in the early days of blogging never did this with the idea of anyone else really reading it, we just did it because we could, so why not? It was the same principle as building your own website in the 90’s. You probably had nothing of worth to really share or create, or if you did, you didn’t stick with it long enough to get that good at it, but it was something cool to do online, so why not? There’s no better reason to do anything!

Closely associated with the birth of the blog were services like Xanga and Livejournal, which turned into everyone you knew having one. This was kind of an unfortunate time for the Internet. At least with Tumblr, everyone can just post stupid

Xanga - The reason why we all shouldn't share our thoughts and lives with everyone.
Xanga – The reason why we all shouldn’t share our thoughts and lives with everyone.

pictures and quotes, because as soon as most people (kids) start putting down words, it just gets messy. Either way, the public, digital diary — everyone was doing it. It’s something I’m no stranger to. I was effectively doing it with our websites at the time GTAMAC — which was a precursor to SwB Crew, and all early iterations of our SwB Crew websites were as much about us writing about whatever we wanted as they were putting our movies online.

Needless to say, as soon as I discovered you could write these entries without having to manually update .html files and upload them via ftp, I was convinced there was nothing more bitchin than that.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that I’ve been writing a personal blog for a long time. It is part of me. To me, it’d be weird if I didn’t have one. And to this day, I have no expectation of anyone ever reading anything I write and publicly nail to what is effectively the digital town square, but people do. People I know do. People that I write about do, and people I write about don’t. People that I will never see again have been characters in my writings, and people that I have to see everyday have been.

That’s kind of a tough line to walk. If you are reading this, then you likely have read something else I’ve put on here, so you know how personal I like to get. I don’t know why, exactly, but for some reason it is very comforting to me to bare all on here, and when it comes to myself, I try to, but I have to expose other people to do that. There have been dozens of occasions where I’ve hit that PUBLISH button on WordPress right before I’ve gone to sleep, with a moment of hesitation as I wonder to myself — Continue reading “What Stays Personal? Thoughts on Personal Blogging”

You Are the Hardest

Write this once, write it twice, write it again. In a few months, likely write it again.

You are the hardest person to forgive.

You have to wonder to yourself. You’re snared on that rusted hook, caught by the collar like a defiant dog pulling away from a taut leash.

You try not to consign that you probably gave up the best thing you ever had.

Even now, you still can’t forgive yourself for breaking someone’s heart. For breaking it so completely.

At one point in time, you told someone you know that you wouldn’t mind if you were met with rejection and tortuous relationships in the future, as if you deserved it, but, really, it is just a means to keep feeling guilty. A means to hold on to that unwillingness to forgive yourself.

But you still can’t.

Remain unforgiven.

It’s a part of life, yet you just don’t believe you were meant to break anybody’s heart.

a letter

an unpublished, unshared letter written on December 26, 2009 at 3:42 AM. Honestly, doesn’t feel like much has changed in my life even since then..

Marlhazts, brugizzin– ok, so I totally made that one up, but I think we covered about every possible one in the past already so I needed to bend the rules on this one.

This is a hard letter to write. I don’t really know how much I have resolved. I’m in an interior struggle. A self-contained tug-of-war. I also have circled around everything so much that it is hard for me to know which part of this cave network to enter from. Finally, I don’t know what words I will end up with on paper, nor the potential fallout from what is written. I wish I could be fair to you.

First let me say, I love you very much. I know without a doubt that this break has been good for both of us, and that would of course strengthen our relationship so much. On top of this, you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. You’re my best friend in my life presently, I feel like that is something that bridges even a little further out than just love in the man-woman sense.

Anyway, like I said, I am amidst a massive internal battle right now. I know certain things. I know how strongly I love you and value your friendship. I have an idea how far my life is from where I feel I need it to be, and I think to where God wants it to be. I think I know how long these things can take to rebuild too. I know that I don’t want to break-up. I know that sometimes our wants don’t always align with our needs. I know that timing isn’t always determined by us, no matter how hard we can try. I know how much, down the road, I would love and be so blessed to get the honor of spending the rest of my ife with you. I know and have the idea of a lot of things.

