Tome
*nudge nudge nudge*
Yes, I get the point. It's been a month since I've updated. Thing of it is that I just haven't had anything of merit to say lately. There's lots going on, of this you can be certain, but none of it seems to want to form itself into cohesive, coherent sentences. Tonight is just one more attempt amidst a myriad of failures to write down what's going on inside this head of mine.
Trust me, there's a lot.
Tonight I'm going to try something different. Instead of trying to write, I'm just going to write. Just let the words and thoughts flow. My mom says that everyone knows how to be honest; the words just get in the way. Well, actually, I just said that, but she said something along the lines of speak the brutal truth first and get it out there, and then you can clean it all up later. Wise woman, my mother is... love her to death, I do. So, I'll give brutal honesty a try.
I'm hurting on the inside. In every way imaginable.
Irony is a wonderful thing, wouldn't you say? For the longest time I've felt alone and lonely and desperate for a friend or for a relationship or whatever, but it was never forthcoming. I was desperate to have someone to share my life with, tell my secrets, and generally invade my body and soul. I was desperate for true friends, and I felt I was remiss for not having any. Now, I've got more friends than I know what to do with -- some of them are even true friends -- and I have lots of people that I like and like me in return. And now, all I want is to be alone.
Maybe I'm just like my mother...
I know you want me to open up about what's going on; you want to know why I feel the way that I do and what it is that you can do to help. But the thing of it is that you can't help, and I don't even want you to try. I don't want to talk about it, not because you wouldn't understand, but because I'm ashamed of the truth. I guess it all comes down to trust. I don't know if I can trust people with the truth, with who I really am, with what I really think. This, of course, has nothing to do with sexuality or any other trite secret that a person usually harbors. This is something different, a little further out in left field, and I just don't trust other people with it... and other things. I've been burned and bitten and I've learned to just keep things to myself.
I have lots of friends who would be there for me, if I just trusted them enough to lean a little.
This is not your cue to interject or to argue. There is no swaying, and there is no way to win me over. This, after all, is simply a post about where I am in life. You nudged. I'm speaking. There are some things that I just don't trust other people with. There are some things that I don't want to share, and there are some things that I just have to do alone. So the walls are being built: strong, high, and impregnable.
"So why talk at all?"
Sometimes you just need to... just talk. Sometimes it's just nice to get it out there, to everyone and no one all at the same time. The thought that maybe someone, somewhere is reading the words I am writing makes me feel like I'm being listened to without being heard. Suddenly I just don't feel like talking. But I've got the ball rolling now, and I may as well finish.
Lately I've been feeling a stronger and stronger sense of failure. I feel like I've been spinning my wheels in place -- running in place, if you don't mind the reference -- and I'm just not getting anywhere. The harder I try, the faster I run, the less I move. It's great. I don't know what it is that I'm looking for, or what it is that's missing, but there is something that I'm without. I wish I knew what it could possibly be, but right now all I know is that I'm without. I'm 25 years old, soon to be 26, and I feel like I've accomplished a lot of nothing. Not true? Maybe. But right now that's what I'm feeling. Everywhere I turn, I'm overwhelmed by the noxious stench of failure. Unfulfilled dreams and a life's worth of promise just dissipating before my very eyes, and I'm powerless to stop it. I have no focus, I have no drive, I have nothing. I'm going nowhere... and I seem to be in a terrible hurry to get there.
It's enough to make you want to cry... or self-terminate in a misguided attempt at mercy.
In other news, it just seems that the people all around me are hurting and dying and breaking, and I'm powerless to help. I listen, I wipe the tears away, I offer my banalities and platitudes that pass for sage advice, but I can do nothing to make the cause of the pain go away. I do not wear impotence well. I hate not being able to be more to the people who need me. What's worse is that I feel that I'm a disappointment to everyone who matters, most of all I feel that -- no, I know that I'm a disappointment to myself.
Old. Tired. Disgusting. Worthless.
Rainy days and Mondays...
That about sums it up. Well, if it doesn't summate everything nicely, it's a least a good place to begin. I've been distant, I know. I would apologize, but I have nothing to be sorry for. I need this space. I am lost, and unlike before I'm not looking for anyone to find me. I don't need anyone to come along, the knight in shining armor, trying to save me. I don't need to be saved by anyone but me. I don't need anyone but me to find what I'm looking for. At the same time, this kind of means that I need to be alone... a lot.
