At the end of nothing

It has come to my attention that I was never loved. There was scarcely a mite of care to muster during the last days of a one-sided, fruitless and aside from just getting two people on to another portion of their life, utterly pointless relationship.

At this moment I am not devastated by that thought. It is more freeing than it previously was. For my part, I did everything I could to care for the crippled horse of our relationship while it was simultaneously being shot in the head and kicked in the throat.

I have hope that I am not unlovable. I still sense a great deal of love within me that is more than pleased to be bestowed upon another. The fact of this spark not being snuffed out and merely flickering even when being huffed and puffed upon mercilessly gives me great hope that I will be able to find myself at some point loved in return as well. I will fully believe it when I see it but I have faith in its existence.

So without further ado I am altering the direction I have been recently taking this blog. I don't give a rat's ass about discussing Melissa any longer. Writing about her has run its course for me and I am extremely weary of it. I have more vital concerns to attend to and I refuse to chase a friendship that would clearly end up no different than the marriage only to a lesser and more stupid extent. I have joy and dreams to strive for. I have traveling and writing and living and loving and praying to get on with. I devote myself and my public writings to this end. This weekend in Lincoln was a beautiful foundation for a life much more well lived.

A single man

I know this doesn't mean a thing in a reasonable or practical sense but the .25 inch space where my left ring finger attaches to the rest of my hand that used to be occupied by a simple white gold band has been sensing a phantom ring for the past few days. The ring was a reminder of enduring commitment, unflagging devotion, and care above all else for another. It seems its absence makes just as much noise.

To an extent, this is how I know (or hope I know) I am proceeding in correct a manner as possible: clarifying joy? I state that questioningly because I am not certain that is truly the right way to describe what I am feeling. I am certainly joyful in moments of clarity when it seems that I have a handle on the meaning of the past and the present is not a burden and the future is of course unknown but not frightening. Sadly these moments are few and far between but I find they always arrive when I deliberately make a decision. When I do not merely allow things to happen to me. Whenever I do that I get smashed by a bulldozer or lose my keys or get denied a job interview. But when I truly and fully stand up for myself and do the things I know I must to see that not-so-frightening future come to pass I feel the fleeting joy. It comes and it goes but I swear it is keeping me alive or at least letting me know I actually am alive. Feeling pain after pain does not feel much like living so when a small streak of light makes it through the blinds it can fill up a whole room. And I have a lot of empty rooms these days.

I made up my mind not to alter my tone when writing on this. This is basically my diary and I believe only two or three people read this sporadically. So who do I think I am impressing anyway? This is the way I write when it just flows out and I am going to celebrate that as opposed to apologizing for it. I need to celebrate myself a little more anyway since it is ridiculous to me now to think that someone else would want to.

you can take my body, put it in a boat. light it on fire, send it out to sea

I discovered, or rather had unveiled to me, today something that would have been extremely helpful to know much earlier in my life. I am very high strung and uptight. At least as far as questions about my intellect go and my emotional stability. I mean take this blog for instance. This is where I unload my most emotional thoughts and where I try my darnedest to be taken seriously and be seen as mentally capable of high achievement. So with that consideration, look at how formal I write on here. Even that last sentence. High falutin.

Maybe I don't know how to take it easy. I assume a lot of my friends would tell a different story because I have been told I have a pretty joyful disposition. But I need to relax. I cried in the shower today and all my muscles wretched. I felt as though I was transforming into the Hulk if he ever got the weepies. My skin feels so tight and I feel trapped by it. I feel enclosed on all sides by something so restrictive it begins to seem sinister in those times when I really need to have thrown off everything that hampers.

Bah, see! That was such an uppity sentence. And now I am getting worked up about not being able to calm down. What a cycle I am caught in. I need to eat a clementine, read my book and wait for my friend, Tim, to whisk me away to the home he is dog sitting in.

look for the ancient paths and walk in them

I found this poem in a post I wrote nearly three years ago as I was leaving my former employer, FedEx Kinko's now FedEx Office. In the original post I remarked immediately after that I wrote it completely off the cuff and that even though it was intended to be a eulogy to my old occupation it was still strikingly sad. I agree. I also think that it doesn't make much sense but I really, really like it. I relate to it now some how.



a reprimand

what comes of a position of internal
rearing
and a nature not tended to
initially
and quite nearly eternally?
what comes is a disrespect for the self-
ish things that always engenders the tension of living
for others and with yourself.
a disrespect from all
sides
and withering from the same
and whispering and hoots and calls
because you're distracted
not interested
in purposelessness

I want you to know, you are the sleep that sleeps between my toes

Tonight was the first time in a very long time that I was angry in public. Perhaps no one noticed. (Except probably Rachel, to whom I once again could not apologize enough). I didn't beat anyone up, damage any property, or scream in a pissed off manner. But I felt furious. I felt enraged. It was insatiable.