I don’t know many things either. I still don’t know much about this break. I don’t know its dimensions, its boundaries, its terms, its life expectancy. Wow, I don’t really know anything about it except that it is there right now. I’m sure that sucks for you, since if anyone should have an idea on that it should be me. I don’t where I am in my life right now. Life has many different phases and stages. The nature of these varies based on where we are in our lives and how long we have lived. I don’t really know if I am hitting a different phase of my life, though I fear I might be hitting a short detour or bump in the road. I don’t know where I would end up or anything else if this were the case. The most frightening thing to me is that I don’t know if being in a relationship is feasible with the possible course my life might be heading. I don’t know what kind of person that makes me.

Every time I take a step in one direction right now, I am pulled in the other direction by an equal gravitational force. If my left eye looks left, my right eye wants to look right. If I look up, I get ambushed from below. I am confused. I am sad. I am scared. I don’t want to risk losing things, I certainly wouldn’t want to lose you, but I don’t feel like I am the pilot of my life at the moment. I fear that my course will take me away and I may lose what matters most– you.

I mentioned the Odyssey to you at one point. I feel like I’m hitting my Odyssey. I just want to be home at last, but I know full well that such an odyssey is filled with many obstacles, delays, and interesting stops. I lay afloat and lost in a sea of thought and feeling. I look up at the stars and constellations and try and read my feelings, my thoughts and get an idea where this life is taking me from these heavenly signs, but I can’t figure it out. It makes me worry and yet realize that I may stray off and never return back to the home I long for. Yet, I could return back and find nobody left home to welcome me, or maybe I struggle to find my way back for some time, and I make it back just like Odysseus and there are his loved ones, waiting for him. Or maybe I even get guided quickly and safely back home. The point being, these are all very real possibilities. That isn’t fun.

I have days where I really feel that I need to spend a prolonged amount of time on my own, just living for James Curtis– in a way further following this self-fueled break of sorts. Then again, I think that if it is the case, you have to do these things while you’re young and still can. I hate to admit it, but I do have these days where I really feel it weighing heavy on me. Of course, these days are especially awful when I’m overwhelmed with feelings of how much I care for you. It hurts to even say I love you sometimes because I feel like I could end up seeming like a huge con or liar. Furthermore, I just find myself living a paradoxical existence. If I love someone so much, how could this even be a possibility? Yet it is! It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know how to feel about it. It distresses me, yet I can’t be in denial about the possibility.

What is even worse, I often find myself having to play out this scenario in my head. It is so selfish too. In these scenarios, it is so hard. In these scenarios where I enter deep space, I still know how much I’d want to share our close friendship. Yet, I know that probably wouldn’t be possible. Would it be fair to you? Certainly not; to the highest degree. So in these scenarios I have to assume that possibility out of the question, which makes the thought even worse. Then from there, my head always figures it is a toss-up, because for one, I don’t know where I’m going in deep space and for how long. So do I lose the most special one in my life for good? Do I somehow get her back? If I even got that lucky, could I ever forgive myself– even for, at the least, just potentially gambling this away?

There is no scenario that is fair to you, even the best case. That really sucks. Once again, it  is just another degree that contributes largely to my struggle.

And does it make any sense? No. I have a feeling you may even be reading this and thinking that to yourself. But its real. I’m being tugged in different directions. Heck, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you came to the conclusion that if someone can feel they love you but feel pulled away from that that they aren’t worth loving. I feel villainous for it. I just… can’t help it. I don’t have any answers though.

Here is the thing too, I know that I need to really figure this out, I need to have some solid ground on if I really need to just go live purely for myself for an extended period, or if I can really come back to it sometime soon and maintain this soft break status– But that just isn’t fair either. I can’t keep you on call for so long. I can’t keep you on the tight rope for too long, I know this. This makes things even harder.

