Two days in a row and it can't just be the fact that I remembered to take my happy pills in the morning. Can't quite pin it on anything other than the past two days which were sixty degrees and sunny, guess that weather does a bit for the spirits. I'm starting to see the possibilities this summer holds for a guy who is not tied down and stressed out of his head.
I'm honestly starting to get a hard on thinking about it.
Saw the guys tonight and we got pretty damn excited to get outside this weekend and disc. It's the first time in a long time that I've been able to look forward to the beginning of the season with my friends like I have this year and I couldn't be more excited.
I can't quite put my finger on it, maybe it's the fact that I can roll my windows down and turn the music up on the ride home, but I feel that change in the air and I am chomping at the bit. I'm whistling a new tune, I've spent my winter of sorrow and whining, it's time to live. I can deal with bittersweet, I don't expect to forget everything so quickly, but I am not going to let this ruin what is going to be one of the best summers I have had in ten years.
Honestly, I'm pumped and I don't feel sorry about it at all.
So maybe I screwed things up in the last dance, but she sure as shit did too. The time has come to give the big "fuck you" to this winter gloom and enjoy the process of putting my roots back down where they belong.
After all...I'm home.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
“And throw away my misery, it never meant that much to me. It never sent a get-well card.”
I am one whiny son of a bitch when I am sick, even more so than normal, which would most likely explain the bout of self-pity I was engaged in for the entirety of yesterday. I’m not going to sit here and deny to myself that a lot of what I wrote yesterday isn’t true, as it certainly is. The trouble is the ridiculous amount of effort I put into making myself completely miserable when I think about her. What a completely counterproductive exercise, one that is honestly pretty pathetic.
Oh, and come to think of it I forgot to take my Zoloft yesterday…
It is obviously apparent to me and anyone who would care to take the time to read the previous few years of this nonsense, that feeling sorry for myself is something I seem to take pride in. I’ve been doing this for so goddamn long that I don’t even know why anymore, it doesn’t get me anywhere. All it does is put me in a whole which makes me wholly miserable to be around. What’s worse, I’ve come to realize, is that I’ve been playing this fucking game throughout the duration of every relationship that I’ve ever had. I’ve put the weight of reassuring me on the shoulders of every woman I have ever truly felt for, a completely unfair thing to ask and probably a big part of the reason I’m jerking off alone these days.
You know what; it really isn’t the end of the world once I think about it.
Why in the hell do I feel the need to have a “better” half to pick me up when I beat myself down? The real question is, why in the hell do I beat myself down in the first place? It would be pretty pointless to sit here and speculate as to why I have been doing this for as long as I can remember, so I am not going to. The only thing that is for certain is that I need to get out of this habit. If I don’t I am going to end up in the same exact place I am right now…alone.
I need to get to a point where I can actually be ok with not being in some form or another of romantic relationship. I don’t think I’ll be able to get into something lasting and stable until I first learn to accept that reality. I need to spend this time thinking about me, like I had intended on when I first moved back here. I’ve got to figure out who this person I have been for 27 years really is, something I haven’t known in a while. Thankfully I am in the right place and with the right people to do it.
So here’s to hoping that I can find peace with myself. Here’s to figuring out who I am. Here’s to getting back to doing the things I love with the people I love. Here’s to being ok with going to bed alone at night for now. Here’s to giving up flogging that long dead horse.
Monday, March 05, 2012
It isn’t right in my face every moment of every day anymore. At first it was every commercial, every song, every show, every time I turned on the TV and heard that god damn chime that played on the one we had and so on; I couldn’t forget. It was always lurking just below the surface, I thought I was covering it up but I could see it in the faces of my friends that I was not doing a good job. I guess after a while I got good at faking it, but it was always there in the front of my mind, coloring my view of the world. It took a few months, but after a while they stopped asking. I guess they just figure everything is back to “normal” at this point, whatever the fuck that means.
Right now I don’t have to try to push those memories out of my mind, when I’m occupied they stay out of my way. When I find myself alone and my head clear, that’s when it happens. As I lay my head on that pillow and wait for the Benadryl to kick in, a thought will often cross my mind and then it is too late. I don’t know what triggers it, but as soon as I’m asleep it’s all over.
I can’t ever actually remember the dreams, just the feeling they leave me with when I wake. I will roll over and reach for her only to find the side of the bed that she slept on cold. It is usually then that I close my eyes and feel a tear roll off my face and into my ear. After a few minutes I’ll fall back asleep and it starts all over again. I usually just wake up with a pain in my chest and a vague memory of pleading with her to no avail, in my dreams she is so very heartless.
Look, I don’t even know why the hell I’m writing this. I still love her and it hurts so fucking much, why can’t I move on? I don’t want to feel for her anymore, I don’t want to see her when I sleep; I’m so tired. I don’t have anyone to talk to about it: my friends have heard enough, parents don’t get it and the therapist is about as helpful as a third nut.
I suppose that first paragraph isn’t completely accurate, you see what prompted me to write this is the fact that she seems to be on my mind an awful lot over the past few days. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that two years ago at this very moment I was the happiest I had been in my entire life, I had just arrived in New York. All the hard work had finally paid off; she was mine at long last. It sure didn’t take me long to fuck that up, did it?
Here we are now, two years later, and everything is completely the opposite. All that work we put in is all gone now, I’m just another on the list of assholes who have hurt her in her life. Maybe I’m the worst, who knows? I know I’ll never get a phone call or an email from her saying that she forgives me, let alone that she is sorry for how she did it. I’m just a speck in the rearview mirror now, an immature child who never was quite good enough for her. I wonder now if I am good enough for anyone, I know people tell me I am, but I don’t feel the same. I’ve never been hurt like this before and after nearly six months I still haven’t the slightest clue as to how to “heal” as she put it. I don’t really even know who I am anymore; she gave me definition for so long. Maybe that should have been the clue as to how much of a loser I really am.
She was my support, my rock and my love; I guess I was just never the same for her. It makes me feel less than human. It makes me feel like giving up. It makes me feel like a failure that wasted both our time. I don’t see a purpose in my life anymore, and I have not for a long time now. I don’t see the point anymore. It’s like that first Saturday night we ever shared was a microcosm of our entire time together. Wonderful at first, I fuck up, she walks away and I try to chase her. Except this time she doesn’t take me back in, this time she never thinks of me again. Just a speck in the rearview mirror, someone who couldn’t handle it, who blamed New York for all his problems…weak, insecure and dishonest. Never worth her time anyway, or anyone else’s for that matter.
How’s that for self-pity?