Fathom

Nothing hurts quite as much as realizing you are your own corner. You are the only thing keeping you from backing up into nothing.

… … …

It’s been a…well…a week.

This type of stress should just go ahead and be violence. I feel it eating me from the inside out and I wonder how it isn’t some type of tumor. It’s agony.

Tai’s irritating, manipulative boyfriend hung himself. She was finally leaving, this week to be exact, going to Seattle and starting a new life. Maybe a healthier life. Maybe a more satisfying life. She would have left and gone to Seattle and started work, kept in touch with him right up until the moment she forgot him. She would’ve forgotten him. The wall punching, the constant depressing, hurt facebook posts about his Mom that he hated, all of that. I know she would’ve and he knew that, too.

His overbearing mother wouldn’t overstep her fucking bounds and say slick shit to my sister, and baby the shit out of this grown ass 29-year-old. She could still baby him, sure, but my sister would be far away from this irritating woman’s blame (for every little thing – it’s always my sister’s fault, not her consistently disappointing son).

But he killed himself and my sister had to find him. And then she had to cut him down. And then she had to listen to his disgusting, terrible excuse for a mother screaming and accusing her of murdering him and calling her a bitch and saying ‘get out of my house’ as if she paid my sister’s rent. This woman literally told my sister to get out of ‘her fucking house’ when my sister PAID THE RENT, even when her useless son didn’t. As if it was her property – they rented from a rental company.

And you know…I am irritated that my sister didn’t leave sooner. That she stayed and let him continue to leech. That now she has pieces of her already fragile mind to pick up.

 

I love my family a lot. But once I get her on that plane to Seattle, I’m not talking to my sister again. I’m not talking to my Mom and brothers as much. I’m getting rid of Wuff and I’m cleaning up my house and I am going to ease myself back into solitude. I realize that it suited me. I had to call this grieving mother and curse her out for accusing my sister of ‘murdering her son’, the son that literally just wrote a Facebook post saying his mom told him she regretted him. I am tired. I am tired of having to defend grown people and shelter them from their own mistakes. Their own problems. I keep thinking, stressed and unable to do anything else, ‘I want to go home’. I am fucking home. I’m literally in my fucking house. But Wuff being a baby and telling me ‘you’re like a zombie, you’re so fucking serious and always complaining,’ and being endlessly irritating, Tai lying to me ALL THE FUCKING TIME, everyone on edge, it’s enough. I’ve had enough.

 

All I want is to deal with my own life. I will take that solitude back. Right here. Just take it back and move toward making it complete and utter – outside of business, I will exist in my home and not worry about anyone else.

 

I am exhausted in a way I have never, ever fathomed possible.

Brick

What a realization. I don’t believe in any of it, anymore.

… … …

 

Here, in Atlanta, in a $1,400 a month house, I woke up hopeful. I woke up with a lot on my mind but a very bright and vibrant sense of purpose. It felt like something was going okay. It felt like this was an okay run, this life, and I was keeping the pace.

 

Here, in Atlanta, at 11:45pm I feel violent in my defeat. I feel a sense of hopelessness that I can only compare with an actual character of mine. And that makes sense. I spent much of today wishing I could disappear, evaporating slowly into the air, and turn into that character forever. I spent much of today wishing I was someone else completely, someone who could not exist without making hundreds and hundreds of ancestors, thousands of other people. I spent much of today and yesterday and all the days before it wishing I could exist in the world I made in my head.

 

It’s not going away, I guess. Every road I walk down leads to a wall. And this isn’t something that bothers me. Even my characters, even the one I wish I was, even they are surrounded by walls and closed doors. Even they squeeze their heads between their hands and seethe, whimper, whine. But they are not me. That’s the only difference.

 

I realized today that I will always want to be someone else. That will never change. I will never enjoy this life in a concrete way. And it sunk in a bit more than usual. I’m not exactly burdened by it.

 

I wonder what it means in the long run, though. I wonder when I’ll hit a brick wall that really stops me. That even my characters can’t help me escape.