This isn’t such a black and white matter of loving each other so much and being able to stick it out like it was with in the past, because the very nature of things might be calling me to potentially have to give everything up. It isn’t a matter of loving you at this point, it isn’t at all. I love you more than ever, I promise you that. I miss your friendship so much right now. If it was just a matter of love then things would be simple. There are things here which are too large for myself to grasp right now. I think that is why I might be hitting this new phase. The only way I could make sense of it all is I would need such a phase to explore this larger, unknown object floating about and truly comprehend it.

I really fail at properly loving you. I don’t know what else to say at this point. I am afraid. I do love you so much. I am so lonely right now, I am often miserable even if I have temporal happiness. I know I must struggle, though. I probably need to. I might even be long overdue for some mistakes in my life, Lord knows that I’ve spent so much of my life trying to avoid them.

I don’t want to leave you. I don’t know what I need though. I want things to be simple, but that just doesn’t seem possible right now.

I am a walking paradox. I am a walking violation of universal principles and laws of physics. I think I am more confused after writing this. I am sad. I don’t want you to be sad, I don’t want to make you sad. I am probably repeating myself at this point.

I am sorry, Kara. I would understand if you can’t put up with this right now, or if you don’t want to risk getting anymore hurt than you probably are. I know you love me and want to help me anyway you can. I don’t think there is much you can directly do though– that is the worst, I know. On top of this, if the only way you can really be there for me is by leaving me, well, even I don’t have any comprehension of that.

Once again, I am just so unsure and confused.

Once again, I’m sorry.

an open tunnel

To me, love is just an open tunnel. That tunnel rarely seems to bring anything but pain.

I loved a girl for a few years. First, we were barely more than acquaintances through a mutual friend. There was never a day that I was aware of her existence that I didn’t like her. Then we were friends. For a lon time we were friends. Then I was truly able to take that affection, and close friendship, and care for her. Quite later, that tunnel opened up on her end. Over some more time, I can truly say I loved her.

I loved her for a long time. I loved her more than I ever realized I could love someone. I loved her through harder times than I ever foresaw. Each day, I loved her more and more. I never ran out of love to give, but I was not equipped with enough experience and wisdom in my life to that point to prevent what came. I was strangled; a choke point finally closed and I ran out of that ability to let that love, that care, flow.

Each day, I woke up trying to be renewed, and love would eek out, but I experienced pain in conjunction with that love. Eventually, it was more pain than love, and I made one of the hardest choices in my life to barricade that tunnel until time healed the broken. Not since that choice have I come anywhere remotely close to caring for anyone on that level.

To this day, the one I loved so dear still won’t talk or associate with me. She must still feel the same level of pain I do. It still hurts more, though. Over a year later and I only get one real correspondence; an e-mail, a dream, and part of a letter, and like that it is back to that long forgotten, long abandoned tunnel to eachother’s hearts, eachother’s lives.

A couple months ago, I actually cared for a girl again. I didn’t think I had it in me. We were good friends. I was terrified. It wasn’t much, just care, and a very trusting friendship. I was afraid of the care. I was afraid of ruining a friendship already going through a rough patch. I was probably most afraid of the astronomically long shot odds of actually having a chance to have that care materialize; pebbles of rubble sliding through the cracks, then rocks, then boulders, until that tunnel was open again. I wasn’t looking for that, but it was nice to at least be able to care again.

It turned for the worst. I wanted those feelings out of the way. In a confusing, poorly represented attempt to simplify, I presented myself and my care to her, like a loyal knight approaching the throne revealing a plot to betray the throne he protects. I wanted not to care more, I wanted to just keep my trusted friend, and care a little, on my own, on the side, just to remember myself that I am human, and contrary to my conditioning, love is not pain, but something that can bring life.

