Scotophilia

Today needs to end, like now. I am so far beyond exhausted, and that’s both mentally and physically. My normal outward docility scarcely belies the seething lividity that bubbles beneathe, poised to expel with fervour and ire at the first person to even scantily skim the surface; such is masked with ephemeral bouts of nonchalance and placidity. And this worries me, so much so that I wouldn’t want to be around me right now were I not me.

The calm demeanour that normally graces my exterior is a controlled response to the chaos around me, and I work diligently so as to best ensure that I am not a contributing factor to said chaos via outbursts or untoward aggression. This notion that my calculated control could be unwittingly relinquished at any moment, and that this fury could be released unto someone undeserving worries me to more than a fair extent. It is with a dire hope that something of a decent amount of sleep tonight will better enable me to resume my determinate control, as I rather disdain this state of perdition I currently reside within.

(TAKE II – In Progress)

There exists nary a wary nod inclined in my direction as I meander my way through the moon-lit streets. Vagrants, thugs, and scarlet women make their nightly rounds; our shadows mingle, but they daren’t take notice. For tonight, I am become Death: a grim spectre flitting its way through the fears of all who care or dare to dream this night. In this moment, this crux in time, I stand upon the precipice of decision. It is in this defining night that my humanity will be judged, and the ruling will determine my eternity. For on this dreary eve, I have placed my soul as collateral against the journey I now embark upon; however deplorable it may become. It is in this guise, this darkened cowl of mortality, that I have placed my fate. My actions are not my own, but instead are guided by the desires of another. Yet it is I that must bear the burden of the tasks, and the weight of the outcomes. Impugnments to my morality aside, I willing accept this deal; reluctance to do so would be nugatory at best, and would leave me a barren and hollow shell of who it is I strive to be.

Apparitions coalesce and recede with my every step, becoming the path of torment and agony I tread with boldened stride.

(Aside: Bleh. I fail to effectively channel the darkened consciousness that I embodied the night of my original writing. Perhaps it will be best to instead visit upon this another night.)

I suppose that this was a long time coming. But I have done it… I have come to terms with saying “goodbye” to Bobbi. I am simply at wit’s end, and can go no further. I have made attempt after attempt to try to bring her back into my life, but it seems for naught. Each time she’s here, she invariably leaves again. There is never a word of reason, or a warning, she simply is gone. I had hoped beyond hope that this time it would be different. She made a simple post of “I’m proud of you” on my Facebook wall, and that was it. I attempted to elicit a conversation from her, twice, and it was never reciprocated. I had an amazing dream the other night, and she was in it. It was upon waking, and going to view her profile, that I noticed that we weren’t “friends” anymore. It was at that moment that I knew my reserves had been exhausted. I would still love nothing more than for us to be the friends we were before, but I can no longer be the initial catalyst in that any more. I cannot keep extending my hand in hopes, only to find it randomly barren. I will not, would not, and could not, deny her were she to extend a hand in friendship again; she simply meant to much to me to truly forfeit the towel. But I simply no longer possess the energy to continue extending my own without solicitation. These last two weeks have been especially straining on me, and perhaps it is that strain that finally allowed me to realize where my limits are.

Bobbles, I don’t know if you read, or had ever read, any of these. But I love you, girlie. You were my closest friend, and my anchoring spirit when my world was chaos. You had a clam reason to the insanity you lived, and you encouraged me to look at things from angles I would have never fathomed. I loved who I was when I was around you, and I will forever cherish the moments I got to watch you blossom into the amazing mother that you are. I miss you more than I ever thought I could miss someone, and I likely always will. The moon will forever remind me of you, and that night, and I stand fast in my belief that no one else will ever hold that lofty pedestal within my heart and mind. I love you Bobbi, in a way I didn’t know was possible. I hope that you have a truly amazing life, and raise Jace to be the kind and loving man that one would expect from someone as amazing as you.

Into the dark I stride; the deep unfathomable tide. With each step, I feel the chilled embrace of a cold wave heralding me further into the abyss. Step after step, wave after wave, I delve further into the looming depths; the welcoming arms of an enigma of immeasurable magnitude. I pause. Within my chest there issues a faint hiss of desperation: why? To leave behind what I knew and cherished for so long, to venture beyond the limits of my knowing, and charge headlong into this realm of maddening darkness; why? I continue my stride, and attribute the hesitancy to an era of bygone joy. It was the final bastion of a world I knew, a quaint memory of a time I loved. But it too, is now in the past. With no indication of remorse on my face, or slight in my step, I continue my journey into the vast unknown that lays before me.

A haunting melody bequeaths its mysterious gift upon mine ears; a serenade from the sirens that invariably plot their course around me. They taunt me into a state of simple acquiescence, lulling me into accepting the tribulations of the path I have chosen. Each time my mind wanders into a memory, whether pleasant or malicious, the song taints it, twisting it into a monstrous behemoth that my fragile mentality can bear but for only so long. Just before each breaking point, the memories are pulled from me. They are locked away, and will never be the same. For each time I attempt to recall any of them, I simply recall the corrupt notion of what was, and as such return them to their respective compartments within my psyche. Eventually, it will be as second nature to forget they are even there.

