Untitled

I am anticipated and titillated. Grossed out and excited. I read what I think and what I think is what I write. I like alone. I like quiet. I enjoy being out. I love not knowing what’s going to happen next. I thought, at one time, I knew what I wanted; I was wrong. My equillibrium is off, I am unsteady. I am waiting. I am being patient for the first time in my entire life. This is good for me. This is bad for me. This is confusing. This is pleasant. This is all of what I always thought I wanted and now I have to wait.

I talk a big game and yet I am so small.  I am wanted and yet I’m not. People like the thought but can’t actually relish the realness that I exude. I love what I love and I know what I know but it’s never enough because I’m always hungry for more. I want someone to get me out of my box. I want someone to accept all of the parts of me that I try so desperately to hide. I want someone to yearn for the knowledge that I know and then give me some more. I want what they want and I can’t help but get drunk with what they can offer. I am intrigued; I fear that I am going to get bored and then run like I always do. I get scared of anything actually tangable. Anything real. Anything that might be nice and not hurt me.

I drink my liver to death every single day so that I keep the promise to myself that I will not cope. That I will not deal. That I will not allow myself to ache the way that I always have

My stress is all in my back. My stress is all in my head. My stress is all over my face. You can look at me the way you do, but it will never take any of that away. Because you don’t understand and I can’t make you. I think you want to understand and yet I don’t want to tell you. I don’t want you to be what I think you are because that would be good for me and I don’t know if I can handle it without making you scream and stab your insides out. I don’t want you to bleed the same way I do. I don’t want you to know the pain that I have known for so long. Yet, I want you inexplicably in my life. 

I do and I don’t and I can’t so I won’t. I want what I want when I want it because I’m an american and that’s what we do. I want what I want when I want it because I thought that was the normal thing to do.   I want you to be happy even though I barely know you. I want you to have the things you always wanted because I think that that’s what you deserve. I may feel too much and I may know too little, but I know that that’s what I want you to have. And I know that that’s what I think you want.

Everyone wants that

Everyone wants some semblance of normal. I don’t think that you can achieve that without feeling the most explicable pain of your life first. And that’s what you’re going through right now. I cannot communicate to you any of this because it’s ridiculous for me to feel this much for someone I know so little. I wrote you an essay once to tell you what I wanted you to know. I never gave it to you because I care too much about what you think. My own faults are too much for even me to bare. 

I think this will end up twenty pages long and I can’t be honest enough with myself to admit that this is all just lust and wonderment. That this is all just a façade that I put up so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that I’ve been treated poorly for so long. And the good parts of me believe that yo wouldn’t be that way. That you’d be honest and true and good and intelligent and funny and say all the right things even when you didn’t want to but because you wanted me to know that I’m good enough. That in and of itself intensely terrifies me. I can’t walk away though. Even though I know I should, for both of us. I feel like I’m being unfair because I can’t get over it. I get so far ahead of myself that I end up backwards.

I want what’s best for you, even if I don’t know you.. That sounds inappropriate for me to even think. I wish you hadn’t shown me the basement. I wish we hadn’t kissed. I wish that you weren’t drop dead gorgeous. I can’t get over the thought of you and that is deceptive. The whole situation is just one big cluster of NO. I haven’t written in this way for so long that I forgot what it was like to be honest with myself. I forgot that sometimes I really just need to take a step back and say, eyo, stupid! Quit being an egotistical asshole. And for that, in my own silent way,  I will thank you. 

I thank you for dragging me out of my box. I thank you for looking at me sideways the way that you do. I thank you for being so fucking honest that it attracted me to you more. I thank you for making me want to be better without even really knowing you. I thank you for making me want to get up at 8 in the morning. I thank you mostly for being the mysterious creature that you are and making me want to be the best person that I could possibly ever be… and only for the simple fact that I just want to know you.

This all feels like a crazy stalker letter from hell, and yet, I’m completely ok with that. I feel like I’m stalking you every time I’m here so I ignore you. I ignore you to protect both of us. I protect you because I feel like, right now, someone has to. If people are picking up on the way that we look at each other when we rarely talk in public…. That says something. 

I think that’s why I can’t let it go. I think that’s why I’m so in my head about it. Maybe I should just stop coming here. Maybe that would make it more bearable. Maybe that would be what you really need right now, but you don’t seem to be too disturbed by my presence. I feel like you want me to be here. At the same time, maybe I just shouldn’t be. Maybe if I make it…. Unavailable you’ll like me more. Or maybe I’m just bat shit crazy and you don’t care either way. Maybe this is all in my head and you picked me up this morning just to be a nice guy. But part of me refuses to believe that. Actually, all of me refuses to believe that. If you didn’t like me at all you wouldn’t respond to any message I sent you, right? You wouldn’t say you wanted to go to driving ranges or do anything ever. You wouldn’t rescue me from people that I think are mad at me and try to protect me when things get to be too much. Right?

I don’t know what to make of all this. I have a lot of questions and I just keep them at bay because I don’t want you to know how needy I am. 

This situation as a whole is helping me get away from that part of me. It’s almost therapeutic knowing that you don’t “care”. knowing that you’re in the same boat that I am right now. Knowing what you’re going through makes me feel connected to you. And maybe that’s just the thing. Same but different situation. I feel like I know the most important part about you right now. And what we really just both need is a friend and someone that understands.

Someone that can …. Just be there? Maybe? Someone that enjoys the same things that each of us individually enjoy and to share that with another person. Maybe that’s all nonsense. 