The worst happened. I wasn’t rejected. I wasn’t accepted. I still don’t know what that means. I wish that she had the guts to have rejected me. In my gut, I wanted that. In my heart, I guess I wished she had the crazinness to accept me, I only wished for it when my mind was away.

Now, we don’t talk at all. There is no communication. I don’t get to represent myself. I don’t get to represent my trampled feelings. I don’t get a chance to be understanding. I don’t get to be friends, at all. I’m the square root of a negative number.

Someone I consider a best friend asked her on a date. They went on a date. It was some of the sharpest, most venomous pain that ever coursed through me. I care not, to the best of my abilities, to know anything beyond that one thing I found out. I try to live beyond it, but more often than I like it creeps in my bed at night, and forces itself upon me. I feel terrible those nights and converted mornings.

A date? A date? A date?? I never even got a friendship. I don’t even know if I get to apologize for the stress I put her under. I don’t expect anyone will ever apologize to me, or not when it will hold any relevancy to my feelings.

I see my friends. Some are married. They were stronger than me. They didn’t burn out; or maybe it was they weren’t extinguished.

I see my friends. They still get to talk to their ex’s. They get to drift apart a little more naturally with someone wth whom they literally shared their life with. They have things fall in place. They find new people they get to mutually care for.

For me, any distant relative of love has just been further conditioned to be, to me, associated with pain, with hurting, with tears. Care, trust, companionship, friendship, these things aren’t even love, but they all have tracked in the broken glass fragments from my concept of love, and likewise, even a step can, at random, cause me pain.

It is another insecurity I have to carry around now. I’m not looking for any pity or anything. I’m sick enough of feeling bad for myself; last thing I want is anyone else doing the same. I’m simply bringing another insecurity to the table.

This way, nobody can say anything to me sometimes see sawing from functioning, well, and to not ok.

Sometimes I’m going to not be ok. Just let me at least not be ok sometimes, I don’t ask for much anymore. This is not too much to ask. If I ever warn you about getting too close to me, please know I’m just trying to keep that tunnel blocked off as long as I can. It is all I can do to keep moving on in life. Just stay barricaded. Keep moving on.

getting personal

I was in the car. I was driving the car. There were 4 of us in there.

We were driving around the city of Fairview, looking for a graveyard. We were going to take pictures, maybe make memories of each other as ghosts. It was in the summer, of course, which is the appropriate time of year to take pictures with friends in a graveyard.

I knew the cemetery I wanted to go to,. It had a nice aesthetic, and it was removed from everything else. For some reason, that place remained hidden away like some secret area in space-time. I knew where it was, but when I drove there, it wasn’t there.

Jesse said he knew of a couple others. They didn’t really sound like they fit the bill when I asked him to desribec them, but what else was I going to do? I was feeling uneasy. I typically felt uneasy around people, but now I felt uneasy around my friends. I felt even more uneasy because I was with my friends and my girlfriend.

I hadn’t seen Corey in weeks, probably. Furthermore, I hadn’t really seen him on any terms of substance for months, maybe even a year if you want to be honest.

There we were, driving that car; that black Toyota Camry– the same year as my own. Kara was to my right in the passenger seat, and Corey and Jesse behind us in the back. I wasn’t happy. Things were not going how I planned. I felt like I had a target on my back. I felt like Kara had a target on her back. I felt that , together, we especially carried a dangerous label. I was pretty sure our friends had alienated us. I am pretty sure. I don’t know if I blame them or not, things got to a point where they couldn’t be contained. When you are a couple, you try to do everyone around you the courtesy of putting problems and quarrels aside until it is behind closed doors. That hadn’t been an option for maybe a year now. Everyone had seen the ugliness, our craziness.

I felt like I had turned crazy, and I felt like everyone thought I had lost it. That didn’t help me feel any less crazy.

I so badly wanted this to be a good day. Seamless. Flawless. Peerless. Enjoyable. And if things really go well, perfect. A sign of hope, a reminder that we aren’t cancer, we are just the same two friends you’ve always had. I had trouble truly wanting anything in those days. I was stunted, but, I truly, truly,  wanted that.

