Despicable Me

I am legitimately shocked and awed by how fucking awful this feels. I am living alone. I am alone and eating ramen. Depressed as hell. Be careful what you fucking wish for. It’s only Tuesday. I have only been alone since Sunday morning. Regardless, I have cried every day, starting that morning around 6:20am. I’m finally mourning. Doubly mourning. I know I have to go through this to get to the other side. Like the chicken I’ve been feeling like at work lately. The one without a head. There is so much I want to say. So much I feel I have to hide. I’m tired of hiding.  

Small details: I had planned on going to the gym after work. Instead, I made a conscious decision to allow myself to fall deeper into this sadness. I made a conscious decision to buy a bottle of Irish whiskey (it makes me feel connected to so many things). I made a conscious decision to not make real food. I say I don’t care but it’s because I do care so much that everything weighs on me so heavily. So heavily that bottle follows bottle in a futile effort to stop the pain and disappointment that I feel. Being aware of what I’m doing makes it that much more painful.

So many things are going through my head right now. Thoughts and feelings. Especially “STOP!” But not a positive stop. It’s “stop writing, stop thinking, go to the couch and turn on the tv, forget all this.” But that doesn’t stop it, only delays.

“I don’t know” and “I’m so sorry.” The two most common refrains I hear come out of my mouth or that run through my head. I wish I could say “Yes,” and “I love you” and “Help me.” “Please.” And that I could accept help. And love. It’s enough to make me turn to Jesus, I swear.

I wish I could be less stubborn. Open and gracious and forgiving instead of glancing sideways at everyone and everything offered. Yet still being taken advantage of. That I could work with instead of against. You and me.

There are so many truths about me that I find disturbing. Truths that I have trouble voicing. Truths that make me despicable. Using and abusing. I realized not long after I moved out that I am not necessarily a “good” person. I do what I need to do to survive. Yet people still call me a saint. People still want to help me. People think I am good. It’s not goodness, it’s self-preservation and idiocy. Being who I need to be to get by. Denying myself, hiding myself. Fronting.

That’s all bullshit, that last paragraph. I victimize myself and blame others for making me unhappy. Because I am unhappy and I’m too chicken-shit to do anything about it.

You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.

I don’t deserve all the chances people give me. Yet I do. Because I care so much. Because I’ve been hurt so much. By other people who were hurt before me. And it goes on and on. The legacy of hurt. 

Fuck. How did I end up here?

Fear. Fear that I’ve lost another friend. Because of my fear. Because of second-guesses and outside pressure. (Incompatibility and desperation? Insecurity?)

Why can’t I just sit with myself? Why am I so afraid of myself? Because I know how despicable I am? God, that’s depressing. Because I know how much I hurt. I know how much pain is inside of me. And how much rage and anger. And that does scare me. It makes me of absolutely no use to anyone.

So here I am. Finally alone. And scared to death of what I’ll discover. Yet I know I am searching for something in others that I can only find in myself and I’m no good to anyone until I find it.



But do not ask the price I paid,
I must live with my quiet rage,
Tame the ghosts in my head,
That run wild and wish me dead.
Should you shake my ash to the wind
Lord, forget all of my sins
Or let me die where I lie
Neath the curse of my lover's eyes.

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

What is Wrong with You? A Glimpse Inside My "Controversial" Mind

"What is wrong with you?" has been my most commonly used phrase recently. Within the past week I've said it to my husband, to my cats, I think it at nearly everyone I know and everyone who crosses my path (especially when they are running red lights).  But seriously, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? How can you be doing and saying such stupid things and still be allowed to live? (Short answer: Because you are animals and there is no rational order to this world.)

I've also had terrible PMS (oh that shit's REAL) for the past couple of days and drank enough whiskey on Sunday night to make myself cry about something that shouldn't have made me cry. Also, I had trouble falling asleep Tuesday night because I was feeling so jealous of people I know and like. It's been a rough and ugly week.

Yesterday my "What's wrong with you?" was directed at weird, dismissive, passive aggressive internet comments and text messages. You know, those "whatevers" or "so whats" or even worse, "deal with its." WHAT THE FUCK?  Which makes my reactionary self say, okay, if that's how we're gonna play this thing then let's do it. I can burn a goddam bridge and not look back. Believe that.

But now I'm going to sound passive aggressive because I can't really talk about it because of other circumstances. Let me just say that I'm trying not to apply labels to what's going on; outside of my head, anyway.

I don't know what it is about me that encourages these kinds of responses from people. Could it be my own dismissive nature? Oh, could it be? (Sarcasm.) But I have a low tolerance for, and very high expectations of, humans. You know what, maybe it is my dismissiveness a lot of the time but that's not it entirely.

And I'm wrong a lot, I can admit that. (I really was convinced that Sonic Youth song wasn't Sonic Youth.) I'm usually not wrong about people, though. And there ARE a lot (well, maybe not A LOT) of people I like and would like to hang out with, but...

What it all boils down to is that I don't trust you. This statement is not directed at any one person in particular but for all humans. I don't trust you and I will never allow myself to get too close to you. Because sooner or later, you are going to hurt me or betray me or tell lies about me. Because that's what humans do. Humans are shit, and to quote Michel Houellebecq, "I derive only the feeblest sense of solidarity with the rest of the human species." And to quote someone closer to me than Houellebecq, "Yes, I do think I'm better than you."

DEAL WITH IT (ha, ha). Or not, your choice.

"I'd prefer not to" and "I want to be alone"

That brings me to my final comments which are about being alone, being lonely and making a choice, consciously or not, to NOT have friends. The not having friends thing is mostly because of what I was saying in the previous paragraph: I don't trust you. Even though you may not be one of the people who have hurt me, I don't trust you. (You might be one of the people who have, who knows?) Also, I just usually prefer to be alone. Life is less annoying that way. I don't have to do things for or with you. I don't have to "lend a hand," unless I want to. I don't feel obliged to attend any events I don't want to attend. I have cultivated this Aloneness and made it into my own personal art form. I am independent, for the most part, of complicated relationships. 

Which is not always a benefit. When I am lonely for companionship I have no where to turn. I don't get to do FUN things for or with you. When I want people to read my blog or listen to something I made or need an audience for some other reason, I'm up a fucking creek. "Good luck, asshole," I say to myself. "Nobody gives a shit about you because you decided to tell them all that you hate them." Then I wallow in self-pity about a situation of my own making until I shrug it off and return to my normal cold and monstrous personality... 

And sometimes people say things like this to me: "I have to go downstairs for a while then I will be back, hopefully to never leave you again." But he only says that because he doesn't know me very well.

I am painfully self-aware.