benblog

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UPDATE: 5-6-007

"You can't break a broken heart." - Stephen Merrit, "the Magnetic Fields."

I tried to hang myself by my car's seatbelt again the other night. For half an hour I sat with it choking me. Finally I got bored. I can't even kill myself right.

The parties next door are becoming a risk to me. The other night I came home to find a shirtless 20-something hick walking out of my yard. Before that two of them next door drove down the road to settle a shouting match with violence. But I'm not complaining about it to the cops, nor bitching about it now. I just thought it was funny enough to be worth mentioning.

The one I love doesn't love me anymore. "What did you expect?" asks Damien when I tell him she didn't write me back.

So I'm sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I went in to the SS offices the other day to find out if I'd qualify for less disability benefits if I paid my mother less rent. They told me "no." I can't afford to live off $500 a month. Whenever I explain this to my mom she refuses to discuss it and tells me "we won't be changing your rent." She doesn't need $100 a month as much as I do. It isn't fair.

It isn't myself I hate, contrary to what idiot strangers online assume. Existence itself is unfair. If God does exist he is an evil fool on par with President Bush. I drive around talking out-loud to God and to Jesus. I explain to them that I understand they are powerless to deliver my lover to me, and that I know asking their help was futile. God is not all-powerful nor omni-benevolent. If he is all-knowing it does us little good, since we are not able to see the future like He.

I don't have much else to say now. My life is empty and my thoughts unimportant so long as I remain unloved by whom I love. I seem crazy with frustration and no one takes me seriously.

I don't see the point in continuing to keep this blog. I had hoped one day someone might look back on my life and care, but that isn't likely. The very idea that anyone would makes me look pathetic to those who should. Unrequited love is the curse placed on me by those who style themselves my enemies. "I deserve worse" is the mantra of all who I've ever upset. No one sees from my point of view and no one ever asks me "why."

My motives are irrelevant to my victims. Only the hurt I've caused them matters now, and the evil eye is my just dessert. My mother, my lover, my friends, my father, they all dislike and disrespect me. I deserve it too, I suppose, but I do not understand why.

If "things" were different, I wouldn't be like this. But "things" will only change if I make them better, and I can't do that without destroying the way they are now, which requires anger at that I can't bring myself to let out. I fear hurting anyone worse so I do not stand up to anyone. My existence alone offends them enough, I suppose. I try to please them, to obey God, but by doing so appear weak and lose their respect.

I don't deserve existence as it is. I deserve better, according to me; I deserve worse according to everyone else. My life is sad and I'd like to escape; everyone else would like me to too. The only ways to free my mind entrap my body here, and the only ways to free my body from here would only entrap my mind. It's the same for everyone, and no one else cares.

My work is worthless while I live. In two generations it might be worth something to someone, but for now it's forgotten and I am abandoned. I don't see any good coming from my writing about myself. No one cares. I could stop, if I had anything else to do. I could serve civilisation and earn my survival, but I see no point in doing so. It isn't a fair deal, but I seem to be alone in caring. My love is worth less to anyone than my hate for everything, which is worth nothing to me.

So I'm sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I'm unhappy living alone, without anyone loving me; even moreso living with guilt for justifying those who disrespect me. But I am alone, always.

Every woman I catch a glance of, I think only of her. The longer I stare the more disgusted I am; they aren't her. I am so lonely. I wish I weren't. I've missed so much of her life already. That hurts The Most. Oh, no. Now I'll cry. How pathetic. At least now, five shots down, I can. I do.

I am so unhappy. I wish I weren't. If I were with her I wouldn't be. I'm not as crazy as I was. I can compromise with reality's injustice now. But not so alone. I can't cope alone anymore. I need her. I thought God would help. I was wrong. I usually am.

I'm so unhappy now. Life is unrewarding and all reality unfair. Why should I go on? I shouldn't. It's just inertia I guess. But there's no good reason.

