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A new month and I am still the same. Looking forward to what this new month may bring and saddened that I am still contained inside this tiny shell of who I am. Maybe, just maybe someday, I will burst free from this cocoon and taste the life that only a free man can feel. But freedom comes at a price. I know this. At least it is what I am told anyway. Does anyone really taste the freedom in this life? Perhaps, but I never have and yearn for the day that I can. Some day, maybe I will.
Sometimes I am angry. I am angry that I feel that I am spinning my wheels and I can do absoultely nothing about it. I have never been so negative before. What in the hell happened? Sometimes I am sad. I am sad that I seem to have lost control of the one thing you are taught that you need to have control over - your life. Sometime I don't care. Why care if it all is just going to turn out so badly anyway? Why care if you don't. Sometimes I cry, because sometimes has been coming much too often.
I am stricken with fear. Things are going fairly well; however, I am afraid that the demons, that lurk in the darkness, are biding their time until the oppotune moment to reach out and snatch me up. It is my experience that when the slightest things start going well in my life, I am suddenly propelled headlong into a arduous spell of horrible events. The higher the upswing, the further down I am drawn into my despair. I would rather just sit down there and sulk silently. I find that I am more comfortable there. It is much safer there.
Relief. It is one of those things that can only be experienced after being dragged through hell, justly or unjustly, and come up on the other side dirty, tattered and torn from limb to limb, but very much alive - still breathing. I take a moment and look back down that trodden path, that I had just fought my way through, and sigh. It has been far to long since I cried. When these clouds of confusion part and soon dissipate, I find myself asleep, finally resting in the comfort that I am that much stronger than I was before.
You died just before my birthday; five days to be exact. You departed this plain of existence suddenly and without warning, leaving no change to say goodbye and that I love you. If only I would have known that the very last time that I saw you would have been the last, I would have cared a little more. I would have loved you a lot deeper. I would have said goodbye. Perhaps if I would have known, you wouldn't have left so quickly. Though time has passed, I still think of you on this day just before my birthday.
Like the waves on the ocean, I spot each set looming ominously on the horizon sunbursting in a glorious yellow-orange firestorm. It is almost peaceful as I quietly sit, alone with my thoughts, haphazardly bobbing in a dance with the sea that I am drowning in. I give myself to the sea that lays claim to my body, but my soul, my essence, I shall keep for myself. This sea, she cannot rob me of my being and my right to simply exist. I gasp for breath as she drags me down further into her depths but I am calm.
I am sleepy. I suppose that I am staying up too late and getting up too early, but when else would I find the time to do the things that I need to do? I wish there were more hours in the day as I am finding that twenty-four just isn't enough. Giving in to this notion, I am terribly saddened by the fact that I no longer spend long, lazy evenings, laying on the roof and gazing up at the stars wondering about my future. It now just seems like a complete waste of time now. What a shame.
Nothing lasts forever. Looking back through the dense forest that I have ventured through, I realize how lost I really am. The blackness that envelops this pathless wood cloaks what once was and what will soon be. Hell, I can barely set my eyes on the present, all that is right before me. All I see are the elongated shadows of the faceless demons that beckon me from the outskirts of my vision. So I push forward hoping that nothing lasts forever, but the one thing that remains true is this path and my hope that nothing will last forever.
I love how the hot water flows over my shoulders. I could stand here forever if it wouldn't be deemed as somewhat deviant in the eyes of the normalcy patrol. But who cares, for now anyway? I will just stand here and enjoy one of life's more subtle gifts. My skin is alive with pleasure as I allow the water to caress my entire body like warm, crystalline fingers. Then I realize, it is hard for me to accept pleasure without paying a price. I quickly descend into thoughts how much it is costing me to just stand here. Fuck!
