Merry Freaking Christmas
I am struggling for purchase right now. Struggling with my life, struggling with the injustices that I feel victimized by, struggling with even feeling like a victim, struggling with my emotions, and stuggling to reign in my bitterness. There is a great weight upon my heart, and my Soul longs for it to be lifted.
In my mind, this singular presence takes the form of a child, cruelly smiling down at me. He reminds me, each morning as I lay down to sleep, where I belong, what I deserve, and what roles I am meant to fill. He laughs at me, calls me a fool for believing, and reminds me that 'He told me so' whenever I make mistakes. This Keyon breaks down all the successes and shatters the confidence I've struggled to create. In light of all that has occured over the course of my life, he reminds me that those things I have cared most about, have been the areas I have been least successful. I made a mistake, long ago, in tying my self-worth to something I have no influence or control over: Love, and the pursuit of a real relationship.
Some might say that my mistake was a noble one, that I had the right intention when I decided that I would be someone hellbent on shaping my being to be ideal for loving someone else. The problem that I had neglected is not a solvable one: What happens when they don't love you, when they can't love you, or when they don't want to try? All of these things are outside of my power, and, at times, are beyond the control of the other party as well. Yet, even armed with that knowledge, I cannot persuade my bitter, inner child that this is sufficient reason to free myself from responsibility. With each failure comes a renewed barrage of deep-seated insults, painful memories, and mocking laughter. Worse than any of that, is the associated grief. I use grief because it is appropriate for the feelings I am currently experiencing. Pain is part of the game, and I accept that, but when I compound the problem within my mind, I only exacerbate my self-destruction. At the end of the day, I've typically managed to eviscerate my inner-being, lashing it time and time again into submission, until even my insides agree that somehow the failure was my own, that there must have been something I did to fuck things up.
I can't seem to break free of this feeling, the feeling that there is nothing to look forward to. I feel as if these last six-years have been representative of all life has to offer me, and at times I honestly want to just fade away. Paradise, if it even exists, must be the counterpoint to this feeling in my mind right now. I know better to think that paradise is a place, because I know I have experienced paradise in brief, crystal clear moments: writing my last poem, the feel of a hand on my shoulder moving towards my neck, the smell of fresh bread, the sunset, or the beach at 5:43 in the evening, as the sun lays itself upon the water, while the moon wakes up to tend it for the rest of the night. In those moments, I have felt full of hope, brimming over with joy, and at peace. If only I hadn't sapped those moments of all their value, sucked them dry of their happiness. If only I didn't feel bereft.
I'm asking myself what I plan on doing about this feeling as I type. I'm a problem-solver, someone that has a need to fix what is broken inside me, and to create someone better from the fragments remaning after each independant dream has been fractured. I guess what hurts me most is this: How long must I continue to feel so alone that I get physically sick? Why does it feel like everyone in life keeps me at an arms-length? Why am I constantly stuck as the guy to hug but, never the guy to kiss?
Love was a bad criteria to determine my inner-value. In debate terms, it's implicitly skewed against me, and regardless of what I do, I cannot meet my burden of proof. I just don't know what there is to do next, I don't know. I feel lost again, wandering in the darkness. I've kept my heart open so far, I've been really trying not to take my bitterness out on those people I care about, but I just don't know how long I can keep myself from lashing out. The only answer I have to that, is to place myself in solitary confinement. I've tried talking about it and I feel as if it only brings the bitter taste back into my mouth.
After all is said and done, I don't know that there is anything that can comfort me enough. I don't know how long I will keep holding onto this seemingly pointless fight, contrary to what I believe is right in my heart, being real sucks. The Skin Horse in the Velveteen Rabbit was right though, "It takes a long time, That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." I cannot go back, I will be this person for always.
In my mind, this singular presence takes the form of a child, cruelly smiling down at me. He reminds me, each morning as I lay down to sleep, where I belong, what I deserve, and what roles I am meant to fill. He laughs at me, calls me a fool for believing, and reminds me that 'He told me so' whenever I make mistakes. This Keyon breaks down all the successes and shatters the confidence I've struggled to create. In light of all that has occured over the course of my life, he reminds me that those things I have cared most about, have been the areas I have been least successful. I made a mistake, long ago, in tying my self-worth to something I have no influence or control over: Love, and the pursuit of a real relationship.
Some might say that my mistake was a noble one, that I had the right intention when I decided that I would be someone hellbent on shaping my being to be ideal for loving someone else. The problem that I had neglected is not a solvable one: What happens when they don't love you, when they can't love you, or when they don't want to try? All of these things are outside of my power, and, at times, are beyond the control of the other party as well. Yet, even armed with that knowledge, I cannot persuade my bitter, inner child that this is sufficient reason to free myself from responsibility. With each failure comes a renewed barrage of deep-seated insults, painful memories, and mocking laughter. Worse than any of that, is the associated grief. I use grief because it is appropriate for the feelings I am currently experiencing. Pain is part of the game, and I accept that, but when I compound the problem within my mind, I only exacerbate my self-destruction. At the end of the day, I've typically managed to eviscerate my inner-being, lashing it time and time again into submission, until even my insides agree that somehow the failure was my own, that there must have been something I did to fuck things up.
I can't seem to break free of this feeling, the feeling that there is nothing to look forward to. I feel as if these last six-years have been representative of all life has to offer me, and at times I honestly want to just fade away. Paradise, if it even exists, must be the counterpoint to this feeling in my mind right now. I know better to think that paradise is a place, because I know I have experienced paradise in brief, crystal clear moments: writing my last poem, the feel of a hand on my shoulder moving towards my neck, the smell of fresh bread, the sunset, or the beach at 5:43 in the evening, as the sun lays itself upon the water, while the moon wakes up to tend it for the rest of the night. In those moments, I have felt full of hope, brimming over with joy, and at peace. If only I hadn't sapped those moments of all their value, sucked them dry of their happiness. If only I didn't feel bereft.
I'm asking myself what I plan on doing about this feeling as I type. I'm a problem-solver, someone that has a need to fix what is broken inside me, and to create someone better from the fragments remaning after each independant dream has been fractured. I guess what hurts me most is this: How long must I continue to feel so alone that I get physically sick? Why does it feel like everyone in life keeps me at an arms-length? Why am I constantly stuck as the guy to hug but, never the guy to kiss?
Love was a bad criteria to determine my inner-value. In debate terms, it's implicitly skewed against me, and regardless of what I do, I cannot meet my burden of proof. I just don't know what there is to do next, I don't know. I feel lost again, wandering in the darkness. I've kept my heart open so far, I've been really trying not to take my bitterness out on those people I care about, but I just don't know how long I can keep myself from lashing out. The only answer I have to that, is to place myself in solitary confinement. I've tried talking about it and I feel as if it only brings the bitter taste back into my mouth.
After all is said and done, I don't know that there is anything that can comfort me enough. I don't know how long I will keep holding onto this seemingly pointless fight, contrary to what I believe is right in my heart, being real sucks. The Skin Horse in the Velveteen Rabbit was right though, "It takes a long time, That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." I cannot go back, I will be this person for always.