With each passing second of the serenade, I embrace the darkening depths as my home. The churn of each wave, the sting of the salt: this is my fortress. These are the walls that will ensure my safety and protect me in solitude. This is the place where my dreams will drift away, and my life will be guided by the ebb and flow of a hand other than my own. For up until this point, I have tried to endure the choices I’ve made, and the path I had chosen. It lead to naught but strife and agony. No more will I be the victim of those choices. No longer will I be subjected to the worst torture imaginable: my own thoughts and actions. I accept that my fate is not one of my own choosing, but warmly embrace the chilled touch of the guiding hand I have placed myself in. The motion of each tide will guide my steps, and the sting of the frigid water will caress my hand as it shapes my mind and heart into the cold instruments of survival they have needed to be for so long.

This is my rebirth. This is my awakening. This is the new era of Me.

I know that I’ve posted about this before, but I believe it got lost in the Great Blundering of this year.

For as long as I can remember, I have had this dream, and this ache; that is, if you can even call it a dream. It’s more like a fantasy that I’ve dreamt about, but also consciously pursued the idea and joy of. But the ache… The ache is all too real. There is often a pain between my shoulder blades. Doctors attribute it to poor posture and my extra vertebra. But I choose to believe that it is a co-part of my dream: to soar with wings of my own.

I have day-dreamed and subconsciously dreamed about having wings for years beyond remembrance. I yearn to just take flight one day, and be gone. I flex my shoulders in hopes that they sprout. I imagine having the strength to beat them with enough tenacity and determination that I simply take off and fly with the clouds. I fantasize about what I would do if it ever happens; the first people I would tell, the first place I would fly, and the first face I would gloat to and remind them of what they either left behind or passed up.

I realize that many people have similar notions and dreams, but I cannot help but feel that the sheer depth of thought and pervasiveness of the feelings that accompany this ideal might lend a bit of uniqueness to my situation. I cannot recall as week where I did not think about it actively, or daydream about what I could or might do. The frustrating thing to me right now, is how intensely I lack the wording and cohesion of thought in order to put this to text. When I had decided to write about it, I had a veritable plethora of topics to cover in my writings, but I cannot seem to conjure any of them right now. I know that stress is a big portion of the blockage, but it’s infuriating. I have been wanting to pen this for quite some time now, to get my thoughts and ideas down, but they slip from my grasp with greater ease than the feelings of elation and pure joy that I get from each dream after I wake up or return to reality.

I suppose that I shall simply have to revisit this post when my senses choose to return to me, and the ideas regarding the aspiration find their way back to their inherent roost.

As if life hasn’t been stressful enough, things have gotten worse. First, I am 98% sure the girl from PoF is a bust. No communication from her in nearly 6 days now. I realize that is a relatively short amount of time, but it’s very against the level and depth we were engaging in prior. Second, my ability to hang out with my closest friend has effectively been removed.

On Friday of last week (09/26/14), she and I were “witnessed” hugging for an extended period of time, and then culminating our “intimate encounter” with a kiss. Sure, we hugged. But that is the custom, and it’s always completely platonic. When Ben walks me out, we shake hands. And when Jenée walks me out, we hug. But a miserly old man declared that he witnessed an intimate encounter far more sinister than a friendly hug. And instead of confronting the parties involved, he decided it was best to alert a third part, whom happens to own the house. I am now barred from visiting with Jenée unless Ben is there, which I find a little inane considering Ben was there the night this supposed transgression toward their marriage occurred. While we have joked and laughed about the supposed harlotry in this past, this is a serious accusation. Being called an adulterer is one thing, but having that libel acted upon is another.

This hurts me, and deeply. With what I went through in my divorce, doing that to another couple is literally the worst thing I can imagine doing right now. So being label as one such participant really rattles me to my core. It insults my honor, and smears mud in the face of my beliefs. It makes my friendship into a strenuous activity that is constantly questioned, and it literally makes me feel dirty and corrupt inside. While Ben, Jenée, and I know better, that doesn’t help the matter much. The words have been said, and the actions taken. In my eyes, the belief in being an adulterer is nearly as bad as the act of, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

This is unneeded stress on Ben and Jenée, as well as myself. Whereas she doesn’t feel like that house is her home anymore, I don’t feel welcomed there. I feel like by being there, my every action and word are going to be questioned and scrutinized. I feel like there will always been this nagging doubt in the back of peoples’ minds wondering if we really were having an affair or not. And to be treated like an adulterer, in the end, is barely better than being one. Even though I know that neither her nor I would engage in those activities, it does not belie this notion and feeling that I am now a dirty individual that tried to ruin the sanctity of the marriage between my two best friends.

