(no subject)
I don't like watching people fall apart.
I remember once, sometime in the early morning, after a long night of driving down the back roads of North Carolina. We were on our way home, driving through Roxboro, I think, Steve and I. Too much whiskey, I guess. Maybe more than just that. I'd made him pull over for a while but he's Steve. There's only so long he listens.
Anyway. We're driving through Roxboro and I've sort of let my mind slip away, watching the scenery fly by like I always do through there, when I hear this noise. It's coming from the driver's seat, which means it's coming from Steve, and I turn around to find him breaking down behind the wheel. Somehow I get him to pull over again and he just lets go andit's something I guess I'm used to. I don't mind, really. I guess I understand the pain in a way no one else can. I can touch a person, sometimes just look at them, and it's in me, too. I know every last strained emotion and all of the reasons. Sometimes I don't understand them but I know them anyway.
Still. Just because I don't mind doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I hate it. And it's not for selfish reasons. Or, I don't know, maybe it is. I hate seeing someone feel the way you have to feel in order to fall to pieces. But that's also because I hate feeling those feelings myself. I hate feeling them and somehow not breaking down alongside the person who's dying inside from having the feelings first-hand.
And I hate thinking that I don't make any sense.
My point is, I hate sitting here and watching the break down and knowing that there's really nothing I can do.
Our typist put him to sleep. And she already pretty much asleep, too. Guess I'm lucky she trusts me with the computer.
I just want things to work out for him. I want him to be able to somehow get put back together, by himself or with help from his boyfriend or whatever. I don't care how it happens. I feel guilty for not speaking, even though I couldn't have given them a coherent warning anyway, but I feel even worse just sitting back and knowing that he's in pain, they're both in pain, but there's nothing to be done about it.
Right. Maybe this is why I don't come out too often.
I remember once, sometime in the early morning, after a long night of driving down the back roads of North Carolina. We were on our way home, driving through Roxboro, I think, Steve and I. Too much whiskey, I guess. Maybe more than just that. I'd made him pull over for a while but he's Steve. There's only so long he listens.
Anyway. We're driving through Roxboro and I've sort of let my mind slip away, watching the scenery fly by like I always do through there, when I hear this noise. It's coming from the driver's seat, which means it's coming from Steve, and I turn around to find him breaking down behind the wheel. Somehow I get him to pull over again and he just lets go andit's something I guess I'm used to. I don't mind, really. I guess I understand the pain in a way no one else can. I can touch a person, sometimes just look at them, and it's in me, too. I know every last strained emotion and all of the reasons. Sometimes I don't understand them but I know them anyway.
Still. Just because I don't mind doesn't mean I like it. In fact, I hate it. And it's not for selfish reasons. Or, I don't know, maybe it is. I hate seeing someone feel the way you have to feel in order to fall to pieces. But that's also because I hate feeling those feelings myself. I hate feeling them and somehow not breaking down alongside the person who's dying inside from having the feelings first-hand.
And I hate thinking that I don't make any sense.
My point is, I hate sitting here and watching the break down and knowing that there's really nothing I can do.
Our typist put him to sleep. And she already pretty much asleep, too. Guess I'm lucky she trusts me with the computer.
I just want things to work out for him. I want him to be able to somehow get put back together, by himself or with help from his boyfriend or whatever. I don't care how it happens. I feel guilty for not speaking, even though I couldn't have given them a coherent warning anyway, but I feel even worse just sitting back and knowing that he's in pain, they're both in pain, but there's nothing to be done about it.
Right. Maybe this is why I don't come out too often.