I met for the first time today with who will most likely become my new therapist. She was wonderful. Mainly because, and this is no indictment of my friends and how they have lovingly treated me, I felt listened to thoroughly for the first time since everything has occured. Her eyes were so compassionate and her remorse was so evident. I wept for an hour and a half in her office recalling the most excruciating few months I have ever and hopefully will ever endure. I had a morning full of hope. I spoke with my mother and father and they are such loving champions of my dreams. They make it seem as though I really can accomplish those things I always hoped I was intelligent and tenacious enough to acheive.

And that is all very well and very good but like I said in an earlier post, Melissa is not replaceable. Least of which by my parents. I want a peer to be not merely a friend and not merely a lover. I want what I was duped into believing was right in front of me for three and a half years. I want validation for existing from one person who is able to appreciate me. Not only able, because there are plenty of people who have the ability to appreciate someone else, but who desires to appreciate me. Who dreams of ways to make that happen. Who plans each day a new way to show me I matter and their life would be nothing but a gaping throat of darkness without me. I want what I thought I had. Someone who thinks romantically about me without it being a pain to them to do so. I want to be their joy. I really want Melissa to stop being my joy but I had to love both of us and therefore I truly loved her as myself and now that she wants to severe our promise I cannot help but feel the gouges and broken bones and gasping arteries that have been sheared apart.

The only thing I want from her is to do this next step together, compassionately and with full respect for both of our thoughts on every aspect of it. It has become her doing this thing TO me and that was never what I wanted. Even at my lowest when I told her I did not want to stay married to her I never meant I wanted either of us to rend our marriage and in doing so make a mockery of it. It meant everything to me and I am so sorrowful to see it get trampled upon.

two months

The closer I get to Melissa as a friend the more I see her as only such. This is a good thing. The closer I get to Melissa as a friend the more hopeless I feel. It is a charade. Just over two months ago we could sit in the same room and smile about the same things and then lay in each other's arms and again smile at the same things. In an instant that vanished. Truly an instant. There were excruciatingly painful issues at play but there was still companionship and loyalty and, I thought, love.

I just don't want to be so fucking sad anymore.

I am well aware that I will move on someday and this death will get harder then easier then harder and so on. But Melissa is not replaceable. And contrary to what she may believe neither am I. I am not so easily forgotten and I matter a lot more than I am being shown I do.

I have a lot of work to do and even more that I hope to accomplish in the semi-long run.

Three members of my ex-family moved to Spain a couple days ago. I cried for the distance and I cried because I have been ostracized for nothing I had done. They call me family but I do not feel it. All dynamics have changed and I am reeling from the daily shock that practically nothing I cared for is around anymore. In only two fucking months.

revel

I asked Jenny if I told her I love her enough. She jumped down off my desk, stretched out on the floor lifting her rump as high in the air as she could without lifting her chin and chest but a few fractions of an inch from the hardwood floor. Like a flawless transition from yoga pose to pose she straightened out and looked me straight in the face with her large, uncommonly gorgeous green eyes. At first she just yawned, licked her upper lip and finally said, "meow." For Jenny Any Dots is my adoring cat. Yet I still think I want a dog. I must really have it bad.

Remember what I said about the universe shitting on my face? Well, it has struck again. My already, sadly abused vehicle was smashed into by a medium sized bulldozer. Yes, a bulldozer. And I left the second pair of gloves I have lost in two weeks at the movie theater. In the first case I was just trying to do my civic duty and dispose of my live Christmas tree responsibly and in the second I was merely trying to stay comfortable during an intriguing movie. I have experienced enforce two old adages: No good deed goes unpunished and there is no comfort for the miserable. Or something to that effect. Luckily at the Christmas tree recycling/disposal spot I was with two incredibly calming and edifying new friends who helped me remain composed as I surveyed the damage and came to the conclusion that I truly am the protaganist in the Coen Brothers' A Serious Man. I am Job. Nothing gold can stay and apparently no gloved hand shall remain as such.

It is truly and despicably unfair that I have no one to hold me when I could not possibly need to be held throughout the night more. That is probably the hardest idea to bear. When I am most in need of being loved without regard I am being shown that I am unlovely and a fool to believe in love that doesn't regard any obstacle worth regarding. And this is stealing my happiness. For the first time in my life I had an occupation I actually loved and now I take absolutely no joy in it. It is not only that but I feel as though every moment of everyday is all but fruitless. I am utterly dry and if Jesus commanded me to produce him an apple I don't believe I could and he might as well demand that I shrivel and die. Perhaps that is precisely what has taken place. I don't believe in that kind of vengeful God but sometimes personal doctrines change with new revelations.

