You want this to end but
You don't seem to understand
That it's my sheer uselessness
That keeps me holding onto you
This crutch is why I lean
And depend on your encouragement
And this one thing that you despise
Is the only reason you're still mine
I'm sick, lost, broken but
You still hold on to me
Because you're just as sick as me
Because you've lost all feeling
Of sensibility and happiness
It's all just clinging
Onto what you wish I would be
And delusions of what we could be.
Woke up on the living room floor again to the smell of vomit and dog piss and Rayne licking my face as I tried to open my eyes. The sunlight streaming into the room exasperating my already pounding head. Images of pills and cigarettes and alcohol and razorblades and sex flashed fleetingly through my memory of another dream fading away, or of another bad night worthy of forgetting; they've become one-and-the-same.
She was gone again.
I was already three hours late. Trying desperately to find the strength to get up, and despite the blackout I somehow knew that I shouldn't still be here. Empty pill and liquor bottles everywhere. Vomit near the garbage can, near the sofa, near the TV. Every limb trembled.
And I wished she was here.
The way she would have called work for me, taken me into the shower and washed me, cleaned up the messes made, kept my glass of water full and cold, helped me into my bed and sat next to me in devotion despite her resentment, running her hands through my hair, kissing my forehead, silently, lovingly.
I was three-and-a-half hours late when I opened my eyes again. I felt a cigarette burn in the carpet near my hand, and I suddenly became aware of a burning sensation in my back. I reached back and could feel out the scabbed letters of her name. More images vaporizing as I desperately tried to grasp onto them before they vanished all-together.
It was nearly 1:00pm by the time I completed my morning routine at work, barely conscious, my body still trembled violently. And I realized that I don't know how to make this stop and I'm quickly running out of time to figure it out.
The dog whined quietly as the alarm clock screamed relentlessly stirring me from my sleep. I rolled over on the bed to find that you were gone again.... or more appropriately, to find that I was alone again. My mind grasped to solidify scenes that flash from the night before; like dreams that escape from your grip as you struggle to hold onto them just long enough to remember. I pulled your pillow over to me and buried my face in it, inhaling the final remnants of you, filling my body with every breath as I fought to keep myself from falling back to sleep.
I stirred from my sleep again to the dogs anxiously barking. The alarm had silenced itself in exhaustion of trying to wake that which may as well have been dead. With every ounce of strength I could muster I sat up in the bed. A single cigarette was laying on the dresser beside a clean ashtray. The room spun as I began to smoke, and I realized that my contacts were still in, which meant that I didn't even make it to bed on my own. And just as I remembered your promise that you would be here when I woke up, my phone began to ring.
"Good morning Jaydon! I'm sorry I didn't call you back last night!" Christy said in a voice that was way too cheery for this early in the morning.
"Idlanevarimbarcaliyi", even I didn't have any idea what I was trying to say.
"Another good night I take it?"
"Idon'tknow,verybadreactionfromnewmedicationIthink" I rubbed my eyes obsessively
"Well I didn't mean to wake you, have a great day Jaydon!"
"Yeahthanks,youtooChristy" I found myself rubbing my entire face now, trying to coax out a more aware level of consciousness like some kind of fucking genie.
I crushed out my cigarette in the ash tray, unflinchingly burning my my finger in the process. I got up out of bed and put on the pair of jeans laying beside it, and began to stumble my way to the bathroom. I stepped on a piece of a broken glass on the floor shouting some some obscenity as I continued to limp unwaveringly to the bathroom where I promptly emptied the nothing in my stomach before removing the glass from my foot.
And I knew it was going to be one of those days......
She's crawling across my skin again, baby face void of trust; kisses and whispers void of any truth. Another bite as I moan in pretended pleasure, knowing that my face is not the one she sees behind her closed eyes. But even her muted colors are a welcome to the black and white picture that I stare at as she kisses her way down my chest. And in that moment I realized that love is nothing more to me than contempt-with-benefits.