All things considered, I am truly at a loss. I thought I was done and gone before, but this clinches it. Between the stressors mentions in my last post, this scenario, and Amanda’s pending birthday (which I should be over by now, but am far from), I just want to disappear. I want to leave everything behind, and move. I want to leave the country, and move to somewhere where no one knows me. I want to establish myself as the esoteric and introverted weirdo living alone and practicing his music at inane hours. I want to be left alone. I am so far beyond wanting to feel anymore, and it kills me. I had taken some serious strides to become comfortable with my thoughts and emotions; I was working towards being okay with myself. And now all of that is shot. I can feel the regression taking hold, and the walls going up. I can feel the coldness seeping back into my heart, soul, and thoughts. I can feel the welcoming arms of solidarity and introversion.

It’s oddly eerie how similar Jenée and I responded to this. She is having nightmares and restless sleep, whereas I am having nightmares and simply not sleeping because of it. I have slept a grand total of 14 hours in the last two nights. Granted, that’s only a short cry from the 16 that most people get, but 14 of that was Saturday night after having been awake for over 40 hours and before this accusation was made known. I slept 2 hours last night, and it was easily the worst sleep I have had in nearly a year (which says something considering the quality of sleep I was getting over the divorce). I doubt, highly, that I sleep much if at all tonight, even though I know I am tired. But given the dreams I recall, I don’t want to risk it any more than I have to. Even though I know it all to be untrue, my subconscious is all too keenly aware of how I feel about it all. I was demonized, ostracized, and outcast in my dreams. I was hunted, beaten, and murdered in more than one dream. I don’t want to sleep.

I know that events like this will lessen, and the stress on the three of us will diminish greatly once we move. But whereas I had hoped that to be early December, I sincerely am unsure if it will even be possible by late December. I was counting on working full time all of this time, and utilizing my disbursement from school to help fund as necessary. But I haven’t worked even the equivalent of full time at minimum wage over the last 7 weeks, and it looks like I won’t be getting a disbursement either. It is going to be a tough next couple of months, and the only real shinning light is that we will be able to move eventually, and things will get easier for everyone involved.

My biggest worry right now, is that I won’t make it to that point though. I am beyond my breaking point already. I heard the cracks, and I felt the spread. Much more, and I’ll lose it. I didn’t think it would affect me this badly, when Ben told me. But it has; oh my, how it has. To be able to feel this low, this dirty, and this dishonest over an unfounded and inane accusation… That’s scary. But it really hurts. I have been working so hard to control and compartmentalize my emotions. I think I did pretty well when I first found out. But I lost that control today. The compartments burst open, and I lost it. I broke down driving home from Jordan’s, and I just lost it. I always thought there were worse things I could be called, but it seems “adulterer” takes the cake. I could not bathe long or hard enough to wash the feeling of disgust from my skin. I could not scrub with enough voracity to remove the grim and film of disdain from my hands. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror. This has hurt me nearly as deeply as being cheated on and abandoned by the person that I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

I’m done. I’m gone. I’ve lost it.

It’s been awhile since I last post here. Losing a year’s worth of entries really hit me hard. But here I am, back at it.

Something else I am back at is depression. This last week has hit me really hard. Between not working for almost three weeks now, grandma moving in due to dementia, feeling like a burden on my parents, and now having to come up with over $13,000 just to stay in school… I am not in a good place. I thought I was going okay, but it hit me like a sack of gold bricks. I can pinpoint it near exactly as well. I was hanging out with Ben and Jenée playing D3:RoS, and my momentum just dropped. Suddenly I didn’t care what I was doing, because I realized just how screwed I was. I went through the motions, as it helped cut the pain a bit, but it was still in the forefront the whole time.

Financially. Emotionally. Educationally. Mentally. I’m done. I don’t know where to go, or how to pull myself up and out of it.

I started talking to a girl via PoF, and that was a big confidence boost for me. And perhaps I am simply sabotaging myself or catastrophizing, but I don’t feel it going anywhere now for some reason. I came to a realization last night though: I am an initiator. In, easily, 96% of my societal interactions (be it friends, family, or otherwise), I am the initiator. And I feel like that may be why I believe I need those attachments and interactions. I mean, I know I need them; I feed off of their energy. But I am just getting so tired of it… There are points where I feel like I am the only one working to actively maintain most of these relationships, and I think I’m coming to a breaking point. It may mean losing a lot of the substance of most of them, but I need to step back; I need to stop. I went 7 years in a relationship where I feel like I was the main initiator, and I don’t want to live that way anymore. I want to feel like these are two way streets where both parties contribute more than 30% of the effort. I mean, I have relationships where I will continue simply because I value and cherish them that much, and I understand that we are each living our own lives with their own sets of chronological demands. But I am done with the frivolous and half-hearted attempts of everyone else. As hard as it will be for me, I am going to step back from this point forward.

And that’s another thing… Text-based relationships are done for me. That was something else my marriage consisted far too much of, and it hurts me. I need the face time. I need the physical interactions. If those don’t happen, I am willing to let the relationships fade away; i simply cannot take it anymore. I know that I am going to go mad from stopping myself, but I need to do it.

And with that, I need to sleep. There are still a billion and ten things on my mind, but I cannot seem to gather their cohesion enough to place them to text

Adieu.