I’m frustrated, maybe more, maybe at the heart of it I’m disappointed in myself. The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting a different result. Here I am, another 3 months gone by with nothing to show for it. I thought I could be disciplined. Then there’s a trigger and it all goes to waste. The effort wasn’t there. I think my issue is more than a fear, I think it’s waking up and learning that I’m mediocre. That I’ll have epiphanies from time to time, with the hope I’m going to turn it all around and change my life, but that’s not going to happen. That’s not how it works, we don’t get epiphanies, we get now. Now is the time and if you really want to make a change that’s when you start. Your stamina isn’t tested late at night when you’re typing away complaining, but when you’re surrounded by your addictions. I wish I started earlier, I wish I put in a stronger effort, I wish I could go back in time, I wish I was more right now. I hope for now that this marks the end of wishing for more. I’ll say this, for me right now marks a change, and I’m going to keep with it, I’m going to keep going on. We’ll see how things work out, though truth be told, I’m a cynic who tells others to keep hope. Hypocrite.
I haven’t changed, it’s been half a year. I have new thoughts, new expressions, maybe a new outlook. I haven’t changed though, when push comes to shove, I haven’t matured, I haven’t learned from my mistakes,….I haven’t let go.
For the longest time, I haven’t had an untroubled sleep, where I could make it through the night without several nightmares shivering their way into my mind. By the longest time, I mean a little over a year. I just want a period of time where I can close my eyes with the relief of an untroubled sleep. I can endure more I think, I’m really not so sure anymore. The greater problem lies with progress. Nothing’s really changed for me, if growth is something that comes automatically with time, then I must have missed something. I haven’t really grown much, the only truth that’s become more relevant to me is my shame and ignorance. There are moments that I keep close to the chest, that are stuck to me like a dagger in the heart. These thoughts crush me, because I don’t know how to react, I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I know I don’t enjoy it. Today could be different though, because it’s become apparent to me what I’m so ashamed of. I don’t know if I should be or not, but I can’t speak of it, so hopefully writing it helps. I asked my friend what he thought of the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, he wasn’t a fan. I asked him about his worst experiences and if he’d want to forget them. His response was absolutely not, because then you wouldn’t learn anything and you’d be doomed to repeat it. I hope I’ve learned something, but I’m not sure I’m confident in myself not to repeat my mistakes.
It starts with a girl, like most stories do. No, it starts far before that, it started the moment I became self-aware, but this post isn’t going to cover my issues with childhood. If curiosity strikes, just think of your own problems, mine to be honest were no different from your average joe. Everyone’s got problems, only the people who really care about you, will want to listen to yours. So, I digress, but I loved this girl, I often questioned that truth, but a truth it is, I really did, through and through. It didn’t matter what was happening as long as it was me and her, it was alright. Nothing else mattered, happiness was standing right there, like a drug I’ve never experienced before it. The euphoria it granted my existence is something I haven’t grasped before, and from time to time I doubt I ever will again. I often wondered what the word love really means. This is the first disclosure, I wouldn’t admit it, but it’s true. I loved you. I still do, if it is true love I don’t think it can ever really go away. It’s something the mind can’t recover from, an inevitable relapse that can only be prevented through acceptance of pain or complete separation. Everything here is so long-winded, and it’s because even now I delay telling my story, admitting my shames, giving it form. It’s hard to type, it really is. The pain comes from my failure in realizing that it was unrequited, that it was, it is a sham. I still hold onto hope that maybe it just requires more and more work. It’d be worth it, but it is a shadow of a hope now, not even, it’s a shadow in the night, it doesn’t exist, but I still look for it. I wander aimless in intentions, walking in a circle, this whole time I’ve really been standing still. I think about moments where I could have done something differently, could have been the person that made things work, but I’m just me. These sting, but they aren’t the fractures that disable me.
