Take Another Look











{April 13, 2010}   No Go (for now)

It’s not guts. I have that. I just keep getting all these signs.. I got like thirty all in one day.. Omens? So don’t think I don’t have it in me. I will fight and do what is right. I just don’t think it’s that time yet… so many messages at once. Not a coincidence.



{March 16, 2010}   thrashing

i want to write a lullaby that is also a requiem… something sweet has to come out of all this thrashing.Something of music to myself, like Neil Cassady in White Collar finding the music box. But does he go all haywire when he finds out Kate was just conning him? We haven’t finished the storyline, and we don’t know for sure, and being a romantic, I still say Fowler might have her, but being the character and hero he is he finds violence banal and mundane. The cons who have known him taunt him, saying he never could get his hands dirty.

Back to the upsets. The thrashing has mostly been tonight. It calmed me down,all that thrashing, that it did, but my anger had no direction. Well, maybe one direction, one target, one I keep being angry at because of the things they don’t do, the precautions they don’t take, the truths they don’t tell themselves at night.. I’m not usually angry like that, and it was easy to blame it on the fever that took over my life, made me delirious, but mostly it seemed to overshadow everything inside my head and all of a sudden I found every good memory burned to a crisp. And so I no longer cared. I no longer cared at all and something in me wanted blood. I felt untied from any attraction I had ever had to this person. I used to care so much that I would imagine a shield protecting them, a soft shield enveloping them, and I would be next to them… or want to me. For a few hours I only could  feel  the bright whoosh that comes when you’re knocked out. The tumble of the sound of whooshing in my ears,  the sight of stars, and most of all the pressure.  A wounded animal is the most dangerous kind of animal is what they say.  The target of my anger only responded in a way that created more pain, and I just felt shame, the dangerous kind that tests your limits. Then I receive a nice reply from a friend, a friend that never had to try so hard to be a friend. Maybe we’ve had our upsets and our downs, and we don’t keep in touch as much as we should, but there is something different about my target that I feel that the friendship deserves a lot of time. Certain people, you can pick up wherever you left off. Other people, they belong in your life every day, and without that, you hate them for their absence. It might not be fair, it might not be just, but you know they aren’t even giving one percent, and how can you look past that, when you gave so much more, and would give so much more. And they can never look at the whole picture, think about how much they let me down, and how little anger I have expressed, and think for maybe one minute this isn’t about them, it’s about me needing to express my anger at them. I don’t care how they find it, and if the timing is inopportune then it’s their fault for not ever being available and ignoring every humane chance there is.  I think maybe there comes a time where I should walk away, but right now I am so blinded by the stars and the rage and the fall that I don’t know. I need a reason to care again, for it’s been taken away from me. And in its place is a beating drum, a knife, bullets, guns,  a kind of violence I find barbaric.
At least I am back at that stage in my life where I don’t care if the rest of my life is alone again.

I have blocked out the shrieking noises….And I have blocked out the idea that they care.. or ever did care and are nothing more than a loser.. Okay it is hard for me to believe they are a loser but I somehow lost something of heart when I burned passed normal temperatures… Or so I think… and the only imprint of the steps  taken are being washed away by the ocean.