I couldn’t find the right place. I was on edge. I was messing things up already. In my head I could feel Kara beginning to fret; the cogs and gears coming slightly loose. I was figuring her to start worrying that we won’t find a good spot, and that one bolt of negativity firing off, suggesting that we just go back home, forget the pictures and just hang out at my house. That one blow would dismantle the entire machine, and  I couldn’t let it happen.

We were still driving. Forty minutes to no avail, I was out of ideas. I tried to keep things going. I worked hard, like they were going to tip me, if I kept the atmosphere comfortable and enjoyable. While I was driving I glanced over at Kara after something I said. I saw something. It was a slight removal of comfort in her face, to the corner of my eye, it looked like that seed of distress. I was in no place to make that judgment.

I did anyway.

I was so sure that she was about to unravel. To prevent the peace from being broken, I broke it. I took the offensive.

“No, no you don’t. Not today! Not today!”

Nobody knew what I was on about.

She didn’t really either, she just heard my tone, saw the alarm in my face and demeanor. It was Chernobyl all over again.

I continued to accuse her of indicating to me that she was not keeping things together, that she was about to crack.

I guess I forgot to say that it was hard for her to be social in those days. Working her up to have group interaction among even the closest of our friends took weeks on a slow stew. One small mistake and that is another week or two of work. Just as it was hard to get her up for it, maintaining her ability to when we did was something that I had taken responsibility for. I was the nurse. I was probably wrong to, but then again, in those days, it was probably necessary– I don’t think retrospect has granted me any other light on that.

There we were, trapped in this vehicle, a good 12 minutes from home. I was yelling at the top of my lungs. It was a very grotesque scene. There were a handful of times where I was really, truly mean– just mean00 and mean to her in some sort of public setting. When I say mean, I mean like in a way that I knew I was being mean, but I did not feel bad about it; like I felt she had earned it from me. This was one of those few times. Of course what followed after I regathered myself from those incidents was the ugliest, muddy feeling of dreck and self-loathing grime infiltrating every last pore I had.

In the middle of my tirade I glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing my two friends in the back seat, as uncomfortable as sleeping on a bed of spikes. It only made me feel worse.Maybe these moments were some type of out of body experiences for me, and seeing those two, then her, then myself, started to pull me back in. I had too much momentum to just stop, but I just finished up a good 30 seconds more of vicious yelling and blaming for thinking that or plans are ruined before I did stop.

Then, they really were ruined.

She cried, trying not to erupt into tears– she instead just melted away in a ball of salty discharge as she curled up in her seat facing down and away from everyone. The two in the back didn’t make a peep. And I just recoiled away toward my window a bit, wearing my mask of distress anger, and disappointment. I was holding back. I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t going to. I sped up, but I didn’t speed too much. I thought to myself, “this is it– you’ve really done it this time.”

I knew that when we got home the other two would leave both as quickly as they could, but also as politely as they could. That made me more upset. I’d rather them just leave and not feign the courtesy part. I am not ignorant, of course.

As soon as we did get back, the exact scenario happened.

Jesse was kind of quieter about it, his voice doesn’t carry like most, so it could be seen as him just kind of getting in his car and heading off. Corey is very adept at the uncomfortable courtesy bit, and he really let it out in this case. I don’t blame him, but as soon as he said what words he said, in the tone he said, and that door shut, the red in my vision and head rose. The cars started driving off and I just let myself lose control of my body. We went inside, because I needed to unlock the door for her, but it was merely a stop on the way to wherever I was going.