Air

Someday, there will be nothing left but air.

And really, maybe not even that.

… … …

Unnatural things sit on my chest. I’ve been feeling this ugly, saturated heaviness ever since I put a sudden stop to my solitude. With the past sitting in my house, sitting around my house, laughing too loud all the time, drinking itself into difficult stupors, I feel heavy and salted. When I say anything that sounds like a real conversation, he grimaces.

Literally. His face quickly contorts and then he stares.

When I speak, he makes annoyed faces. Unless we are talking about popular things. Celebrities cheating or how ‘the gram’ feels or anything like that. He’s invested, then.

When I say, slowly and carefully, ‘did you check on that job’? He sighs. Eyes roll too quickly for confirmation. He nods.

“Yeah.”

 

This isn’t before. I am too old. I became too set in my solitude. And I had time to realize what was ME and what was the gaslighting.

 

So I already told him this wasn’t working out, and I already told him this is done. One month. And only that first day, when Dude Ranch screeched and ran about with him, did it seem like a good idea.

Other than that it was just a huge, ugly ‘I KNEW IT’.

… … …

 

But some lessons we learn hard and vicious. I learned not to take on family projects. From the difficulty of handling something for my mother, of telling her she wasn’t being clear enough, only to have her find someone else and be ‘clear’ with them. And the final product was, as I figured, only slightly like what she’d asked for. But she will never admit that, and I am too old to keep asking people to do such things. So I’m just going to stop calling.

People will wrap themselves around you trying to tell you how life is short. Forgive and yadda yadda yadda. I’ve been forgiving for a long time, my friends. And it’s never done anything for me, not yet. It has never eased any anger, has never changed any behavior. I forgive and remember and it still all turns back like a vicious circle.

 

I am quitting people. At least, when my solitude filled this home, I felt like a great human being. In the month that I’ve been ‘trying’ to communicate, I’ve been told how terrible I am, how abrasive, how angry and loud. And I’m over it.

 

Just us.

Sudden Things

Solitude has afforded me some peace. I understand with vigor that this peace is flimsy – I earned it alone. I earned it without ever staring down my issues with other humans, without ever actually figuring out why I wanted the solitude in the first place. It’s not enough to say you’re sick of everyone – why is the real question. How do you fix it?

 

I continued to ignore this question and now, surrounded in my own house, it came back up. Why am I sick of everyone? How do I develop healthy relationships?

 

Do I even want any?

 

It’s apparent to me that I’ll have to answer these questions whether I want to or not. I’ll have to take a good look at myself. A good look at my actions and intentions. A good, deep breath. And I’ll need to truly figure out what I want out of other people, whether I even want other people, and how to navigate from this point. I didn’t think inviting two people, two people I’m thoroughly familiar with, into my home would cause so much chaos in my mind. I didn’t think it would render me unable to work and, even worse, unable to write.

I didn’t think it would push me so heavily and quickly back into a sour mood, one that evaded me when I was alone with The Young Sir. Into a state of confusion. Into an internal battle.

 

But it did. It has. And I’m right back to figuring out this thing called companionship.

 

And I’m going to fucking figure it out this time. I know myself, now. Let’s know what makes ‘self’ happy.

Small

I have a very small audience. Super small. Miniscule, even.

Part of me wants to grow this audience to benefit my future writing career. A bigger part of me, though, wants to just write what I feel and ignore the growth potential. This is a huge part of my life that seems to cover every area.

Wanting to just keep everything to myself.

I have a very small group of friends/people that I talk to, and that group gets smaller every day.

Part of me wants to grow it, to branch out, to talk to people. But a bigger part of me wants to stick to myself and these two Booger Butts and call it a day. I’ve been dealing with my want for social broadening lately and decided, eh, let’s try it? What a mistake.

… … …

This will jump around a bit but I’m only ever talking to myself, so who cares?