{March 4, 2010}   Being RESPONSIBLE

I don’t think they honestly accounted for everything in their life, and I only hang out with people who are perfectly upright and honest. Just because the trail is cold doesn’t mean that I won’t find some dirt if I continue to probe around out here. I mean seriously, all these dimwits. If you really think you can play the sanity defense on me again, than think again. I don’t want to have you come in again and say, Well, I had rational reasons for not going crazy with you. Don’t you know how badly that plays out with the press these days? They need a scandal, and if you won’t bring it to them, I will. In big letters: “Guy pleads the santity defense AGAIN. Might as well make it the new fifth.” Nice coverage, don’t you think? When the banker handed out the receipt to the customer, he was only following protocol. Don’t you think for yourself, you retarded banker? Enough people follow protocol these days, and what made you decide you had to follow the rules too? Oh so you whine about how you didn’t want to get fired. That’s what really gets ME started. All these people tip-toeing around not thinking about what they are doing because there might be consequences. Well guess what, your tip-toeing has now created CONSIDERABLE consequences in that there is a turnover rate higher than all of your negative, mean-spirited thoughts about Gucci put together. The government has to step in and plant nukes in your yard just to get rid of the weeds. And then you will be at fault for the toxins that give your fetus cancer. SAVE THE FETUS! I mean, can’t you people get anything wrong these days? It is so exhausting to hear over and over again about how important it is to have things be right. Post a command, stand on the street handing out dimes to people “free dimes,” but don’t bother me with your logic. I don’t want to hear it. Go crawl under a box and moo. I mean it this time. If I see you hanging around my window again, I might call a window-cleaner. His name is Mario, and he wants to sleep with me. I don’t mean it the way you think I mean it. I mean it the way Mario thinks about it. And personally, I really don’t want to know how he thinks about it because the way he goes on and on about beauty is overrated. How does he get anybody in bed with him? Honestly, how do people get in bed with one another these days when pores can be large and hairs can be grown and the person next to you might be in the habit of biting their nails? A nail-biter in bed with you, how will you explain that to the lawyer you fight with in the custody battles? I just don’t know what to say to you, Joe Shmoe. You have always held a grudge for me, and as for you, I can take you or leave you, sort of like salmonella poisoning. You don’t seem to appreciate my fine inability to do things, and that REALLY MAKES ME MAD! Don’t you know how rare it is to find somebody who is  schizo-affective, bipolar, borderline, histrionic, oppositionally defiant, and full of anxiety, too? I mean, really. So interesting, so beautiful, blah blah blah, and you want to throw it away because it doesn’t sound boring enough! So you don’t want to introduce me to your parents, or your friends, or anybody for that matter. I offered to hide in a closet, and you said NO? You really must be some creep. I’m taking myself out of the equation, and without me in it, there is nothing of interest for the attorney anymore. Mario won’t clean your house anymore, that’s for sure, not without me there discussing his problems with him. And Barbie won’t send you flashes of her tits without me to pump up the damage level of what she is doing- (if she can’t ruin a relationship, she won’t show up, hot stuff.) I have to say, I’ve met a lot of people who weren’t sick, but you just take the cake. Put that broom away, won’t you? Turn off that basketball game and drive me around. That’s better. Hear my breathing? Oh, that’s called being turned ON. And no, it’s not normal. Don’t call the doctor this time around, and don’t ask me what pills are in my bag. They could be vitamins. If they aren’t drugs, then you will be so stricken and forlorn, I won’t know what to do with you. So goodnight. Sleep well. No more of those things you talk about so rarely. Can’t you be more redundant than you already are? I’ve already forgotten about half of those interesting stories you used to tell about so-and-so. You don’t trust me, but that made it interesting. But you have to mix it up, and no, I won’t call you sweetheart. You have to trust me occasionally. Otherwise I will burn that tight leash you have me on. I know, you like how docile it makes me look. Oh well. Look for the docility in yourself! I know it’s there, somewhere. Well, actually, knowing you, maybe not, but isn’t that why I- I WILL NOT USE A WORD LIKE LOVE HERE- felt a certain disgust for you? Of course it is. Okay, I REALLY DO HAVE TO GO NOW. So stop avoiding my calls, because it is too repetitive right now, and I thought you didn’t like to repeat yourself! And you thought you were boring me with how boring you are.



{January 6, 2010}   No word for No, ever…



I looked around the place where he no longer lived. It was strange to see the things he had touched. Why was it so hard to remember his smell? Memories did not come when I chose them to come to me. They came randomly or listlessly. I often thought that I had brought them to me, that there was a kind of sense being played out. I tried to make sense of what could not make sense. There were messages where he said he hoped his mindset was not destroying our relationship. Was his self-awareness extended enough to later remember saying that? I’d never known somebody so intimately. Simultaneously I yet felt so lost. Every time I used to dial his digits, I didn’t know what kind of mood calling him would inspire. Before he got on the phone, I could be in one of a hundred of different moods. And there were so many shades of beauty he missed out on when he didn’t answer. Sometimes it seemed like he answered only when I was not in the right mood to talk. But I persisted to call even when the mood was bad, if only to connect. And still, I didn’t know what disconnection meant. All those things I did not know but could see and hear and feel pounded on my door and chased at my nights. It held me captive, the thing I could not know. The space that we did not share was where I kept trying to break in. I wasted time trying to pound that place open. I think he saw me there and pretended not to. I think he saw me and it’s what made him want me to go away. But he wanted me to stay, too.

Occasionally my heart would leap out of my throat as the phone kept ringing. This especially happened when I sent him emails I could not retract. My words were like bullets meeting their target, but I never thought I was a good marksman, and I always assumed I had not been heard, because nobody heard me in my youth. I thought I was wildly scattering fire because I needed an outlet, because he wouldn’t let me communicate in words anymore, and when I couldn’t communicate in words I tried touch, but he had long ago banished communication from entering any realm we inhabited. I loved him so much I could not breathe and I hated myself for a weakness that he seemed to hate. I let words be more decisive than I was but I did not know what words were doing. I could not see things the way he did. If he had changed, how much had I changed? I later was able to see things in a logical way, but unfortunately, I wanted to share that with him too. Was there ever going to be a time when I didn’t want to share things with him? All of my friends kept saying he didn’t give a shit about me, that he was not right, and they pointed at my checkered judgment to prove it. Their words either pushed me closer towards him or farther away. But I never knew where he was. The longing to know possessed me. It became more important than finding my way. The uncertainty came in waves. One week I was both irritated with myself for stirring up trouble and speaking what I thought was pure logic, but I was most irritated with him for not responding and causing more uncertainty, which in turn caused me to try to ignore what was going on too. I felt free, as if the bullets had freed me in some way. And yet there was only silence on his end. I tried to imagine a life without all the pain he’d caused, but that also meant a life without the pleasure. I cursed him in my mind for the parts of himself he hid from me over and over again, especially since it was getting worse. Or so it seemed. I tried trusting his judgment, but it cast me astray because I could not know the full picture. I tried trusting my judgment, but it was full of holes. I tried trusting the piercing howl of anguish that came over me like a shod of electric shocks. The shocks did not dissipate. And then they quietly left for a while, and I peeked around uneasily. Again, had I trusted my friends more than me?