So I'm sitting on my mom's front porch drinking shots of vodka. I'm so sorry I've missed so much of what should have been our lives together. But she doesn't want me to be sorry. She wants someone stronger, someone bold and true to themselves. She deserves someone better than me. I have nothing to offer here. I'm so lonely and unhappy now. I'm so sorry. I cry more.

I'm going to try choking myself to death again tonight I expect. I've got nothing else I can think to do. I'm so unhappy and so lonely. If she even read this I'd ask her to save me, but she doesn't so why bother?

So I am sitting on my mom's porch drinking shots of vodka.

I don't want to be alive anymore. I'm so lonely and so unhappy. If I could I'd earn respect by loving life. I'd be the man she deserves. I can't. I'm not. I deserve to die. I hate myself. If only "things" were different, but I know now they can't be, and never will.

I've missed so much. I think it's too late. I'm sorry everyone, so sorry. I cry and cry. No one cares, nor do I. I don't want to live anymore, I can't go on so alone. I refuse to be what I know I am anyway.

I'm drunk. I've had six shots. I'll finish the bottle then go type this, post it, and maybe strangle myself to death, I can only hope.

Enough. Seven and a half shots I'm going out. Fuck this.

The future is all uncertain again and shadows closing in. For a second I thought I saw her. She was the light of my life. For a second I thought I glimpsed a future of light and happiness for she and I together. It was a mirage.

Now, as I am driving, or on mom's porch, or in my childish palace fit for a toddler that was once my father's room, reality is closing in on me and I am not ready to make survival's necessary harsh sacrifices. I am a sheltered fledgling yet at 29. "Please someone else just be my mommy. My penis is getting in the way again." Why am I not a man?

I have to face a very hard truth. I am not able to survive feeling unrequited love. It is too strong an emotion. Not knowing she was even alive for eight years was an abandonment I got used to. But unrequited love is a curse I cannot bear.

So I am going to lose my mind. It is the inevitable truth about reality looming like an abyss before me. It has been happenning all along slowly, but new passion stirs it up. It will happen faster. You see, I understand: It was all planned all along. As my mother goes senile with old age, I will simply remain beneath the trusses of her stable and the shade of her withering wings.

It is all the greater destiny left for me. I was broke once and have not worked since, now I am crushed utterly. There is nothing left inside of me. I am seen from every angle and each perspective shows a unique facet of my ediface. But it is made of stone now. I'm a pillar of salt and ash. If only I had someone to blame, but the birds themselves chirp all night long at me.

Everywhere I turn is an unstable precipace. Everything was futile all along. All the metaphysical speculations and all the sacred sciences wrong, not only each alone, but all as one.

I know why I'm going insane too. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the actual injustices of society nor the unfairness of reality, true. But nor is it from the heat of the solar millennium, as are the injustices of society and unfairness of reality now. It is not even from lost love, which is also caused only by the sun, as anyone knows who has ever loved or hated with all the passion of their heart; nor is lunacy the fault of charming women.

I'm going insane because I choose to. It isn't genetics, environment or the reincarnation of too old a soul. It isn't even because of the bicameral brain. I'm going insane because I won't play "the game," whatever that may mean. I'm going to go into the realm of the living fiction; I am selling my soul to the false God. no one who sees only my behaviours or reads only my writing will ever understand, and for now none know me by both.

I believe the consequences to one's self brought about by others are irrelevant. Karma between people is our own choice. So I cry out to everyone, but not for only anyone. Alone in a crowd, I cry out like one in the wilderness. This is not what I, nor anyone, deserves. There is another voice in my head that is not me. Half the time it is this voice in my head, and half the time my own, because we are constantly bickering back and forth. My dreams dwell on confusions from when I am awake. The more uncertainty I cause the more my dreams will dwell on the subjects of those waking moments. When I am happy, I dream about her, but when I'm awake I'm alone. It's a downward spiral I pursue, fighting against the demi-urge inside myself; arguing all the time inside myself I drive thoughts of her out of my own head. I wrestle with God the Most High, and that is how I am going insane, because that is not "normal" thinking and may lead to unsafe actions. If I were me I wouldn't want to be around me either. I think I'm either God or Satan, while I know I'm neither one. It's only paranoid schizophrenic psychosis.