I had a daydream that I saved Urijah from someone trying to kill him and ended up in jail. In solitary confinement. Stuck to myself all day and night and only ever having communication when it comes to getting my food, if even then. And for some reason this was such a great daydream. I felt a calm about it. Sitting in some dirty room with nothing and no one until I just petered out of existence. With nothing but my brain and maybe, if I was lucky at all, paper and pen. Even if I wasn’t that lucky, the thought of being alone forever seemed grand.

The fact that this excites me is a problem, I think, but I wonder if I’m fighting the wrong way. Maybe I should just embrace that. Not let myself get pulled back in by artificial nice guys and lesbians who are already in love with someone else. Maybe I should keep moving forward and stop looking back, and maybe forward leads me and the young sir somewhere lonesome. Somewhere that is just us, except when it’s just us and The Boy Chin Wonder.

… … …

I won’t delete my social accounts again, even though I wanted to. I came close today. But I’ll try my best to stay off of them and in my own world. I’ll fight for my family, for us. I’m so sick of everyone – liberals and conservatives and everyone else. Adults and teens and anti-this and religion and just everything that exists outside of my home. I am sick of arguing and hearing arguments.

To be perfectly honest, I’d rather get a shotgun and a secluded house and argue with gunshots at this point. I’m tired of no one getting ANYTHING. And I think I’ll live in the philosophy that you don’t have to get anything. I can definitely GIVE you these hands/these bullets/this pain, though.

We can share.

Before I die I will figure out how to distance myself and still survive. I can’t imagine keeping in touch with people anymore. I’m done with it.

 

Let us depart.

 

Trouble

Sometimes I realize I’m not worth the trouble. A lot of my interactions, especially with men and potential friends, boils down to that. It’s not worth the headache for one reason or another, cool ass personality or not.

I’m getting that.

I hear over and over and over how great of a personality I have. How I’m ‘cool as hell’. How I’m interesting, how someone has had a better conversation with me than they have with anyone else, ever. I hear that so much I should get it tattooed in my ear.

You’re amazing, Trey.

You’re so funny.

You’re quick, you’re smart, you like the coolest stuff.

And then they follow it with all their buts and uh’s and um’s and I blank out a bit.

… … …

 

I’m not so bothered about being trouble anymore. Not in a real sense. It might jerk a tear of two and then I just kinda sit with my back against the wall and laugh. I’m too much or too little or too big or too small or have too many kids or not enough manners or this or that or the third.

I can’t make you cum or I can but that’s all.

I make you feel awkward or I make you feel nervous.

I’m ‘ambiguous’ or ‘intense’.

I get a lot. But I give a lot, and I’m kind of tired of regretting that giving. I’m starting to think I like giving a lot. And being a lot.

I’m starting to think I run people off for a reason.

 

And it’s okay, I think. Being trouble. Having those long gaps of time when I am no one and nothing and if a Trey falls in isolation, does anyone hear it? And if Urijah closes his door again, am I alone in the house?

And if Rajesh loses his phone again, am I not his mother?

And if everyone forgot I was here would anything be any different?

… … …

I’ve been going through water bottles. They’re everywhere. I drink them like I’m a worried alcoholic and they’re whiskey, and they’re scotch, and they’re buzzing in me. I’ve never had so much water in my life. I think about breast cancer and cervical cancer and liver failure and I sit with my back against some wall. There’s a lot of thought involved in this.

But I really like mirrors again, all of a sudden. And cameras. I like smiling really big and picking Urijah up and showing him that he can smile, too. I like listening to lofi hip hop and complaining about my life to myself. I like seeing that door as a wall, these windows as walls, this isolation as an opening.

I am okay with being trouble.

Maybe I am not enough. And it will always be just that way. But it’s really okay.

I’ll live until I don’t.

Float

I’m having trouble concentrating.

I’ve spent a bit of money this month, money I probably shouldn’t have spent, preparing. Preparing for that ugly, nasty loneliness that creeps up on me whenever I am single. It takes a while sometimes but it always comes. Depending on how I deal with it, I either end up better or worse.