I lay in bed barely conscious as she gathers up her clothes and walks out the door even before she's gotten them all on; as though she couldn't return to his arms soon enough. Tomorrow I'll drink, continue trying to repair the friendships I'd destroyed, cleaning up the aftermath of all my mistakes over the last two years; she'll grow tired and frustrated with him, calling me; and I'll once again be just another surrogate, and pretend that I'm perfectly okay with that.
And I can't decide if I should stay and salvage what's left here, or leave this all behind and start the next chapter in my life as far from here as I can drive.
I heard its voice again, after two years of silence. Clear, audible, physical. "Jaydon Wake Up!" in a tone halfway a whisper, halfway a growl, and my entire body jolted. "I'm not going" I said out loud, even as I found myself alone in my bedroom, halfway through the pronouncement I couldn't figure out why I was even saying it. It was still light outside as I rolled over in my bed. Five minutes had passed since I'd last looked.
My stomach was beginning to hurt, that horrible implosive empty feeling you get when your heart has been broken. But my heart wasn't broken. I could feel the crackle in the air as my energy was drained from me, quickly, efficiently, completely.
My heart was racing, and I knew I needed to get up. My subconscious was beginning to disallow sleep again. Anxiety attacks when I lay down; and him… it… whatever 'it' was, every time I would begin to fall sleep. I would hear it, or see it, or feel it so realistically, consciously. Sometimes it took form, putrid and appalling, blasphemous and unknowable scaring me awake. Sometimes it would be behind me, whispering and manipulating me by a silver cord pulling me from sleep. But most of the time it was inside of me screaming from within and trying to claw its way out violently and painfully.
And amidst the shame and fear, and despite the pain I regarded it as an old friend; with perfect love, perfect trust. To embrace is to write again, to be creative, despite the debilitating side-effects . The hatred, and anger, pain, wrapped around a fucked-up sense of beauty, and every part of me that I hate and have suppressed for two years consuming me… the me that I'd been craving for so long. Loneliness, despite the love that I will pick apart into nothing. I will be me again. I should be laughing. I should be happy. This is all I've wanted for so many months. I'm finally free.
Instead I cried for the first time in three years.
It's a rough start but I'm returning… sadly there's three years of my life that I can't even talk about… and nobody should expect me to…. but announcements are coming…. there are exciting things ahead… I'm terrified but hopeful… vulnerable but alive for the first time in years…. things have been put back on my schedule…. five years late but it's coming within the next year…. sadly there's no longer many people left that would understand what I'm talking about…..
Your birthday present is late, but I know you'll understand
I wanted to believe in something more than
laughter at silly faces and pillow fights,
screaming until voices are gone and tear induced dehydration.
I wanted to believe in forgiveness and never being alone;
in arguments that didn't last entire nights.
I wanted to believe that I could actually do something right.
You are right to say that I can't be trusted, and yet you'll
never have the strength to just let me go
as you rhapsodize about apologies and compromise
and say that now the decision is all mine
But I'm not sure I even want to believe your words now
And they all just sounds like bullshit anyhow.
Have you ever dreamed of these old walls? The blood that trickles slowly from your beautiful face? The screams that pour from you filthy mouth? Or the way you squirm delicately and elaborately beneath the silence of my hand over your lips? There is a secret here, dying slowly, can you hear it? Can you feel it? As your very bones crumble under the weight of my fingers like sand muffling your choking attempts to scream again into a room as dark and empty as my depraved mind.
Wake up.
Your green eyes greeted me as I rolled over again with a long sigh. The snores of the puppy lying beside the bed filled the silence of another sleepless night. The cat purred quietly as it walked over my face, and I laid there silently staring, too tired to care. You smiled at me in that half-asleep way that's more felt than seen before I rolled over and pet the dog that continued snoring and softly whimpering in a dream.