I know that I am insane. My mind won't manifest itself as a thing that can be asked "what are you," and thus determine it's worth by finding it some function. I made these choices long ago. I'm unforgiving and unforgiven. Unspoken for, I'm no one's bitch in prison. I'm jail-bait to know, a rat-trap if liked at all, and a tar-baby up close.

When I am wrestling with God I haven't got the guts to even think-talk to the Shekinah in my mind. When I get drunk all I do is dump on Her. Why live on like this? It's an unfunny joke. It's a lie. When I am happy I ignore my Goddess. When I'm unhappy I worship her. It's unjust. If only I could pull my out my own heart, or even just choke myself to death.

I'm so sorry I'm so tortured by the mundane. I don't, I won't, enjoy the mundane. I'd rather be insane. There seems to be no other way. For I am alone in this world. I suppose by now I'd have to go insane even if I were with her again. I'm too analytical. I'm insane.

I am insane now; that is, I already was, but now I know it. Please, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, parole me from purgatory, let me prove my value, the true worth to you of my heart, my truth. I do believe in the one I am begging to. I also beleive in my ability to be unforgiven. It is not my own to determine. I can fool no one.

I am only struggling to continuously maintain the vision of my lover because I am quicksand within. I am a swallowing hole of no use but to suck, I engulf all reality. Tell me I'm not going insane? Tell me I am making some sense, please. No one ever acts like I am. No one I know even expects me to anyway. I can't be forgiven by any of them for the reason they assume I am punishing myself this way.

The mob. I ignore them but one other remains. And the fact I believe I may choose whose voice this is does not give me the right to limit what I may hear it saying. All the rest think I'm just feeling sorry for myself, and I can't even help but smile.

Jesus Christ, I'm a hole. I'm a sucking, gaping negativity, a denial of existence, I'm such a destructive force. I'm imploding and I always have been. It doesn't matter, alone or not, I repulse anyone around and I violently repel those who get too close. no words could describe me.

I am become death, for I have died so many times; I held the door for all who'd follow, now none remain so I must go in. I am death no more. In purgatory I am now no longer. Hell to me is life without her, but without her have I made this bed for myself, and now without her must I sleep in it.

I am not myself now. I am entirely engulfed in a false hallucination. I am inside a reality the stimuli of which I am choosing to falsely interpret. I am possessed, inverted. I can't not lie. The other voice is speaking through me, but I know it is only my own imagination that I am choosing not to control. I am placing my faith "badly," in a falsehood, a bleak belief in some non-reality. I have to come to my senses. I have to stop narrating this fictional delusion. I have to come to from my self-destructive isolation inside my impotent inability to take self-affirmative actions.

I am too obsessed. I am too compulsive. I am too insane. I am neither lost nor found. I am Nothing. I have to manifest a different reality for which I am the center but in which nothing is the same. I have to break this ecstatic trance in false pursuits. I have to find a new way. I have to become someone new. I have to leave my old self behind.

But how? You see, it is impossible. I have taken deep, extensive root in this rich and fertile soil, this bitter fruit of my imagination. I am stuck deep down. I am pinioned, unable to move. I am an impaled insect under her enourmous eye, all-seeing and her scrutinising judgment. And nothing else am I besides.

Why am I like this? It is clearly my choice. I choose to commit suicide of the mind. I am unhappy in reality and so I escape into a more self-ideal mental state. But this mental condition does not better my unhappiness with reality because it, instead, is preventing me from working to better my reality and thus find happiness. Whatever I can imagine with my mind, it is only a barrier to her heart. The more others seek to show me how the more distracted I intentionally become from doing what I must to accomplish what I want.

