Sometimes my parade gets rained on
So sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like I can’t be fixed. I remember his face. When I forget it is the worst. I look to my right in my car, my brothers truck that has since become my own, our own, and I long for him, smiling at me, holding my hand, giggling away. It was so long ago, really. I wonder if there comes a point when the heart darkens, when minds block that which haunts them. Is there a trick? Is there something I’m missing? Sometimes I feel like I’m going to be sad indefinitely, as if this is my penance for being a bad person, for conspiring against people at times, for lying, for stealing, for cheating, for hating, for lusting, for cursing, for not repenting, for not praying, for putting myself before others, for idolizing, for living my life for my own. I know that real love is something hard to find, at least this is what I’ve heard (and experienced thus far), its something hard to lose, from what I’ve heard, ( fully, entirely experienced), something hard to explain, define, understand; this I’ve heard (and felt, experienced). I know that I’m privileged, that I was given something grand; I’ve been through something beautiful; I’ve held, I’ve enjoyed, I’ve experienced something beautiful. The hardest to cope with, to handle, to comprehend, is why did I find it, experience it, enjoy it, only to lose it? Why didn’t I get this later in life and have it last? Penance? I was crazy? I miss him. God do I miss him. Why? He’s become something, someone that I don’t know. He’s foreign to me, distant, unreal, stuck in time, diminished, lost. He’s been shrunken; he’s belittled himself to something, someone that could so easily be overlooked, to nothing, to no one, to me someone. I know there is good in him. I thought, I think, I don’t know. I can’t lie and say that I don’t want to be some sort of nurse, savior, motivation in his life that causes him to drop everything, to come back to me, to claw at my wrists and bite at my fingers for help. I do want to be what drags him from the depths of addiction, confusion, and self-destruction. I want to take his clammy hands, warm him up, stand him up and take him with me. But more then any of that, I want him to love me. And this would require him to love me. And he doesn’t. And it kills me. Literally. It’s agony of an unbearable kind. Why? Sometimes I feel like I’m unlovable. Unlovable by me, by him, virtually unloved by everyone, it’s something feigned, we’re good at doing that. I guess what nags at me the most, what gnaws at me, what scrapes me, is that all of these sometimes have become all times. All times I feel crazy, like I’m crazy, that I was crazy, that this is crazy, my life, this situation, crazy. All times I feel like I’m going to be sad indefinitely, I am sad indefinitely, sadness is indefinite, my sadness particularly indefinite. All times I feel unlovable, am unlovable, know I’m unlovable, feel unloved. All times it’s feigned. And those all times, at all times, brings me to no good. Sometimes, all times, it’s got me down.