Of course, this probably is going to feel like the end, and maybe in some ways, it is. I would say that it's just a hiatus, but maybe the series is over. The chemistry between the characters is gone, the writing has grown stale, and we've lost our audience. So maybe this is a breakup. Maybe this is the end. I don't know. Maybe all that's left are reruns on TBS or something. But for now, we'll just say that we're taking a break (for some of you, this is an unfortunate choice of words). Naturally, there is no we involved in this decision; there's only me. So, I'm taking a break. Will you still be around when I get back? Up to you. I don't recommend you wait, though. That's not fair to either of us.
Where is all this coming from? See above and add that to this: I've lost myself along the way, and all that I am is whomever I'm around at the time. I'm a reflection, a mirror, a chameleon -- no substance or semblance of anything real on my own, merely a lump of clay to be molded to the desires and whims of others.
Like I said before, there is nothing you can do to help. There probably is, but the truth of the matter is that I simply will not allow you. I don't think you'd understand, because in order for you to really understand, I'd have to tell you the whole story, and I'm just not ready to do that yet. Once you know the truth, you're going to go, and I'm not ready for you to leave yet. How's that for selfish? Regardless, I keep you at a safe distance, too far away to help, but close enough to just be there, and I sit back and let these feelings consume and overwhelm.
Where does it end? What's the final chapter? Well, there is no next chapter. There is more of the story than I am letting on, but the random prattling has managed to confuse even the author. So I think that this is a good place to stop for now. I'm going to disappear for a while. I need to. I can't keep going through life trying to be everything to everyone. It's not fair to me, for one, and for two, no one ever asked me to. No one asked me to try to fix their life. So I need to learn to stop caring so much, because the inability to help is killing me. And I have enough problems of my own that I can't solve than to have to worry about not being able to solve someone else's. But, at the same time, what am I going to do about him? I can't just let him go, even though he doesn't seem to need me anymore. Only he does need me; he just won't allow himself to admit it. But if he does come to me, what am I going to do if I'm not in the position to help? I have to be ready. There is no other way.
I was going to let you speak, but now I've changed my mind.
Final thought: If a brave man dies only once, but a coward dies a thousand times, how many times do you die when the life you fear lost is not your own?
Yes, I get the point. It's been a month since I've updated. Thing of it is that I just haven't had anything of merit to say lately. There's lots going on, of this you can be certain, but none of it seems to want to form itself into cohesive, coherent sentences. Tonight is just one more attempt amidst a myriad of failures to write down what's going on inside this head of mine.
Trust me, there's a lot.
Tonight I'm going to try something different. Instead of trying to write, I'm just going to write. Just let the words and thoughts flow. My mom says that everyone knows how to be honest; the words just get in the way. Well, actually, I just said that, but she said something along the lines of speak the brutal truth first and get it out there, and then you can clean it all up later. Wise woman, my mother is... love her to death, I do. So, I'll give brutal honesty a try.
I'm hurting on the inside. In every way imaginable.
Irony is a wonderful thing, wouldn't you say? For the longest time I've felt alone and lonely and desperate for a friend or for a relationship or whatever, but it was never forthcoming. I was desperate to have someone to share my life with, tell my secrets, and generally invade my body and soul. I was desperate for true friends, and I felt I was remiss for not having any. Now, I've got more friends than I know what to do with -- some of them are even true friends -- and I have lots of people that I like and like me in return. And now, all I want is to be alone.
Maybe I'm just like my mother...
I know you want me to open up about what's going on; you want to know why I feel the way that I do and what it is that you can do to help. But the thing of it is that you can't help, and I don't even want you to try. I don't want to talk about it, not because you wouldn't understand, but because I'm ashamed of the truth. I guess it all comes down to trust. I don't know if I can trust people with the truth, with who I really am, with what I really think. This, of course, has nothing to do with sexuality or any other trite secret that a person usually harbors. This is something different, a little further out in left field, and I just don't trust other people with it... and other things. I've been burned and bitten and I've learned to just keep things to myself.
I have lots of friends who would be there for me, if I just trusted them enough to lean a little.
This is not your cue to interject or to argue. There is no swaying, and there is no way to win me over. This, after all, is simply a post about where I am in life. You nudged. I'm speaking. There are some things that I just don't trust other people with. There are some things that I don't want to share, and there are some things that I just have to do alone. So the walls are being built: strong, high, and impregnable.