I will not believe anyone who shows me the right way except for the one who I choose for myself. There is no god to me but her. To me, without her, everyone else is a liar. Their love is false because it is unjust. I reject its potential for truth intentionally because I know it is only potentially true as a material reality, but not to the idealism I imagine in my own mind. It is not both because it is not equally either. It is not true because it does not match its "facts" with my "fictions." It is untrue because I reject its reality.

Now, I would let in she who I love, but all I am is confusion. I am a double-negative. No words can describe this inversion. How beautiful it appears. How empty I feel beside it. But it is not real. It is imbalanced. It is true but not fact, in material reality it cannot ever exist. Instead I start down the eternal dark path, I talk back to the delusion, the mirage, I venerate her only as Shekinah, and so all that comes from this is the opposite imbalance - that potentially real but not truly ideal to me, that which is factually accurate reality that is neither what it could be in potential ideal, nor thus is in all truth. All is imbalanced, unequal and unjust.

If what were true for me in ideal were also factually accurate in material reality then there would be balance, equality and justice. So long as this is true in reality for me - this imbalance, this injustice, I cannot accomplish any change to better me to her, and therefore neither can she truly offer me her heart in true reality. Her heart grew cold because I scared her. Unless she forgives me for that in her own heart, she will not say anything, and nothing I can ever say to her will cause her, or truly even enable her, to do so.

That is why I am sitting here writing this all instead of waiting for her online, or reather, why I am spending this time alone in these thoughts instead of together with her. Because all I could do now to meet her expectations of me would only frighten her more, and this increases the distance between us.

Why do I do this? Why am I crazy? I think I am something I know I am not. I think what I'm doing is right, I think it is all I can do, I think it will get me what I want, and earn me her love. But I know that is not true. Only she can give her love, and she is in no way anything but free to do so. And so long as she does not, so long as she is not with me and we are not together, that time is dead, my worth none and nothing I can do can change these truths.

She and I are already together everywhere in my mind. But we are not together in material reality now and truly that is all that is real, that is life and except for it we know nothing more of existence. The straying of my mind is fruitless so long as my life in the here and now is one of a reality in which we are not together, let alone already in love, and so I cannot find the way to make that happen, and so I am helpless and useless and unable to do so.

Reality is empty, everything is false, truth is injustice and life is hell without her in love and together with me. Nothing else can exist for me than that. I am everyone else's self-fulfilling prophecy until I am her's, and I am hers alone already in my mind. But without her I am not really me. I am not even willing to try doing what might help, because I cannot even imagine what that might be. I hurt. That is all I know.

So long as I am insane, my love to her is like anyone else than her's love is to me. But unless she loves me, I choose to continue growing more insane. I reject the potentially beneficial oppurtunities in reality and willfully embrace only my own chosen false-causes and self-destructive lines of reasoning. I live now on a dead-end street. I always have. She could enter, but, she fears, I would never let her leave. Because the freedom from me she has, to choose not to love me, is truly a greater ideal than my own self-defeating obsession for her. It is the very reason I love her, because the more she does not love me, the more I love her.

It is this that is innermost within me. The centre chakra of my dark aura. I love her for her freedom from me. I tie my own hands to prevent myself from influencing her heart's truest, deepest feelings. Deep down, she must not feel for me, and that is what it is I love most. The holy of holies leads me on, that part of her she withholds from me, her whole self I esteem therein, and love her now only because of this. It is simply the last light I have left.

It's a conundrum - a destroying machine. It is my heart itself.

I love the part of her that does not and cannot love me. It is all that I know now about her. All else around me is arch-enemy to this truth, for it all betrays my will to overcome this impossibility. It is not the lover's right to change the will of their loved one, nor to force their own will and heart upon them against their loved one's self-good. That is my most shameful crime. I have repelled her in fear of my self-destruction.

In the name of my madness I have replaced the desire of my essence with obsession with this impossible conundrum. My own heart has become consumed by the fact that I cannot make her love me. I must give up but cannot. I am a push-me/pull-you.