I hate birthdays. Today, I can't help but look back at thirty-three years of failure. I try to communicate this, but it is all just coming out wrong. I am not depressed, but concerned. I am not saddened, but realistic. These lines on my face are worry that I really am going to be nobody, that I am really not going to contribute much to this world and that I really don't matter. This is the retching in my gut that I suffer. This is the permanent frown that I seem to have adopted as my personae. I hate birthdays.
Have you ever gotten really drunk? I mean crapped in your pants, woke up lying in a pool of your own vomit, can't remember where you got that knot on your head or even where you are, stinkin' drunk? I remember I once woke up from a three day binge and found myself in some foreign bathroom with a toilet filled to the brim with puke and God only knows what else and my partially digested right hand fermenting in the toilet marinade. I stumbled from the restroom and found my way home. Then I went and got another drink.
Job was an interesting guy. Like a tightened coil, his entire life was unraveled as the rug of familiarity was unexpectedly pulled out from underneath him. And for what - a bet between God, who supposedly loved him, and evil. In the end, everything was returned to its natural order with God having won the maniacal wager. As my life slowly begins to break apart, I often wonder how anyone could read this story and gain a shred of comfort from it. Things look much smaller sitting on the mountain top looking down, while in the valley you get slaughtered.
Slightly up then further down. Slightly up then further down. Damn my luck these days. I seem to be stuck on some sadistic rollercoaster that seems to gleefully interact with my premonitions. That stop light is going to turn red before I get there; it turns red. I am going to get the bad news call right before I leave work; the phone rings. I am going to get sick; shortly I feel achy. It seems, just when I start to feel the slightest amount of positivity, I am jerked back to the reality that I truly am in hell.
Just keep breathing. That is the best advice I have heard lately. If I look out, passed the end of my nose, and see this quagmire that is my life, it wouldn't be much longer before I felt compelled to ventilate my skull. This has been one of the hardest weeks of my life. I am left feeling rejected and with a shattered self confidence. This strikes deep in my heart. After the events of this passed week, I am not sure I will ever be the same. I am less positive and more guarded. So I just keep breathing.
This waiting is just killing me. It's like the gods have plopped me down on a rock, in the middle of a vast ocean and said, "Wait here, buddy-boy!" For what, I don't know, but I know it can't be good. How did I get myself in this position? How did I end up at this impasse? Was I asleep at the wheel? Was I just too ignorant to see the writing on the wall? What did I do to deserve this? Then a thought pushed through, "Maybe this is as good as it gets." What a horribly disgusting thought.
I like the quietness of the early morning hours. The gentle whir of my computer's power supply and the occasional whisking of my hard-disk disking soothes my overly worked mind. I come here, at this time, to just sit and ignore my pathetic life for a little while. There is something hypnotic about this little high pitched ringing that only comes from this room and only when it's quite. It is so faint, it can only be heard if one is still. A harmonic tone given off by a spinning fan, perhaps? Who knows? But for me, it means home.
I have come to dread Sundays. From the minute that my eyes open in the morning to the time that I fall asleep that night, fear, self doubt and a consuming anger grips me from way down deep within. I find it impossible to concentrate on anything, my mouth is constantly dry and my heart races causing me to feel like I can't pull a good breath. Basically, the way I feel throughout the entire week. So basically, I feel that I am going to be out on the street six days a week now. No rest for the wicked.
It is the nature of the beast. I feel like a plate spinner and everyone around me forces me to spin yet another plate on the end of yet another stick and balance it. "By the way, you need to be mindful that the other plates don't fall, you bastard!", as I furiously move about doing the best I can. That one is starting to wobble, I better get the hell over there, but this one over here is about to crash. They are taking tremendous glee in watching me run about knowing that I can't keep this up forever.
Floating weightless on a simple breeze, carried to where I do not know. The tensions within battle the outer forces upon me as I struggle to retain the shape of who I am in this world. I am translucent in the face of things, yet visible if one looks hard enough. Will I burst as I make my way across the wind or travel this life a little bit longer? Higher and higher, I am thrown from that which I have known, that which I called comfortable and safe and thrust into the vast, blackened sea of uncertainty and fear.
