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Shaun's gone.
There's no mischievious spirit, no quiet shadow, no familiar ghost, in my house anymore. And I don't know why. He promised to never leave me, not as long as I needed him there, did his promise just become too weak to hold him to this plane? Or did he see something I didn't and decide I'd finally grown up enough to quit talking to the dead? Then again, maybe one man's derision and disbelief finally overwhelemed the over one's love and loyalty, and drove him away. Or maybe I'm just crazy and I was always alone, as I'm alone now.
And I am alone. I've been so effectively isolated that I don't even see where it began. My friends are a matter of static on a telephone line or the quickly passing conversations through letters and email, text messages and IM. The last time I saw anyone, actually had someone to sit down and talk to, was Ivy. Other than that, my conversations are with children, Jehovah's Witnesses, and myself. And he -still- manages to make me feel guilty if I want to take some time away from this thing I'm accepting as my life.
More than anything else, that makes me angry, at him, at myself. When did I become this silent little mouse who just accepts everything and doesn't fight back? When did I become a doormat? And more importantly, why am I staying a doormat? Someone stole my writing, plagiarized it, for the fourth or fifth time this year, and I just stepped back and let everyone assure me it was a good thing. I was mad as hell, granted, but I let them get away with it... BECAUSE I WAS TOLD TO! I don't remember who I even am anymore, except when I step into character and vanish into roleplay.
What's sad is that I'm not even making the character up. I just slip into the skin of one of the only two men I've ever really loved, throw a bit of fantasy into the story, and become my favorite mistake. Self-destructive, neurotic, confused as hell gay man with a smart mouth and a penchant for raising hell, craving something he doesn't even know how to want, even while he lets others (especially his male relatives) determine who and what he is and does... sound familiar? eh, the ending will be the same too, locking himself away with a double-barrelled shotgun and a prayer for forgiveness before he exits stage left and becomes just another forgotten drama queen.
Why am I doing this again?
There's no mischievious spirit, no quiet shadow, no familiar ghost, in my house anymore. And I don't know why. He promised to never leave me, not as long as I needed him there, did his promise just become too weak to hold him to this plane? Or did he see something I didn't and decide I'd finally grown up enough to quit talking to the dead? Then again, maybe one man's derision and disbelief finally overwhelemed the over one's love and loyalty, and drove him away. Or maybe I'm just crazy and I was always alone, as I'm alone now.
And I am alone. I've been so effectively isolated that I don't even see where it began. My friends are a matter of static on a telephone line or the quickly passing conversations through letters and email, text messages and IM. The last time I saw anyone, actually had someone to sit down and talk to, was Ivy. Other than that, my conversations are with children, Jehovah's Witnesses, and myself. And he -still- manages to make me feel guilty if I want to take some time away from this thing I'm accepting as my life.
More than anything else, that makes me angry, at him, at myself. When did I become this silent little mouse who just accepts everything and doesn't fight back? When did I become a doormat? And more importantly, why am I staying a doormat? Someone stole my writing, plagiarized it, for the fourth or fifth time this year, and I just stepped back and let everyone assure me it was a good thing. I was mad as hell, granted, but I let them get away with it... BECAUSE I WAS TOLD TO! I don't remember who I even am anymore, except when I step into character and vanish into roleplay.
What's sad is that I'm not even making the character up. I just slip into the skin of one of the only two men I've ever really loved, throw a bit of fantasy into the story, and become my favorite mistake. Self-destructive, neurotic, confused as hell gay man with a smart mouth and a penchant for raising hell, craving something he doesn't even know how to want, even while he lets others (especially his male relatives) determine who and what he is and does... sound familiar? eh, the ending will be the same too, locking himself away with a double-barrelled shotgun and a prayer for forgiveness before he exits stage left and becomes just another forgotten drama queen.
Why am I doing this again?