back to the old, out with the new.
so i've been outed. or something.
i need to be honest. i need to say what i really feel. and if i know she's reading, i probably won't be. not because i embrace dishonesty, but because i am compulsive about hiding things that i fear will hurt the ones i love. i can hurt myself a lot of different ways. and i can hurt others in a multitude of ways that are accidental, or ill-devised, or ill-advised. But i cannot bring myself to purposely write words that i know will hurt someone that i love. even when i need to. even when it is the best thing for them. unless i am writing a song. strange, i know. the words that i could deliver silently like a sharp knife, i have to hold in, but the more damaging ones that i must sing aloud for God and everyone... for the sake of art, i can betray like Judas. I can betray my own faults, and i can betray the perceived faults of those i most cherish through microphones and amplification...
i can't do it silently, and i don't know why and because of this and a hundred other things i feel like i am messed up.
it's not that i can't embrace the concept of tough love. it's that i can't seem to embrace tough devastating love. not on purpose, though God knows i've done it unintentionally more times than I can count. even the songs weren't written to hurt her, they were to rid myself of the hurt she had caused, and the hurt i had cultivated, and thus caused myself. it is my own fault.
I always loved her - even when i hated her, i loved her. i always loved her. i never could break it, even when i was breaking my self, and breaking my promises, and breaking into oblivion, i couldn't break away from the fact that in my core, i always loved her.
and in the midst of loving her, and not letting her go, i hurt her again. again and again. like i couldn't help myself from doing it. like a retarded kid with a kitten. and the kitten scratches him, as kittens do, so he smothers it and to the outsider looking in, it looks like revenge, pure and simple revenge, but the little retarded kid, God bless him - he's just trying to keep the kitten from scratching him again, he's holding it tighter and tighter because he loves the kitten and he knows if the kitten keeps scratching him, he will have to put it down, so he just holds on tighter and tighter until he looks down and the kitten is dead.
Except she's not dead. Thank God. she's tougher than that. and i'm not a kid, though i sometimes still feel retarded.
she told me not to contact her anymore, which is the first time that has ever happened to me.
so i sit here and type for the last time into a box that i know she will probably read someday when her curiosity gets the best of her, but i tell myself she won't. if i don't allow myself that little bit of self-deception, i just wouldn't write at all. i don't want her to come back to me. i don't want her to climb back into my lap and let me squeeze more life out of her. i want her to stay as far away as possible, so i can't hurt her anymore.
and i want it to be her decision, so she knows she is strong.
i want her to stay far away.
she is Strong.
stronger than me.
better than me.
i'm going back to my old journal, and i'm going back to friends-only. if you know what it was, you can meet me there. or you can stop reading altogether. i have to have this modicum of brutal honesty in my life, and i can't be that here anymore.
so i go back to a fake name, so i can be honest. the irony of it does not escape me.
Levi
ts
i need to be honest. i need to say what i really feel. and if i know she's reading, i probably won't be. not because i embrace dishonesty, but because i am compulsive about hiding things that i fear will hurt the ones i love. i can hurt myself a lot of different ways. and i can hurt others in a multitude of ways that are accidental, or ill-devised, or ill-advised. But i cannot bring myself to purposely write words that i know will hurt someone that i love. even when i need to. even when it is the best thing for them. unless i am writing a song. strange, i know. the words that i could deliver silently like a sharp knife, i have to hold in, but the more damaging ones that i must sing aloud for God and everyone... for the sake of art, i can betray like Judas. I can betray my own faults, and i can betray the perceived faults of those i most cherish through microphones and amplification...
i can't do it silently, and i don't know why and because of this and a hundred other things i feel like i am messed up.
it's not that i can't embrace the concept of tough love. it's that i can't seem to embrace tough devastating love. not on purpose, though God knows i've done it unintentionally more times than I can count. even the songs weren't written to hurt her, they were to rid myself of the hurt she had caused, and the hurt i had cultivated, and thus caused myself. it is my own fault.
I always loved her - even when i hated her, i loved her. i always loved her. i never could break it, even when i was breaking my self, and breaking my promises, and breaking into oblivion, i couldn't break away from the fact that in my core, i always loved her.
and in the midst of loving her, and not letting her go, i hurt her again. again and again. like i couldn't help myself from doing it. like a retarded kid with a kitten. and the kitten scratches him, as kittens do, so he smothers it and to the outsider looking in, it looks like revenge, pure and simple revenge, but the little retarded kid, God bless him - he's just trying to keep the kitten from scratching him again, he's holding it tighter and tighter because he loves the kitten and he knows if the kitten keeps scratching him, he will have to put it down, so he just holds on tighter and tighter until he looks down and the kitten is dead.
Except she's not dead. Thank God. she's tougher than that. and i'm not a kid, though i sometimes still feel retarded.
she told me not to contact her anymore, which is the first time that has ever happened to me.
so i sit here and type for the last time into a box that i know she will probably read someday when her curiosity gets the best of her, but i tell myself she won't. if i don't allow myself that little bit of self-deception, i just wouldn't write at all. i don't want her to come back to me. i don't want her to climb back into my lap and let me squeeze more life out of her. i want her to stay as far away as possible, so i can't hurt her anymore.
and i want it to be her decision, so she knows she is strong.
i want her to stay far away.
she is Strong.
stronger than me.
better than me.
i'm going back to my old journal, and i'm going back to friends-only. if you know what it was, you can meet me there. or you can stop reading altogether. i have to have this modicum of brutal honesty in my life, and i can't be that here anymore.
so i go back to a fake name, so i can be honest. the irony of it does not escape me.
Levi
ts