Fraying
I'm fraying. I won't come apart--I never do. Not anymore. I just go numb when I've slid too far. But I can feel the threads that hold me together fraying and loosening; wanting to come apart to spite the promises that never came true.
Why do they teach us those stories, I wonder, if we weren't meant to believe them? Why teach us things like heroism, hope, adventure, if they weren't meant to be real? Why are we, as adults, expected to get such things from games and books and movies? Weren't we, as children, told to reach for them? Weren't we told to believe they could exist?
Why, then, does it seem no one is willing to try? You put in your hours and you settle down and you teach your children the same damn fables knowing full well they never came true for you. Why? Why am I the madman for wanting to believe in things like true love and happiness that isn't in the form of a paycheck? Why am I the criminal for believing?
So I stand here, complaining as usual.
"Blue on black, tears on a river, push on a shove, it don't mean much. Joker on jack, match on a fire, cold on ice, a dead man's touch, whisper on a scream, doesn't change a thing. Doesn't bring you back. Blue on black."
I hadn't broken down and cried like I did a couple nights ago in a long, long time. It was the crying of a man who finally had to admit defeat. It was the crying of someone who finally saw his last spark of hope die away. It was the crying of a man who realized at last that life held nothing for him. I can't do this alone. What then can I do? What happens when the music that once comforted me is now an anthem of failure? How does one get up again when there has never been any indication that the 'better day' will ever come?
Saying these things won't bring her back. She doesn't even read this journal. It's just more blue on black. But I have to do something--it's when I don't do anything that I get really bad.
I've slept 14 hours a night the last two nights. When I got up today, I had gone back to sleep a dozen times. I didn't need to. The dreams weren't that great, I was plenty rested. But my body and mind didn't want to face the day. And if I did not have obligations? I might have slept for hours more. Yeah, it's depression. Yeah, there's medicines for that. But that's just not how I work. I could shake it off. I could ignore it. I fucking healed schizophrenia single-handedly. Or maybe it was God. Who knows. But the point is...if all I have is pain, I might as well enjoy it.
I don't want to hate God, but this 'blissful nonlife' is killing me. I'm dying from a lack of affection. It's selfish! I admit it! I have never denied it! I need to be loved. I'm...starting to forget what it felt like and I can't stand it. I can't stand to feel those memories slip away from me, just out of reach. It was only months ago.
Am I not good enough? Is my love not enough for a bargain normally trading sex for security? What do those apes have that I do not?! I tire of screaming at the sky for these answers. They never come.
She said she wanted to be alone, but would eventually find another because she needed the companionship. Why is it that I can endure to solitude forever, and cannot stand to be alone? Why has the refrain of my life become "Unable to live, unable to die" when it was once "No surrender, no retreat"?
Why do they teach us those stories, I wonder, if we weren't meant to believe them? Why teach us things like heroism, hope, adventure, if they weren't meant to be real? Why are we, as adults, expected to get such things from games and books and movies? Weren't we, as children, told to reach for them? Weren't we told to believe they could exist?
Why, then, does it seem no one is willing to try? You put in your hours and you settle down and you teach your children the same damn fables knowing full well they never came true for you. Why? Why am I the madman for wanting to believe in things like true love and happiness that isn't in the form of a paycheck? Why am I the criminal for believing?
So I stand here, complaining as usual.
"Blue on black, tears on a river, push on a shove, it don't mean much. Joker on jack, match on a fire, cold on ice, a dead man's touch, whisper on a scream, doesn't change a thing. Doesn't bring you back. Blue on black."
I hadn't broken down and cried like I did a couple nights ago in a long, long time. It was the crying of a man who finally had to admit defeat. It was the crying of someone who finally saw his last spark of hope die away. It was the crying of a man who realized at last that life held nothing for him. I can't do this alone. What then can I do? What happens when the music that once comforted me is now an anthem of failure? How does one get up again when there has never been any indication that the 'better day' will ever come?
Saying these things won't bring her back. She doesn't even read this journal. It's just more blue on black. But I have to do something--it's when I don't do anything that I get really bad.
I've slept 14 hours a night the last two nights. When I got up today, I had gone back to sleep a dozen times. I didn't need to. The dreams weren't that great, I was plenty rested. But my body and mind didn't want to face the day. And if I did not have obligations? I might have slept for hours more. Yeah, it's depression. Yeah, there's medicines for that. But that's just not how I work. I could shake it off. I could ignore it. I fucking healed schizophrenia single-handedly. Or maybe it was God. Who knows. But the point is...if all I have is pain, I might as well enjoy it.
I don't want to hate God, but this 'blissful nonlife' is killing me. I'm dying from a lack of affection. It's selfish! I admit it! I have never denied it! I need to be loved. I'm...starting to forget what it felt like and I can't stand it. I can't stand to feel those memories slip away from me, just out of reach. It was only months ago.
Am I not good enough? Is my love not enough for a bargain normally trading sex for security? What do those apes have that I do not?! I tire of screaming at the sky for these answers. They never come.
She said she wanted to be alone, but would eventually find another because she needed the companionship. Why is it that I can endure to solitude forever, and cannot stand to be alone? Why has the refrain of my life become "Unable to live, unable to die" when it was once "No surrender, no retreat"?