Never mind the blood; dig deeper.

And I hate it. Loathe it. Abhor it.

I’ve sunken into a quiet depression that I constantly ignore. And tonight, in the culmination of my confronting drama llamas shitting all over my life, I almost lost it. The depression reared it’s ugly head, and I nearly had a complete breakdown in the middle of Denny’s. I’ve come to terms with an overpowering feeling that makes me want to curl up into a little ball and cry for the rest of my life: I am alone. I constantly push away the people I care most about, and I don’t realize that I am doing it until it is too late. It took two and a half years for me to do it with He. And damned if my skills aren’t improving, because it only took about a week with Spooner. And I seem to be doing a hell of a job with quarterlife as well. It’s time for me to dump. Brutally honest, harsh, and unnecessarily dramatic. Ready, kids? Strap in for a ride.

He: My tactics for dealing with the end of what had become a normal part of my life are completely fucked up, and as much as they seem to be working, they’re not. Avoidance. That’s all I’m doing. I’m avoiding thinking about him. I’m avoiding admitting to missing him. I’m avoiding the whole situation, and doing such has prevented me from being a blubbering, pathetic idiot. But when it comes down to it, I’m miserable. I want to lay around and cry and wallow in self-pity. Because truth be told, my heart is broken, and I don’t know how to deal with that. I don’t want to deal with that. And I know sooner or later I’m going to self-destruct because I am neglecting my personal repsonsibility to myself, and am attempting to “recover” in the worst ways possible. There is no possible way I’m ever going to get over it if I don’t face it and accept it. But I don’t have the strength, and I am terrified. I can’t do it on my own, and no one can do it with me. So I’m fucked. Truth? I’m not sad because we broke up. I’m sad because I am in love with him and our relationship was going nowhere fast. I’m sad because I am in love with him and that wasn’t enough. I’m sad because I wasn’t able to make an amazing man as happy as he made me, or, more importantly, as happy as he deserves to be. I’m sad because everything is eventual.

quarterlife: I love her dearly, I really do. But my brain has taken over and tough love has kicked in. I empathize with a lot of her situations. But my brain will not allow me to condone the poor choices she makes in order to deal with her problems. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. And then I forced myself to hear the delightful popping noise when the head comes out of the ass and starts breathing oxygen. More than any other friendship, my patience is being tested. I will not give up on her, and I am not judging her. I simply want more for her, and I want her to want more for herself. I am sure I am not the friend she expected or wanted me to be, and I feel bad about that. But I can only do so much. I can only be so much. And I know for a fact that my expectations are not too high, because she is a truly remarkable human being. It’s just infuriating watching her flail around while not realizing that about herself.

Spooner: Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t tell myself “I told you so” enough at this point. Prime example of my innate capability to create distance between myself and the people I desire to be closest to. Fuck.

The question I keep asking myself is this: What the fuck am I doing with my life? I’m not quite sure exactly what I mean when I ask that, but I really want to know the answer. Why am I refusing to deal with the loss I have just experienced? Why do I feel badly about everything that I do? Why does my stomach always hurt?
WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?

I wrote this three years ago, and somehow, it still makes sense.

     “Fuck Your Fairytale Ending”
There is no happy ending
for this chaotic one-way love.
No fairytale,
no movie scene,
no happy rise above.

There is no course of action
for this confusing complex game.
No path to choose,
no road to take,
the feelings stay the same.

There is no quick solution
for this fire we allow to burn.
No air-tight space,
no water hose,
these scars teach us to learn.

There is no consolation
for this emotion misconstrued.
No happy end,
no fairytale,
just me            and solitude.