I looked in the mirror and held my gaze firmly. I was attractive. He didn’t tell me that much. Was that something I liked about him? All those things I attacked, they’d also drawn me to him and now I was blaming then forgiving him for qualities that he had always had but that I kept discovering anew. One time he said I was blaming myself, but when the tears came I was restless that he couldn’t turn over and face me, wipe the tears off my face, kiss me and assure me. I thought that was all I needed but what did I know about need, after all was said and done? I needed so much for that one gesture to be in there somewhere but I felt like an unwanted occupant taking up space next to him, neither mattering nor not mattering. Why didn’t he wake up in the night and randomly whisper things to me? Why was he so effusive, so cold, so habitual in all of his tendencies? Was this a particular tactic to get me to leave or to stay? I could not accept that he could not take on my love except in his own form. I had to see it in my own way. And my own way was so stripped and naked he seemed secretly at a loss. I was at a loss, too. I didn’t know what I could stand to lose. It was strange to believe somebody when they only spoke their thoughts once, then never repeated them. The most important things were unswayable and I latched on to what could not be said like a tiger and her prey. I knew my capacity to love was too large. I had to hide it. It was too much. I was too much. But he was confusing me again. I didn’t belong anywhere.

Maybe he wasn’t really dead. Maybe he had created this house for me as a place to think he had left. But no that was just hope talking. Did I hope I could forget? I think I was scared that I hoped that I would never have to stop breathing in his fumes, his embrace. But I also wanted to be unfettered. I would never trade freedom for security. Except in small items, one by one, the hook sunk into me as into a fish. I could not rely on any one belief, nor could I rely on what the whole picture said. No wonder I was so filled with yearning for him to take me to some cold place and quietly disembark my contradictions with the soft taste of spring water. So he could fill my thirst with something that was cleansing. I did not expect to feel my face burn in a flash of indignation, nor for my hope to give way to a shy but fierce awkwardness. And if it did he had to be there to make it better, and when he wasn’t, I wondered if I didn’t know who he was, and this thought despaired me the most of all. I had to assume everything was a lie if I was to try to follow the trail backwards, to know how far I had come and from where.

Good or bad. Had he been good or bad for me? Why was the house vacant? If he came home he might find me here, still standing and waiting for him to appear. Or he might find me tapping on the table, impatient and ready to coil with a wave of questions. Or still, I might be calm and still, simply wanting that lucidity I felt I deserved. I’d thrown too much and now could not wait. I was walking around in my own cage and feeling deserted all the time if only for my own issues with abandonment. But there was more to it than that, and it was what incensed me to not give up. I wanted to start from a blank slate, I had said, without realizing I was eroding the latest of floors that he had started working on. I kept breaking things and he kept trying to protect me until I was floored to discover that my hammer had a safety valve on it that I couldn’t undo. I used the safety valve as a hammer instead. All the while, my own sense of isolation drummed at me like a pulse. I knew I could live without him, but when he was there I felt like I could not live without him at all. I didn’t understand how things could be so different when he was there and when he was not. Was he the only one making an impact on things? It seemed nothing I did impacted him after a while. Which was why the house looked unaffected by my presence.

Damnit, I had desensitized him. With my words, I had made my moods too indistinguishable so that he was so used to a flourish of ten pages that it made no difference to him when I tried other tactics. I had already poured so many paint colors in there it made no difference when I used white-out. I feared nothing would make the difference. I would have called an “Inaction Hotline” to see if that would fix things but there wasn’t any Inaction Hotline for me to go to and I could not refrain from acting. Whether it was calling or forgetting or thinking or trying not to think, I had no finality. Even in asking for it, did I really expect to get it? I gave up on my ability to use words further. I was sending him two messages. I love you and I hate you or I don’t know, do you know, and I had sent it too many times. And we were tired, so tired. I was tired of doubt, and he, no doubt, was sick of reassurance. He had no more to offer me because in one click, I erased my own message but not the internet footprint it left behind.

I was furious when I found out that the messenger service was so flawed. Why couldn’t my love be greater than my hate? I suppose it was, but when the stain of blood entered the picture, the sense of timeline was lost. What did I know about endings anyway? There I was saying he was ending things all the while asking for a beginning or a new one anyway. The first one was good enough, but I wanted a repeat I guess. Please, I’d just wanted to make things better, that’s why this all started in the first place! I wanted it to be getting better and I was a self-improvement kit I felt he never used. He must have felt like everything he said went on deaf ears after the contradictions were sent out like nuclear warning strikes.

My heart felt like it was locked up inside, and my thoughts felt like they were crying against my skull to get out. I felt like if he could only hear me he would understand, he would understand. I had to believe that. Don’t you see why I had no choice but to believe that?



et cetera