I have to accept that I burned the bridge between us. I frightened her with the violence of my obsession with self-abnegation for her. I believed it was to save her from me that I forced her to go away. It was a convenient lie and cannot excuse my forcing her away from me. I believed by increasing her freedom from me, I would become more the one who deserved her love. I believed she loved her freedom more than she loved me, and that if I gave her that, she would love me more. I believed that saying "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Only too late did I realise I must do unto myself and to my lover only what my lover wants me to do. Only too late did I realise I could not exchange her freedom from doing so for her love for me, for I had already traded them vice versa. When I wanted to say, "marry me," instead I said, "I dump you," and so when she could have said, "I do," instead she said, "please go." The damage I'd already done has since become all I am. I am stuck in the moment when I realised what I'd envisioned as a gift of freedom to her was instead truly a frightening, self-destructive, painful, hurtful and hateful abuse. I saw only my heaven in her, and now I see only her hell in me. It is impossible to undo the past; even if all is wrong in the present because of one past wrong, you cannot ever even hope to undo the past. Instead one wrong causes another until everything is hopeless. The single spark of my wrong thought that led to my hurtful actions has engulfed so much water under the bridge between us in flames that now, divided from my only love by this madness, this vision of hell itself, life is worth only death and death alone, or else nothing.

I cannot wait without doing insult to injury. I cannot do more than wait and do nothing without increasing the injury and injustice I've caused. I fear it is too late already. I fear her love for me is dead. That is the primary root of my insanity. I am violently frustrated at my inability to not be violently frustrated. I'm a danger to myself and others, and I refuse to accept that fact so much I become belligerant. My hate is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I cause myself wrong.

Someone has to help me out, I demand. But I reject anyone who tries. I use her as my excuse now, but did the same to even she as well, though she loved me more than anyone else ever has. It's easy to reject others for not loving you as much as someone you used to love. Much harder is rejecting someone you love and who loves you because you want to free them from your own self-loathing. Neither, though, is right. But both are how I've lived my life.

I cannot act out on my own behalf. That is why they consider me "insane," though their polite euphemism is "disabled." I'm paralysed with fear of repeating my past mistakes. That fear is all I have left of myself in her heart. It's the last of our past that exists because of all the time that separates she and I now from us then. She has only that last ember of fear now instead of a heart full of love for me because I continually justify such by going insane with my loneliness. Love for me cannot for her be rationally, objectively justified. I cannot add up as is.

Life as such for me is a burden whose weight has grown painful over time. My spirit slumps, my soul stoops, my heart implodes. For me nothing real matters, and so real matter is nothing for me. I pass through the experiences of life without any clinging to them but an occassional embarassed regret because to me nothing else in life will ever matter, for it cannot, without her love, be able to forgive me for what I've already done to lose her love. I am in a rut, a trance-inducing delusory and hallucinated path of shell-shocked numbness and self-destructive anesthesis. I am locked in a stare into the deepest abyss and blind to reality around me. I know only that I love her. Nothing else matters. Nothing else than she is even real.

So I am going to go insane, so what? Why should she feel love for me because of that? Pity for me is beneath her to me, and we share only memories that hurt. Mercy and compassion for me here are not her responsibility there. I promised her that, at least, personally.

She knows how I feel at least. So there's that. But by what divine right do I complain? My life would be paradise to so many other souls. But to me, without her, even paradise is hell. There is simply nothing to it. The stimuli may move me, animate my emotions like a marionette, but inside there isn't any me anymore. But this life is not the one I want and, I feel, not the one I am supposed to be living, and in that I feel additionally alone. My life wold be perfect for anyone else, and instead I am unable to appreciate any of it.

I am blinded by the radiant glory of her absence. It is a false and hollow light. I have seen brighter days that never burned long ago with her. Now instead there is only empty nothingness and the manifestations of my mental illness. There no longer is a "me." Without a "we" there can be no "myself." There remains only I alone. Crunch.

-Jon

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this information is all © 2007 Jonathan Barlow Gee

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