 

It’s like a turning page. I know the next chapter is coming when that loneliness shows up. I know something new is going to happen, and it all depends on me.

 

The wrong answer is always ‘fill that void’. I usually do this with dating. Friendships that I will not hold up. Hoping and wishing for someone to sweep me away, for someone to love me, for someone that I can dote and love on. I spend a large amount of time in these fits hoping for someone special, doing too much for losers, and turning into a screaming beast myself. I make a lot of mistakes in that loneliness. I don’t want to do it anymore.

So I filled my room with pretty pictures, ugly pictures, family pictures, decor. I got a new desk to work with. I put plans in my head. I put a small amount of Christmas decorations up with the intent to put up more. I got a tv and an Xbox One and a case of soda. And I’ve been managing in this early stage of it.

Wuff is still here but tomorrow, when he’s gone, we’ll see how long it takes that real loneliness to kick in. Already, I am blaming myself for every mistake he or I ever made. I am blaming myself for his drinking, laziness, his misunderstanding me, his refusal to get a job until the very last minute. It’s soaked into my last post, even. Already, everything is my fault. I always end up hating myself in this type of loneliness. It distorts my vision in the mirror and I am just this weak, pathetic thing.

This loneliness, when it comes, always makes me want to be small. It makes me wish someone would carry me around in the palm of their hand. But it is all a facade, and I always end up pushing away anyone I falsely bring in during all that damn confusion. Time and time and fucking time again.

 

But this time. Pretty pictures. A garden, maybe. A desk. A game system. Children’s clothing, homeschooling, cooking and cleaning and all those things that make up a life.

 

This time, I’m going to float instead of flailing against an abyss while I drown.

Goodbyes

I’m a monster.

And not the edgy, highly sociopathic kind. I’m the kind of monster that makes you feel nice and good about yourself. I feed you and eat with you and compliment you and help you gain a type of confidence that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. I move you in. I adore you.

And then I let you go. Suddenly. Most likely in an ugly, surprising way. You’ll feel like I hated you all along and why couldn’t I just act like that before?

There’s something off about the way I make and break relationships and friendships. I don’t understand it, never have. I absolutely don’t mean to do it, but it happens every time. I’ve become so close to people that they ask me before they make any sudden moves.

 

It’s this odd thing that is 100% me. Even when it could kind of be the other person’s fault, it really is mine. One small thing can happen and then this slow, ugly decline starts in my head. I don’t say anything, not at first. I let it keep sliding and sliding and sliding until I really can’t stand the person anymore. And that one thing can be super small – an attitude, a missed hello, a bad morning because of something else.

And I keep this up. It’s not changing. I want it to change, and badly. Wuff was the latest victim of it, and at this point he’s probably the oldest victim of it. He had huge flaws, yes, and he failed me a lot. But towards the end he was TRYING SO HARD. And it really eats me up. It eats me up that I get so angry at nothing and, the truth is, there’s no real answer but to leave when I get like this. It’s over. This spiral has hit a midway point and the next step is chaos.

I guess I wrote this to remind myself later, when I’m complaining about being lonely, that Wuff did try. He really did. He went to work and stopped drinking and you could see the wear and tear on his face, in the sunken in cheeks, in his lack of sleep. He talked about the future with me and the boys with so much spark, with so much hope, and I led him right into a wall. I tried, yeah, but I didn’t try as hard as he did towards the end.

And eh. I love myself. I appreciate me to a fault. And I know I will get up and keep moving and I can only hope he’ll do the same. The truth is, I don’t want a ‘situationship’. I know people love differently, and he loves in a way that we could just live together and make babies and be friends for the rest of our lives. He would be fine with that as long as I was happy, as long as I wasn’t angry out of nowhere, as long as I let him. And I really wish I could’ve made that happen, wish I could’ve just fucking let it work.

But I’m this type of monster. It’s a monster I like. But it doesn’t seem to want me to have anyone else.

This fucking thing.

I know there won’t be a next time. So goodbye, Wolf.

Eh.