And where am I going this time? Where have I really been? I've been through all this over and over again. Falling and rising in a mad slaughter of reason and willpower. The hours wasted waiting for you to return just to shove you out the door again. And where do I go in between the shallow arguments and passionless embraces? And how do I deal with the paradox that when I'm alone I want to be with someone and when I'm with someone I just want to be alone?
The flash of faces ceases with each gasp of breath, with every one of your pathetically cute moans. I want to forget it all, to bury it beneath these sweat-soaked sheets. I want to scream with every thrust, every bite, every memory that I strive so hard to replace, to forget in this sick act of degradation and humiliation. I just want once more to be overcome in the violence as I explode into everything I've hated, incinerating every lie that got us here in the first place.
And to think that some people believe there's something sacred in all of this.
You were always the sweet one that would come in my time of need. Beautiful, but nowhere close to what is best for me. And maybe if I had a conscience I wouldn't treat you this way. I've never been able to figure out how I can love so much and care so little. But I just can't seem to help but view you as a scarred and bruised plaything to make me come in my time of need.
The night's last cigarette is when it always collapses in on me, and in the smoke that curls in front of my face I see the monster that you see. Nothing really matters in the screaming, the love we wrap around us to hide the hate-filled core; in the morning we'll wake up knowing that this was never where we belonged.
And I'm not sure either of us would have it any other way
Sometimes you can find a way to fascinate me, as we sit in the silence as the light of dawn begins to creep in beneath the window shades; whispering all your nauseating adorations and affections. Sometimes I'm comforted as you rhapsodize about your happiness over the hum of the fan; but most of the time I just wish that you would shut-up and look pretty.
I'm not sure what is colder sometimes, my heart or the temperature in this God-forsaken room. You slammed the door again as I find myself alone shivering in the bed trying not to laugh at your pathetic outburst. Sometimes my arrogance gets the better of me; and all it took was one word bleeding through my lips to bring whatever connection we may have had to a close. But I have to admit that it's nice to have the bed to myself as I curl up in the warm blankets and relax to the sound of you crying me to sleep on the bathroom floor again.
I am currently in a state of limbo, as is evident in the lack of updates or really any online presence. Just let me enjoy life and being happy a little bit longer before I start the blatant self-destruction again.
My world has been silent for too long. I look at all the boxes stacked in my living room from my move almost 6 months ago; I'm not sure where the time went. And it's still so strange to call this staple of my childhood "home" now. I look around at the antique furniture, 50th Anniversary memorabilia, pictures of people I don't even know. I'm still finding it difficult to start packing up a loved one's entire life into a box. I'm sure there's probably some sort of epiphany I should get out of this. I got nothing.
The cat catches my eye as it plays curiously with a cricket that she released yesterday when she knocked the keeper onto the floor. She doesn't mean to be so violent but the cricket never lasts more than a minute; and once the cricket stops kicking she's back at the cage again, staring in at the dozens of crickets who wait patiently for their turn to die in the jaws of a tarantula.
And I remember that it's been exactly two weeks since you've disappeared after enduring all of my sadistic curiosity and batting; lying discarded on the floor waiting to be swept up.
I don't think the cat ever means any harm; it's just a causality of the game. And while the death of the cricket may be slow at the claws of the cat, at least it escaped the intended fate of dying even more slowly as it's digested alive in the fangs of a tarantula.
And if this metaphor seems overly demeaning I can really only be so sorry before it just starts sounding like another one of my many meaningless apologies.
I've stared at this blank note-book page for far too long. I can't even follow my own train of thought. What am I thinking? How do I feel?
Cold. I hate winter.
My priorities have been completely screwed up over the last three months. I need to get back on track, but the harder I try the more depressed I get that I can't just pull myself out of this weird funk I'm in.
Maybe I just need to unplug again for a while. Or maybe I've been too unplugged lately. I can't tell anymore; and I don't know what I need.
Everything is just a blur again, and I can't even hear my own voice anymore.