Explain the human experience in 100 words. That seems a daunting task, even for the most skilled of wordsmith. This says nothing for me, a mere amateur casting my words amongst the wolves to digest. "What he is really trying to say is this...", when I really meant that. So imperfect these words, not to mention my limited vocabulary. I guess it is something to even notice the failings of this form of sharing. I would, however, like to make my writing my work someday, but, just as all things that I am passionate about, I would probably fail miserably.
If I could talk to God, I would ask why we have to suffer in order to value pleasure. I mean, it's God, the omnipresent, all powerful, creator of the universe; God could do anything with those credentials. Why not just insert the value on the hearts of men and bypass what seems so unnecessary. The obvious answer to this would be, "You wouldn't have free will to chose pleasure over pain." Bullshit. I choose pleasure hands down. I know of a few that would probably choose pain, but I don't think I am in the minority on this issue.
It sickens me knowing what happened to you. I am shocked and outraged to the point of tears, throwing my fists wildly in the air. I wish there were words that I could use to convey the utter grief that I am feeling over hearing the news of your horrible death. It just isn't fair and there is no amount of comfort, no promise large enough to fill the space that is left empty in your place. Perhaps if I would have wished harder, prayed harder, done anything more than what I did, you would still be here. Goodbye, Daniel.
I can see how people could get addicted to this - the thrill of potentially winning the jackpot. But it has to be much more than that to make gambling an obsession. As I sit here, mindlessly pecking at this slot machine, "Max bet.... Max bet...." I discover that my mind is wondering away from the maddening sounds of this Las Vegas casino and placing me in the position of spending the millions of dollars that I have just miraculously won. From my whopping $0.75 wager, I became a millionaire. But then, I am jarred back into reality, "GAME OVER".
My love affair with flight was reaffirmed today as I shelled out my $80 for a helicopter flight around Las Vegas. It sounds stupid, I know, but I have never been in a helicopter and figured that this was my chance. I was bored and the money would have been far better spent giving me a memory for life rather than burning it at a blackjack table or in some slot machine in a matter of minutes. So, I was locked shoulder to shoulder with the pilot with the biggest smile etched onto my face. It doesn't get much better.
The trip home has always been tough for me. The travel time seems much longer, giving me ample time to think as I make this drive through this lonely desert. My depression seems to be exacerbated when I am overwhelmed realizing that my life is about to be taken off pause and I am thrust back into the responsibility of being who I am again. I can't honestly say that things are really that bad, but the things that are not working to my satisfaction seem that much worse and hopeless during this time. I feel far too empty now.
Back to the old grind. Actually, play catch-up before I can get back into the old grind. My point being, that if I actually died, it would seem that nothing would get done. If I just cease to exist, the work would stack up waiting for my return. Why is that? Why can't other competent people step outside of their little realms of responsibility and just take care of business like I do in their absence? The sad part is that I am chastised if I don't practice this bit of thoughtfulness, while others walk away scot-free. It just figures....
So... How do I drag myself from this pit and back onto some level ground? It is blazing obvious that just sitting around being the victim to my misery is only bringing me more misery. Day after dismal day, I open my eyes and regret that I am still breathing, yet I feel paralyzed into doing nothing but keep on keepin' on. But what is the combination, the key to unlock these bonds of my condition and feel freedom once again? Is it money, faith, love, charity, rage, hate, disgust? Perhaps it is all of these things in perfect measure.
I have spent an entire month, 2800 words, selfishly reflecting on me as the victim. Have I learned anything from this jaunt through my life, my opening up doors that were closed for such a long time? Perhaps, but this I know.... Change comes more slowly than I have figured. I am a victim of my buying into the quick fix, buy now pay later, everything is OK as long as it feels good society. It can't be about fixing what is broken. After all, I am blinded to the fact that I am broken anyway. The search still continues...
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