The puppy of Kara’s was howling, she had severe separation anxiety. She was in her kennel in my living room. I yelled at the dog, and rattled her kennel. I told the puppy to shut up in all different manner of ways, then transferred that to Kara as she busted out into total weeping. I started throwing and kicking things. I didn’t want ot hurt her. I didn’t want to run my friends off. I didn’t want her to be crying. I didn’t want plans to be ruined. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined things, but I was. I kicked some of my mom’s somewhat new furniture. In fact, I broke some of it. I continued to the back porch so I could continue to follow my blind rage even more. I grabbed the weight bench and threw the barbell off the deck into the lawn. Primally, I screamed and shrieked about. I noticed that the neighbors down the street had been outside when we got home. They were still on their porch at this time. Just more people to alienate me and think I am mentally unstable.

I don’t remember everything I threw or tried to destroy. I do distinctly remember a broom stick of which I broke. I didn’t break it snapping it on my leg, or banging it on anything. I merely flung it across the yard. Mid release, it snapped in half and split off into two paths, one end hitting a tree. At that point I started to calm enough to stop physically lashing out. I stayed outside for a while. I sat on the steps of my deck and let some tears come out.

I didn’t know what I was going to do when I went back inside. I didn’t know how I was going to recover between any of those people involved, or what my parents would think when they saw all the destruction. I didn’t want to sit out there forever, though. It only made things worse. After  a couple minute I went inside.

We didn’t say anything to each other, she was on the couch, or maybe she had gone into my room on my bed– either way, she was coiled up into a ball, still outpouring tears and snot like the river Nile. I set to clean everything inside up. I made good progress until I realized some of the furniture I had broken. I had a little kid moment again, when I was trying to figure out how I was going to cover this up and lie to my mom about it so she doesn’t notice. She still doesn’t know about it to this day, so I guess I did well on that front. Maybe my childhood was just teaching me how to deceive better.That dilemma set back my efforts to recollect myself by 30 minutes, though.

I don’t remember much of what happened in the next 30-60 minute, or maybe I just don’t care to go that deep into something already terribly personal. I remember it being dark. Dark and quiet. The only noise was slow breathing patterns, sniffling, a ticking clock on the wall, and dog tags clinging about. These things occupied our senses until enough time passed that the only thing left in me was weakness, tenderness and gentleness.

We were both hungry and exhausted. I fed myself and fed her, after persuading her that she needed to eat too.

We sat curled up with each other on my couch as we ate dinner and in the dark watched Man On Wire.

Man up, James! – Issue 131

source: http://www.conceptart.org/forums/showthread.php?t=56786&page=76

Man up, James!

It is 50 minutes into the last day of my least favorite month. This January was no exception to the rule; pretty bad January. A lot to be thankful for? Sure. A lot to look forward to? Somewhat. A lot of emptiness and uncertainty? Of course.

The past two days were the weakest I’ve felt since before I started my final semester in August. I hate how I can hardly remember most of those days. I compare it to something like Mario Kart, you know, like those boost arrows on the track that warp you up real fast? That is what those first few weeks of August were. I was mad depressed, still, though had been scaling upward and out of the crevice I had violently tumbled so deeply down; slow progress, and many days where I slipped and ended up back down days, weeks back.

Then it was like the movie trope you see, where my foot somehow got tied around some rope attached to a pulley, such as the one you see in a bucket, and this massive counterweight yanked me up, upside down, toward the surface. Of course this wasn’t entirely beneficial, as I was dragged across the crag like a match being lit on a coarse, flint-like rock. Either way, it started up again. Life. It took me a month or two to get out of the shell shock of being back in school after my massive breakdown and fleeing. Desperate prayers were answered as I recall showing up at a fairly well-sized baptist church one afternoon in the first half-week of school. My friend said I had the job if I wanted it. I walked around the facility and heard my responsibilities and was basically said the job was mine if I wanted it. Not that I didn’t listen, but I didn’t really listen so much, because I could have been told that I was going to be wrestling lions and I would have said yes. A couple days later I was both working and attending school every weekday.