I don’t know anymore. I know what I know and I see what I see and that’s all that really matters to me. I kind of just want someone to “get” me at this point. I’m not even asking that of you. At the very least, at least I’ll have someone entirely gorgeous to stare at and converse with.  The end.

Please refrain from telling me how I am “allowed” to feel. If I get upset or angry, I am entitled to that. It’s MY emotion. 

I am not mad. However, it would be nice to know if you are, in fact, fucking someone else. Mostly for my own protection.

Alllllll I can fucking smell in here is BO. It’s giving me a headache and a damn anxiety attack. I don’t like feeling this way. It’s difficult to just tuck it all away. I find myself just wanting complete honesty. 

When protection isn’t used…. it makes me sick to my stomach. It’s a blatant FUCK YOU in my direction. I suppose it also is when they continue to do what they’re doing. I just don’t know what to do.

A huge part of me wants to just stay in Lincoln because I don’t trust myself to want to always hang out with my friends instead of getting my homework and shit done. 

I wish that I could stuff these feelings away. Or that they would diminish in general. I don’t know how. I’ve always been really good at just turning emotions off. I suppose it has a lot to do with the fact that I am being kept on a hook, a back burner. Every other day it changes and I can’t help but feel like I’m drowning. That I’m just swimming and swimming and getting nowhere. Sucked right back in like none of this is happening. 

I feel hollow bodied. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. And the idea of being here, doing all of this completely alone, isn’t as scary as it was a few days ago. No one understands what I want or am trying to do. MOVE ON. Get bigger, brighter, more self sufficient. 

But, I’m begging you to tell me, what happens when it all boils down. Crumbles in their hands. What do I do then? Do I turn my back on two people I still care about? Or do I just walk away and wash the mass amounts of blood off my hands? I don’t this “in the meantime” mindset that has taken over my life. And his. 

I just want everything to go back to the way it was. Before depression rotted me inside and out and I became a monster. Before I turned him into one towards me. 

When I’m standing here. Looking up at the stars, begging for an explanation, I only feel demolition. The thought always crosses my mind, maybe I should strip myself bare and start all over again.

There used to be a time when I had the answers and excuses for every single problem or good thing in my life. I could explain away just about anything. Sometimes I think I came upon that skill at a very young age. From having to keep on my toes or have them chopped off. Every day I thought it might get easier if I kept sharpening my tongue. It never did, but I didn’t realize it fully until a few years ago.

No matter how good, or horrible I have gotten with words, I never seem to use them correctly. Or I use them too much, too little, out of context or not at all. I want to always be able to tell people what’s on my mind, and I don’t usually think about the outcome before the words leave my lips. Sometimes I feel horrible afterwards, especially when the sparkle in the other persons eyes fade and I know that I stabbed them deep and hard.

There is something disturbing to me about any sort of satisfaction I get when in an argument, when I’m actively looking for the hurt and soul crushing to set in. For them to blink away any emotion they might show me. Because then that means “I won” the argument. That I hurt them before they could get to me, regardless of what I have to drag out of their invariable “skeletal closet” to get the results I’m seeking.

I only wish that I was able to express my emotions aloud as well as I can write them out. Blue ink and paper have been my best friends for a really long time; there is something soothing yet disturbing about that to me. The fact that even if I tried my damnedest to let someone get as close to me and know me as well as my hands know ink and notebook paper/napkins/ a keyboard, they still wouldn’t know me enough.

I have my friends. I have many. And they are all equally amazing each in their own way. As generic as that sounds, it’s the easiest way to put it. And as close as I am with so many of them, I can’t even talk to THEM the way I can talk to a piece of paper.

I have a shitty way with time. Time would like nothing more than to destroy me. I have waited and waited and waited (and mind you, I am not the least bit patient) to speak my mind when I thought it better to hold my tongue. And wait. I always wait until THE most inopportune time to express what’s been on my mind. And even though I come across as “crazy” because these words I blurt out have come out of no where, fallen out of the sky and then vomited forcibly out of my lips…. I’m not crazy.  I just hate rejection. For me, the biggest rejection of all is telling a story or a joke or a feeling to someone that I have invested a lot of time in..  mistakenly or not… and having them look at me like, ‘why the hell are you telling me this?’

…And it always ends with, ‘and why now’. Touche, touche.

All I can say to any of that is, I probably loved you at one time.  Or at least I thought I did. I probably cared about you a great deal. And, regardless of how many days, weeks, months or years I waited to tell you.. at least believe me when I tell you it was real. I was scared. And I am pitiful for being a coward, but I thought that you should know.

I probably care about you now more than I ever did before, just because I had the courage to finally let words escape under my breath… and you heard me. So I had to fess up. Fine. I love you. You are my friend. I love you. You have always been there. You have made me smile when no one else could, and I have never thanked you for that. You showed me things and parts of myself that I never wanted to admit existed, and you didn’t even try.

So, I suppose what I should say, is thank you.

the bluebird (by Charles Bukowski)

antpants:

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him. I say “stay in there. I’m not going to let anybody see you”

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I poor whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him. I say “stay down, do you want to mess me up? do you want to screw up my works? you want to blow my book sales in Europe?”

there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep. I say “I know that you’re there so don’t be sad”. Then I put him back but he’s singing a little in there. I haven’t quite let him die. And we sleep together like that, with our secret pact ,and it’s nice enough to make a man weep…but I don’t weep. Do you?

Come on, 2010. Please be good to me. I don’t think I can handle another year of extreme ups and downs. Also, treat everyone else just as nice, ahhh thank you.