Do they beat the drum to get you back home or do they beat it to keep you away

I have spent the last two and a half months crying instead of sleeping. Drinking coffee to gain the energy to smile. Spending time with people only because to be alone is to be engulfed in flames.

When we were eating some sort of enchiladas on Pier 30-something right next to the water I should have thrown myself over the edge and ended your misery and put out my impending fire.

I refuse to be someone else's experimental life experience. I will be cherished.

Now I am Everything

I meditated at work today and carried a gem stone around with me in my pocket. I don't know what good or otherwise it did or what power it has other than what God has imbued it with. And with saying that I say this: "I acknowledge I am a mystic." And I need a mystic lover. Someone who can leave the ground. Someone who can look down and not be afraid. Although I say that as I hold rocks in my pocket keeping me very close to the Earth.

This was once written on parchment and tacked to our wall:

"Anyone who believes what he sees is a mystic. In the dark move slowly." - tuomas anhava

I am not sure if that is actually his last name or if that is actually two fractions of different quotes or what but those phrases have stuck with me in a penetrating sort of way that practically nothing else ever has. This was the sort of thing she surrounded our life with. And I was/am grateful.

There was a time songs were written for me and flowers were put in my hair and my feet were massaged. Now I am everything you could never want and in some ways detest. I am very nearly the same person I was and I still have excitement about her future even though I may find the curtain coming sharply down on top of my head as soon as the inevitable legal proceedings take their course.

I never thought I would say this but I deserve someone much, much better. I deserve it.

planning to fail is obviously not failing to plan

I wish it wasn't cold because the field across the street looks very inviting in the late morning sunshine.

I used to walk to this part of town from the northern side of midtown all the time. I did it bymyself. I would nearly always offer an invitation to melissa to join me and also try very hard to make it convenient for her but I believe there were really only a few times I made the really beautiful walk with my partner. I wish I had had a dog during those times to walk with me and I know that sounds much worse than I mean it but much like my adoring cat, Jenny Any Dots, a dog loves her kind friend without reservation and with foolish abandon. There is a journal drawn by Nikki McClure called "Things to Make and Do." It has divisions based on different verbs such as dream, create, hope, and the like. On the first page of the plan section she wrote "Make a mistake." I pondered that for an exceedingly long time before I began to understand the nature of regret and failure in light of that phrase. Especially being under the heading of "plan." To be sure I never, ever planned for my life to end up how it is now. The most intriguing aspect of the last five years of my life is that for the first time when something catastrophic (or nearly so in some cases) has happened to me I can't trace events back to one or several dimwitted decisions I made. I am out of control and I washed up on what appears to be a God-forsaken bank that is more stone than sand and there is no place to lay my head and rest.


Certainly no one is an island but I feel as though I have been stranded on one wishing rather to actually be one than on one. For what can an island be but and island and therefore has supreme ability to be content. But what of the lonely inhabitant who has no claims and has no identity? What of him? What of me?

That's why

Sometimes I have tiny fantasies that people are sending each other links to my blog saying, "hey, you should check this site out. It's just a dude whose wife recently ditched him and he just talks about pain and shit and it's really depressing but in like a Woody Allen Manhattan sort of way. You know tragic but hilarious." I also fantasize that my parents read my blog and know that I use foul language: the unacknowledged moral crime in my family. Every one of us has a dirty mouth(except my father who is thoroughly pure) but since my mother is mostly blissfully and willfully ignorant of this we never mention it and we all tame our tongues around her. She inquired one time about something my brother wrote on the internet where he said fuck several times or something equally shameful. "Do you use language like that?" My youngest brother had recently visited me in Omaha so our colorful conversations were fresh in my mind. "Well, I'll put it like this, when I get together with my brothers we all tend to get rather salty." This brother I get salty with is now engaged to be married to a lovely girl with her masters. He is 21. Mazel Tov.

Anyway, I need to find new contexts for my pain. Or at least for the painer. I, the painee, need to submit her to a series of experimental reconceptualizations wherein she will take on the form of just any one of the people I know who does not cause me pain. She is living her life and her new context for me is one of bemused disinterest with a tinge of sentiment that I can only assume causes her guilt and is therefore rejected outright and quickly. Of course now I am just speculating and it is not fair to paint her in such a light. But even if I do move on to someone who will actually love me and appreciate me and see me as not an obstacle but a conduit to more fuller living I will never be able to remove the deep, deep grooves of scars that did not have to exist at all and were once freckles of joy.

This makes me feel better.