I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to hack it anymore. Atrophy is an incredible thing. Social atrophy is even worse when you have dealt with varying degrees of social anxiety and fluctuating self-image your entire life. Those first few weeks were entirely distorted, blurry, rushed. For any of you who ever played sports, it was like getting out in your first high school varsity game, somehow mistakenly sent in by your coach, or perhaps as part of a message being delivered to older, leather skinned and composed upperclassman teammates. And the sweat, the pressure, the accelerating heart beat, the shortened breathing patterns and the motion– game back on. If you know those moments, you know what those weeks felt like. I merely just kept my body moving. I made sure I was in each place I needed to be when I was supposed to be there, then like that moment the roller coaster drifts into momentum, I went along for the ride, terrified and helpless.

Over time, I finally earned back fragments of confidence, normalcy, and the sure-footed feeling that I can do this living stuff again. By the time that period ended, I had my best, closest friend in the world living 2 minutes away, I had earned back the respect of instructors I look up to who were there when I fell the first time, I felt like I belonged on campus, I felt good about my ability to contribute with my job, and so on. I was not only back on the surface, but I had healed up quite a but, stiffened up my body a bit and was feeling the best I had felt in a couple years.

Maybe I got a big head, maybe I forgot that it isn’t me who is in control of these things, maybe I just was near-sighted, or maybe I am just overdramatic, but I never knew it’d only take a month to uncoil most of that.

December 16th was the night I graduated. I was hyped up. I even saw some old faces who had been through journeys as long, and I am sure as arduous as mine. I was totally inspired, and I felt fulfilled. I was surrounded by so many of my best friends and family that night. Heck, I even let one of my closest girl friends come, you know, that one who I had been saying was dead to me for the past year– not the on that I had been dead to the past year. In fact, it was nice to have that dichotomy between oldest closest girl friend and newest closest girl friend both there, with the one in the middle obviously gone. It showed that I could find that type of connection still, in places I never looked.

The very next day, the coils had already started revolving the other direction. It was likely from coming from such a sky searing high from the night before and having to plummet down to the ground the next day. Oh, and waking up too early. I never got weaker, even as the immediate future dwindled into an outlook that was not as clear cut and optimistic as the one I endured between August and December. I knew, or so I thought, what was coming, and I was ready to take that transition head on; much like we take on waves, running straight at them and diving under to avoid the blows and their opposing force. I am clumsy, and I got hit by a few.

I expected some, and wasn’t prepared for others. I knew my best friend was leaving, but I couldn’t process it until it happened. I didn’t know I would find myself attached to a girl, but almost involuntarily it happened. I knew that I’d be in this weird transition period with my job and finding something more permanent, and hopefully meaningful (to myself), but I didn’t expect it to have such a sapping effect. I knew that my family was going through a lot of things, but I once again underestimated how deeply the stress of it would start to hollow me out again.

And now where am I exactly?

Lost, I guess.

I  am holding myself up with everything I have. I am not refusing help; I am quite active in asking for it, in fact. Yet, I’m still lost and that wanes my strength extensively. My biggest short-term fear is that I run out of strength, give up on finding my direction and fall back into depression, but I will fight with everything I have to avoid that; and I will fight dirty.

I’ve already considered a lot of changes I can try to make, or at least look into to help. I have to sit kicking myself every moment of the day, the only girl that has ever had any meaning to me since my breakup has seemingly gone to a close friend to a non-existent one. I even had to bring to the table that I can’t support a one-sided friendship. I think I forgot to say that I didn’t want it to have to be that way, and I think I came off lacking understanding of that person, but on the other hand that part of me that is still blackened and dead from all my time wants to be bitter from feeling like I haven’t been respected; like I am not trusted, or heck, like I haven’t even been given a chance to be trusted. Within me, I know that I am worthy of those things and more, yet within the other person, they can’t easily resign themselves to that.  I have to remember other people have those blackened, dead parts, and I try to at least take the fact that it is hard to be given someone’s trust as something, because at least that is on the table? Either way, it is a terrible place to be, because it just feels like I keep giving up more and more.