No, that begins with the beginning, when we just met. I doubt I’ll ever forget that day. Spent the whole damn day, smacking white round objects with pieces of metal on beautiful fields of green. Saw a fox, no a wolf relax and take in the sunlight as only a divine creature can. Maybe it was a coyote. We ate, I paid for everything, as usual, a common theme to this collection of events. The day turns to night, alcohol becomes involved, we have a spontaneous bash like we always did, and every time it was unplanned. You disappear with my best friend from college. I’m hurt, the walls are thin, each noise pierces me like a needle going straight into my flesh. I’m angry, I’ve never been so angry, I pace, I leave, I search desperately for a cigarette, but no one’s around. What started as a party dwindled to just me, just me and those damn noises. I do what I can, rush up to the roof. I pace, angrily pace, I see red, but I can’t act on it. I did actually, I yelled something before heading up the stairs, what it was I forget, no matter I don’t think anyone heard it. I take a breath, another, and a few more. I calm myself, I’ve never reacted like this before it’s all new to me, and I don’t know what’s going on. I wander back down to the living room. My friend’s there, he tries to console me, he says “that’s shitty man, I can’t believe that,” I tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about and walk away. It’s obvious though. She comes out, the omnipresent daze glazing her eyes as they always are, she’s tired. She doesn’t want to walk home, I put on a smile, no I don’t think I did actually. I couldn’t really, I nod, my eyes squinted slightly in misery, lead her up to my room, a small double shared by me and my best friend from High School. He left for the night, back to his hometown or so I thought. I let her sleep in his bed, and pace up to the roof, unable to stand myself. I pace again, even angrier, even more conflicted. I wish I had the balls to say something, but at the same time, I had no right to say anything. I wasn’t Owed anything, what’s this sense of entitlement. I teetered between the two, angry that I was angry, and becoming more hysterical. Again, calm down, you’re logical, you’ve always been, you’ve been above petty hookups and one night stands, you’re past that. I walk back into my room to call it a night. My best friend is back, he’s there with her. I don’t need to say anything. Yeah, something happened. I should of put her somewhere else, that was the thought in my head. I go back downstairs, another shot to bring upon sleep. And fade to black. Betrayal? Was it shallow of me to feel that way? I did everything I could to not feel anything, but I couldn’t. I Was, I am mad. My best friend from High School, and my best friend from College. I guess my bonds didn’t run strong both ways. This is my second disclosure, I always thought there was a brightside, I always believed good intentions were somehow there, I believed in people, I Believed in hope. I had always kept my expectations too high, my second relevation, don’t expect anything of anyone.
A depressing series of events has just begun. These shadows are found every night, at some point when I close my eyes I face these demons, sooner or later I Fall asleep. New York City, it never sleeps.
I thought I had made progress and by progress I mean my affliction was carved deeper. We became closer. I misread it. I was warned. I didn’t listen. It was a Thursday night, a wonderful evening, just as every evening with her was. Boston really has it’s fireflies, little activities and areas where adventure is to be found and fun to be had. We were probably walking back from the harbor, as we often did, and decided to aim for something bigger, something brighter. Why not go to New York City tomorrow? Eager to please, I agreed, I made it happen. Boy, that was a bad decision. Money is fickle, and to just bitch about money would be a disservice to the story, but it is relevant as I don’t have much. Each dollar represents a period of time that didn’t belong to me, that I spent doing something I probably didn’t enjoy in return for the hopes that it would be worth it. That’s the value of this money, it cost me part of my life to get it. It was hot that weekend, humid through and through, but no matter, we boarded the bus and got there. No ordinary hotel would do, this girl is special, and I’ve got a talent for finding a bargain. Next thing I know, an $1100 a night room opens its doors for us. Why did I do that, maybe because I’m a sucker for the grandeur, immature and inexperienced, foolish and stupid about the real truths of luxury. Time’s square is a two second walk away. On these humid days a downpour was sure to happen, no worries the door man offers you his umbrella, you think about taking it, but you don’t, no need to, holding it would just be a nuisance. I was right, it would have been just a nuisance, it only rained for me that day, it stayed sunny for everyone else. Fast forward, we’re at the club, how you got in, a fake ID of course. Where’d that ID come from, a mutual friend. Despite the lack of resemblance it works. Our usual custom for ordering drinks was to go somewhere nice, somewhere fancy, where they priced so high that they wouldn’t ever think of anyone underage asking. My immaturity came through time and time again through that summer. Back to New York. The First floor is boring, we move up, a crowd here too, potential, but we’re not even tipsy. The roof bar, tequila, overpriced, it goes down with a lime. Another, followed by a drink. We dance, it’s latin music, not my song, I take a break, you keep going, soon your dancing with some guy. There’s no eloquent way to put it, I hated him through and through. The grinding was infuriating, I couldn’t sit anymore, next thing I know, this guy’s lecturing me on how to do the easiest dance there is. Whatever, I Take it, I guess I’m a pushover. We all go to the roof, he’s a regular he says, he gets us some drinks. God, must have been the shittiest mix of a drink ever, some cheep slushy shit hole pina coladas. We talk, by we, I mean you two, I stay silent, it’s obvious I’m upset I guess, I never shut my mouth otherwise. She says she needs to go to the bathroom, she doesn’t know where it is, so our gentleman friend offers to show her. You disappear, I wait. I wait longer. Still not back, I wait some more. And that’s it for tonight, I’ll continue this later.
I wish I could see you. I wish I could be more honest. I wish i didn’t hide behind a veil of lies. I wish I was the person I wanted to be. I’ve always needed acknowledgement. I’ve always wanted to be acknowledged by my peers. By everyone. I wanted to be a rock. I’ve wanted to be able to support others. I’ve wanted to be special. I’ve wanted to be more than just a number.
