i have lost everything. this large gaping hole in my chest is caused my nothing other than me. i feel as though I'm playing the piano in typing these letters, am harmonic symphony of pity clacked away at 11:30pm at night.
I push it all away; all of the memories I've had to leave. I romanticize them in history, compartalize them into previous lifetimes, never to be opened or lived again. Simply retold at face value. A tired script evolves for explaining everything. As though it never happened, it only happened as a means to a way for this particular scenario to be happening. If I cease to exist in these memories, the memories cease to exist to me. I control them, choosing what comes back and what doesn't.
Allowing them to be too real brings back too much unrealness, too much sadness at what I had. Yet, I see this as a consistant tool in how I view my history. Every time I've gone through a change, I've done things to completely block the previous section from my mind. I view it as an experience I once lived, lost, and now tell stories about. A pitiful coping mechanism. I can be living back in my mountain home, I can get my dog back within a year. I can do this. But doing it means realizing I had it once and lost it. And sometimes it's much easier to just pretend it's inaccessible. Rather than admitting it was once accessible, and thus still is. You just fucked up and now it's a little bit harder.
Though it was pretty hard the first time as well. I didn't just get handed a job, I didn't just quit drugs one day. It''s not like I wasn't being told this past time that I was basically being plagued by an unknown neurological disease..sure, seizures make the most sense, however not all the pieces fit. It's an easy, answerable answer tho. So I use it. Truth is, every time is a bit different, and every time is a bit worse.
I can pinpoint the moment it all started to go downhill. I don't need to record it, I can clearly remember it. A moment in mid March. If I hadn't made that particular decision, everything would still be where it was. Happy.
But was I really happy? I distinctly remember notes of boredom, extreme boredom, which led me to take things for granted. I distinctly remember feeling the sharp pains of being myself...of whispers under my skin, taunting me with the thought of the unspeakable...losing my job and all of this and starting all over again. OK, I had made it. Now I'm bored. Do Over, and this time do it right.
This time, I'm going to try to not be homeless. It may happen. I may decide to just hitch out there, but hopefully not without a plan first. I needed a big change, and I got one. I just didn't expect it to get so boring so soon.
And I miss my life. I truly do. I miss everything about it. Every last detail. I want it back. I need it back. My heart is pumping liquid memories to my brain each time my eyes finally close from lack of options to think about, memories seeping of love and laughter and self-confidence and moments of extreme inner peace, looking around and thinking "this is everything I've ever wanted"...and then...poof...memories of the leaking of that reality.
And back to now.
Now is occurring because I needed a challenge. I shouldn't have been that happy at 27. I needed to push myself harder, and I was sliding easily through.
In one year, I will be happy. On July 17Th, 2011, I will be happy, and I will be with Buddy.