Lost another friend to a similar typhoon in their life, and only recently have they resurfaced. I’ve had a couple more move, or they travel a lot. She, well, her and I probably both finally accept that we ended up on different sides of a bridge that has been completely destroyed, with myself finishing last in that race, of course. The only real female touch I have in my life are from one or two people, depending on how you look at it. I never get to see any of those kind of friends in anything outside of a group setting, and even then it is usually brief. I deeply yearn for that kind of connection again, there is just something about the gentleness of that heart and that different way of looking at things that I can’t get otherwise, heck, that’s why I would sacrifice any deeper feelings I got for any girl at this point just because I need that close connection as a friend I can trust and vice versa. I only get that with people who are in other states right now.

It makes me very sad.

Then there is the fact that nearly all of my active close friends live ~40 minutes away, at least. That might not sound like much in the grand scheme of things, but when you have to drive that much to and fro to go anywhere, it drains you. I either have to plan well ahead and pack for the end of the world to be efficient, or I have to make many drives. I hate it, and I think it has ground me to the point that half the time I can hang out with any of them, I have to fight an equal half that doesn’t feel up to it, because it’d feel better to have to expend less of myself and be down about my situation instead.

That is exactly the kind of danger I fear. Do you see how easy it is for me to systematically break down my current setting and subsequently have endless ammunition to fire at my morale?

It is scaring the crap out of me. I feel 15,19 and 24 all over again. Those were all very low points and very foolish times. I won’t say I thought I grew, because I knew I grew. I have the measurements on the wall, but why am I feeling like I am inflicted by all the things in the past that cut me so far down, plus new ones?

As a whole, I am still far better off right now than I was 1 or 2 years ago. I think I have less intimacy and close contact to lean on, but other than that caveat, I should like these odds.

I honestly just think that I must have thought I fully recovered from injury too quick, tried to run too far, jump too high, and play too hard. I’m playing that patience game again and I just don’t like it.

I guess that is why I am just doing everything I can to keep things moving, changing, and trying to procure advantages in anyway I can. If you can’t try to be self-reliant then how do you expect to rely on anyone else?

I know I just painted a very bleak picture, and I know I am going to come across as very down. Like I said, I’ve just felt especially weak the past two days, but you know what?

Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’m manning up. I will out exist this lull, no prob.

 

Skimming through this again, I do realize I forgot to highlight one thing: I have more self-assurance now than ever. I am just not getting a chance to exhibit that self-assurance. That is why I am impatient through my transition, like I am cuffed and these weakly dudes are trying to get their licks in now before they let me loose to unleash on the world like a rapid fire cannon. 

Moron.

Source: http://fnshome.com/transmit-ejemplo-de-proyecto-inmobiliario-en-moron/
Source: http://fnshome.com/transmit-ejemplo-de-proyecto-inmobiliario-en-moron/

Preface: I have a lot of unpublished drafts. I like to go back and look at them from time to time as they catalogue feelings and times that I was going through. Here is one from 2009 called Moron. I had just decided to take a break from a relationship with someone I loved very much (and later it turned into a break-up.. temporarily).

It is 4:26 pm on Monday, December 14th, in my 24th year, 2009. I am listening to the same song I’ve had on repeat for 22 times over the past 12 hours. This song is a German Remix to an Australian group’s song. Last night I listened to it and it made my body shiver with the need to dance; joyous, you could say.

Today, I listen to it and it is astoundingly hollow and somber– still appropriate. I don’t think my life has been one with many significant mistakes, though plenty of little ones along the way. I guess I’ve never liked making mistakes. Today, over the course of the past few hours and reaching its conclusion a few minutes ago.. I just probably made the biggest mistake of my life, maybe even willingly too. An act of pure idiocy that has potential to swell into a haunting moment that quietly follows me the rest of my life.

Silence is agonizing.

I just needed to record this moment. I pray that the stupidity of my youth isn’t appropriately reprimanded. But if so.. I deserve it.

Moron.