I wish I could have told you everything. I wish I forgot about hope and said everything. Everything I felt, the emotion that’s pierced me and destroyed me and ruined me. I wish I could tell you, just inject responsibility into another, been selfish for my own gain. Hurt you for a mere moment for acknowledgement. Taken pleasure from it. I wish I told you just how much it hurt. How much it racked my mind, the constant pressure and disappointment I felt. The constant fear, insecurity, fear, and hope. Hope ruined everything. I used it to justify. I was wrong.
The only acknowledgement I needed was yours. But i needed more than that, I needed in a selfish capacity. Moments are stressed into what feels like eternity. I faced my fear, faced what I thought was my jump into something beyond, letting go of everything. It did nothing. I can’t explain my emotion, my pain, my torture. But that’s what it is, it’s torture. I wish you the best, because you are wonderful. You’re everything I want, everything bright, peaceful, harmonious, you’re happiness. You ruined me. I’m racked with regret, guilt, fear, and more than I could express in my limited vocabulary. It’s a feeling of great despair. From the moment I met you, you haven’t left my mind. It’s constant, and it’s so much, too much. I’m lost. I look to you for guidance, but that’s asking too much. I know I need to find it for myself but I can’t. Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. What kind of phrase is that. I wish you never met me. It would have been better for you. I have no regret in meeting you. My only regret is that I’m me. That seems like the worst regret anyone could have. That’s what I Deal with. There’s no way to say it kindly or gently. It’s selfish in every way. I see the bottom, there’s no top. There’s here and it’s been constant. It’s been a year. I see no end. I wish I told you everything, I have only regret.
The truth…I am conflicted with severe acceptance of inadequacy. Logic tells me it’s insecurity and a depression that plagues many more people than I’d think. Logic tells me I’m not alone. Others have overcome it. I think my problem isn’t being faced with inadequacy, but my basic acceptance of it. I just never see myself in a good light. I fake it til I make it. I’ve been faking it for 22 long years. I’ve acted long enough. The truth? I’m probably a coward or immature, it doesn’t really matter. At some point the act must end, the charade be deemed false, and the truth come out. The constant reminder at the end of each sunset is a constant sadness. The dramatic takes hold, and the jester comes to play. How pathetic, ridiculous, short-sighted, and naive. I think the saddest thing is that’s really all I have to say about myself. That’s not really sad, just dramatic and immature. Things haven’t changed.
I’m halfway through and I can’t really grasp the reality of it yet. My thoughts are pretty scattered, I can’t really concentrate on anything right now. There’s a lot going on beneath the surface which explains my current predicament, but even despite that, the flow of everything getting old is creeping back. The very reasons I left Boston are starting to re-appear. Things feel like they’re coasting again, and it’s not what I want. On that note, I don’t even know what I want. I have this idea of happiness, but I accept the fact that my whole world seems to change every 2 years. I say 2 instead of 1, because for this last year a single thing has been constantly lingering on my mind. It’s a silent spectre that perpetually haunts me, it makes me sweat every night even though it’s more than just a tad chilly. It burns me, the flames spike to the point where I could be caught frozen and still melt the ice of the glaciers that surround me. It poisons my motivations, makes me question my goals and vision. I don’t have the clear. I don’t have the answers. I don’t see the light at the end of the tunnel. I hope for it, but it’s too dim to see, even in the summer where there’s light everywhere. I escaped the cold, I thought I got away from it. I confronted what I thought was my biggest fear. I thought there would be some ephiphany of relief, but it’s a fleeting moment and it’s gone and nothing has changed. I thought everything would have changed. I thought I’d be able to make explosions, be recognized within myself, acknowledge myself and gain some sort of inner acceptance. I’m jealous, I’m vain, I’m hopeless, I’m lost.
So here I am, the study in study abroad is beginning to pressure me more and more, it’s like a gnat that won’t go away. Despite how this sounds I’m not complaining, I take responsibility for my work and what needs to be done. That doesn’t mean I’m happy doing it or even that I will. It’s more of a statement of an added stressor that contributes to the seeds that turn a dream into something worse. It’s not a nightmare, but it might be indifference… which could be worse I guess. When I got here, everything was amazing, the thrill of being lost in a new city, the joys of meeting new people and seeing new things. It wasn’t euphoric, but it was genuinely great. The aussies are interesting people, smiling faces in a city, something I’m not used to due to my growing up on the east coast. It reminds me a little of the west coast with a bit of a european twang thrown in. Things are starting to feel a little older though. It makes me question what I want to do. Maybe backpack or wwoof, but I feel like my only real desire for that task is false. It’s another fake ideal life that I’m trying to convince myself of. All over, I’m too unsure to say more, we’ll see where we go from here. I have so much more to say, but for now I’m going to leave it at this. Far too ranty and whiny for even me to take in. At some point you just need to get sick of the bitching and crying and grow up I guess. That moment hasn’t hit me yet though….