"So why talk at all?"
Sometimes you just need to... just talk. Sometimes it's just nice to get it out there, to everyone and no one all at the same time. The thought that maybe someone, somewhere is reading the words I am writing makes me feel like I'm being listened to without being heard. Suddenly I just don't feel like talking. But I've got the ball rolling now, and I may as well finish.
Lately I've been feeling a stronger and stronger sense of failure. I feel like I've been spinning my wheels in place -- running in place, if you don't mind the reference -- and I'm just not getting anywhere. The harder I try, the faster I run, the less I move. It's great. I don't know what it is that I'm looking for, or what it is that's missing, but there is something that I'm without. I wish I knew what it could possibly be, but right now all I know is that I'm without. I'm 25 years old, soon to be 26, and I feel like I've accomplished a lot of nothing. Not true? Maybe. But right now that's what I'm feeling. Everywhere I turn, I'm overwhelmed by the noxious stench of failure. Unfulfilled dreams and a life's worth of promise just dissipating before my very eyes, and I'm powerless to stop it. I have no focus, I have no drive, I have nothing. I'm going nowhere... and I seem to be in a terrible hurry to get there.
It's enough to make you want to cry... or self-terminate in a misguided attempt at mercy.
In other news, it just seems that the people all around me are hurting and dying and breaking, and I'm powerless to help. I listen, I wipe the tears away, I offer my banalities and platitudes that pass for sage advice, but I can do nothing to make the cause of the pain go away. I do not wear impotence well. I hate not being able to be more to the people who need me. What's worse is that I feel that I'm a disappointment to everyone who matters, most of all I feel that -- no, I know that I'm a disappointment to myself.
Old. Tired. Disgusting. Worthless.
Rainy days and Mondays...
That about sums it up. Well, if it doesn't summate everything nicely, it's a least a good place to begin. I've been distant, I know. I would apologize, but I have nothing to be sorry for. I need this space. I am lost, and unlike before I'm not looking for anyone to find me. I don't need anyone to come along, the knight in shining armor, trying to save me. I don't need to be saved by anyone but me. I don't need anyone but me to find what I'm looking for. At the same time, this kind of means that I need to be alone... a lot.
Of course, this probably is going to feel like the end, and maybe in some ways, it is. I would say that it's just a hiatus, but maybe the series is over. The chemistry between the characters is gone, the writing has grown stale, and we've lost our audience. So maybe this is a breakup. Maybe this is the end. I don't know. Maybe all that's left are reruns on TBS or something. But for now, we'll just say that we're taking a break (for some of you, this is an unfortunate choice of words). Naturally, there is no we involved in this decision; there's only me. So, I'm taking a break. Will you still be around when I get back? Up to you. I don't recommend you wait, though. That's not fair to either of us.
Where is all this coming from? See above and add that to this: I've lost myself along the way, and all that I am is whomever I'm around at the time. I'm a reflection, a mirror, a chameleon -- no substance or semblance of anything real on my own, merely a lump of clay to be molded to the desires and whims of others.
Like I said before, there is nothing you can do to help. There probably is, but the truth of the matter is that I simply will not allow you. I don't think you'd understand, because in order for you to really understand, I'd have to tell you the whole story, and I'm just not ready to do that yet. Once you know the truth, you're going to go, and I'm not ready for you to leave yet. How's that for selfish? Regardless, I keep you at a safe distance, too far away to help, but close enough to just be there, and I sit back and let these feelings consume and overwhelm.
Where does it end? What's the final chapter? Well, there is no next chapter. There is more of the story than I am letting on, but the random prattling has managed to confuse even the author. So I think that this is a good place to stop for now. I'm going to disappear for a while. I need to. I can't keep going through life trying to be everything to everyone. It's not fair to me, for one, and for two, no one ever asked me to. No one asked me to try to fix their life. So I need to learn to stop caring so much, because the inability to help is killing me. And I have enough problems of my own that I can't solve than to have to worry about not being able to solve someone else's. But, at the same time, what am I going to do about him? I can't just let him go, even though he doesn't seem to need me anymore. Only he does need me; he just won't allow himself to admit it. But if he does come to me, what am I going to do if I'm not in the position to help? I have to be ready. There is no other way.
I was going to let you speak, but now I've changed my mind.
Final thought: If a brave man dies only once, but a coward dies a thousand times, how many times do you die when the life you fear lost is not your own?