#3 – 1/3/16
The terrifying notion was maybe none of it was real, all chemical.
…These moments of euphoric limitless, weightlessness, infinite joy…. were formulaic.
Timed. Predictable. Measurable.
We are creatures of habit. In a desperate pursuit of happiness, we deny our faults and label them “the past”, “change”, “growth”, “transformative”. We hold out for “new beginnings”. Are we truly changing? Have we found something real? of depth? This “true” emotion. Did we “just know” that it was “meant to be”? Are we complete now? Is this it? Is the lifetime search for wholeness finished?
Or are we victims of a build up of lactic acid, legs aching from running away?
Tired. Lonely. Horny….Bored.
It feels so easy to rest our burdens and responsibilities on another. In denying that we still have no fucking clue who we are, or how uninspired our own lives have been, we hide behind the façade of meeting someone new, impressing them…. feeding our glutionous egos with the free-flowing compliments that dribble out of the stupefied victim falling in love with us. A new beginning. “Like” me. Love me. Like a living, breathing Facebook page, I’ll only show you my best angles. Everything goes through my artfully sifted filter, designed to constantly impress and intrigue you. You’ll never know the truth; who I was before. Living for the approval of others. Un able to walk without holding a hand. Unable to live, to adventure, to invent without another. Unable to think without someone ele’s opinion being fed into my ear… non-organic inspiration. A people-pleasure. I’m in the business of making everyone around me happy, saying exactly what they want to hear into their fat heads.
No one knows. No one sees. So happy to be surrounded by self-assurance they don’t even notice that I’m not tangible. An apparition. Translucent. Reflective. Showing them how wonderful and worshipped they are… by me.
Giving them so much, there’s nothing left of me, for me. I don’t know how to just be. Desperate to find another to interact with me. Another to confirm my existence. I don’t know what to think of me without the approval of others. “Tell me what I am”.
…..being far more cool and interesting than we ever were alone at home, watching Netflix in our underwear and half-heartedly masturbating while over indulging on foods with absolutely no nutritional value.
#4 – 1/9/16
God, She looked like shit.
There isn’t a better way to put it. This was the girl I remember winning me over with her incredibly tight frame, radiant charm, crystal-blue eyes and soft, plump pout. All eyes always on her. I just wanted to take her hand and drag her to everyone I knew. “Look how beautiful! Can you believe it?! She’s just as crazy about me!”
Late nights smiling uncontrollably just at the memory of her. A reminder of her scent flooded my body with what can only be described as divinity. I clung to her late in the night, refusing to let her go. Hanging on as long as I could. Her angelic face buried deep inot my chest. I was soothed to sleep by he soft purr of her slumber, as her light breath tickled my torso. “It’s so easy”, I thought… I was constantly clown away by her beauty. Waiting to wake up.
I was jolted awake.
Here she was, now, crystal blue eyes looking dull and lifeless, surrounded by a glossy mix of yellow and bloodshot red. A shaky foundation of deep, dark black and purple fought against the lower lids and allowed what little there was of her remaining to peer through. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wanted to shut out all of the light.
Her once lushes lips were thin, crusted over form lack of use, of hydration. They atrophied into a downward slope of dissatisfaction, fatigue and defeat. Her sweet milk completion had no faded into a malnourished pale , she could almost disappear into the gray winter cityscape, if it weren’t for the various red, dry and aching scabs littered around my former source of inspiration. The only proof of life in this decaying sight.
She had let herself go… that’s an understatement. Parts of her poked and prodded and tested the threading of her abused, dingy and wrinkled outfit. She spilled out of the top of her jeans, evidence that her shirt failed to disguise as she struggled to keep it below her navel. It fought with her as she violently pulled and tugged at it throughout the night.
Her hair reflected the street light like an oil spill, with small reminders of blonde throughout the long, hardened, neglected mess. It looked wet.
It felt unnecessary to force pleasantries. No one had the energy to deny the wrecked, soiled remnants of a battlefield standing before me. All I could manage to mutter was,
“You made it.”-
Why is it “endearing” and “charming” when the inspiration of pop songs are girls who drink coffee late, eat chocolate in the morning, spend all day in bed, take off their heels and refuse to mask their faults… but when I do it, it’s unhealthy, reckless, irresponsible, self-destructive and undesirable?
I’m an overachiever. I enrolled in the advanced courses of Life. I like to study difficult Life lessons and learn them the HARD way.
Dear God, I think I’ve lost him. I felt him leave me. I felt the love and light torn out of me.
I want to give him his space, but I know that’s all he needs to see a life without me… that’s all he needs to see; that he never needed me at all.
She laughed until she cried. She felt both the release and immense anguish upon the realization that she had no idea what the fuck she wanted… no idea what she was doing. She had no idea who she was.
I’m itching for an affair… the rush of new infatuation through my veins. Thoughtlessness. Numbness. All pleasure all the time. Lust. My drug of choice.
And then one day it happened:
I woke up one morning-
And forgot to miss you.