I doubt anyone’s ever going to read this but me.
I’m venting here because I have nowhere else to run. Oh hell, this reminds me of the old days. Never had anybody to run to back then. Just poured myself into this, into these writings… “Sorting myself out” I used to tell myself. Just “figuring my mind out” and whatnot.
Bullshit excuses.
For the entirety of this Spring Break, memories have haunted my mind. Slowly and sparse at first, then increasing in number and emotional effect. Much like a drizzle increasing in intensity to a torrent of rainfall.
What’s wrong with me? I can’t even answer that this time.
Every other time it’d be like “oh man, I can’t believe I said this” or “oh shit, Megan probably thinks I’m bad because of this or that” or “blah blah blah, my dad hates me,” just some specific issue I’d have.
There’s nothing specific in my head except for I emotionally feel like shit.
It doesn’t even make sense either.
I was perfectly happy 3 hours ago. And then I just pulled a “cosmic word wrap”—a term that Chris coined a long while ago. (He said once you end up at rock bottom and go further below, you end up on top. I’m assuming the inverse.)
Sometimes I feel like I’m saying too much for her. I’ll end up holding my tongue because what’s on my mind will make her sad. I know she does the same thing to me, because I can tell when she’s upset although she won’t tell me what’s on her mind.
Other times I don’t say enough for her. “Well, what’ve you been thinking about lately?” “Please, say something to make me feel better.” “Take my stress away, come on.” Is she asking too much of me or do I just suck that hard at conversation?
She doesn’t support a lot of the changes in my life which I’ve been particularly happy of. Not only that, but she hasn’t gotten over the fact that I’ve changed, either.
I don’t know where the fuck this is going.
I keep having flashbacks. This is a pain in the ass. How can you fall in love with someone who doesn’t believe in love? I kept telling myself I was over her. I keep having flashbacks of the anime we watched. I have a vivid recollection of that last night, the fateful evening upon which we had our last date, the last night I ever saw her as my girlfriend.
Flashbacks. There was Sara, in a light drizzle, walking home with a longcoat/trenchcoat on, as I drove Glenn home from school. Sara, from my German class. Sara, whom I guiltfully admired from afar even as I dated Megan. I thought about pulling over and offering her a ride home. I didn’t. I felt guilty enough thinking it.
Sara and I, sitting in my old car in my driveway, just talking. The crisp air of the spring nights. Too much on my mind back then. Graduation, all of this life and future ahead of me, and here I am with a new girl and trying to make a good impression and maybe get close if perhaps we’re right for each other. The air was crisp, the sky was clear and you could easily see the stars covering the sky.
There’s something about the air today that disturbs me. The weather was so perfect. Something about the quality of the air, the cleanliness of the fresh air. The temperature and air pressure were right, and the sky was a beautiful deep blue. (It’s rarely as deeply blue as I saw it today.) Something about it disturbed me. Kept thinking about the past. A childhood lost. This is it. These are the days I didn’t want to have to face. These are the days when I take responsiblity for myself in the world. I miss being ten years younger, not having a damned care in the world and not wanting a damned care in the world.
Perhaps I’m just being like this becuase I’ve stored up all of this angst over the past year? Maybe I’ve lied to myself all along, and believed it. No, this can’t be. This simply cannot be.
Sara… I feel lost about her. We sat there in my driveway tonight, in my new car, somewhat like old times. We spoke, though this time with a depressed feeling, covering the entire conversation. She feels like we’re drifting apart. Now, I admitted I’d felt the same thing, but this was a painful thing to admit. I’d been telling myself that such thoughts were just a passing idea and that it was not a real issue. But no, the moment she brought it up, it was then, by default, an issue.
I talked to her about some of my problerms. I never got anywhere. I beleive we ended somewhere on philosophy, though it’s insignificant. The points I all made had no relevance to any of the matters in my mind. I honestly do not know why I feel this way. I do understand it’s in relation to her and to these memories of childhood and adolescence. But I can’t even verbalize a single issue. Maybe it’s my dad? I’ve brought up plenty about him the past few days.
I feel like I never loved my father. I only told him I did because that’s what I was told to say. It’s much like being at church when you’re around 12 years old and you only go through motions because that’s what you’re supposed to do–you have no real comprehension of the meanings which drive the motions, you only do what you’ve been taught to do. And so, I “loved” my dad. And spite and frustration over him grew until this very day, when I find myself still afraid of confronting him about leaving the house. I don’t want to tell him “no, I can’t do this for you because I’m going out with friends.” I’d rather not speak to him at all. I, for some reason, developed a fear of speaking to him.
Perhaps it was Easter a couple years back when I walked out of the house, frustrated, pissed off, and nearly crying, with nowhere to go and therefore I walked for about two hours before ending up right back at home.
Perhaps it was on my high school graduation day, when my parents argued the worst I’d ever seen them and I nearly jumped out of the window just to get the fuck away from it all. (Mom grabbed my arm as I’d had one leg out the window, busted through the screen and all.) I walked to school (it was the end of their day by then) and found Sara and cried in the cafeteria on her shoulder.
Graduation night, we all pretended nothing had ever happened.
I think we still pretend nothing has ever happened in this house. We’ve never spoken about our problems. I feel like we’re never allowed to. I feel like I’ve never been allowed to question my dad or question our situation or question why things are as they are.
We just go on living in this house, we pretend that we’re upstanding middle class citizens and that we warrant a bit of respect.
My dad acts as if he’s the most important fucking person on this planet. Every time I’ve ever questioned why he wants this or that done, he simply says it’s for the best. Every time I’ve ever questioned why he feels this is good or bad or why this is the best or why can’t we do it this way dad, he simply retorts that “he knows better than I (or we) do.” I don’t believe the man understands that there are many ways to do one task, that there are many sides to an argument, and that there can be more than one right answer. Why can’t I half-ass this or that because the result doesn’t even fucking matter? “You must do the best job all the time.”
After 19 years of this, I suppose I’ve yearned to question and actually find meaning myself. My old man is full of so much bullshit. I’ve learned only a few things from him and one of those things is that personally, I need answers and I’m not getting them out of these force-fed sayings of ignorance and bullshit. I’ve gained from him… 19 years of spite and an intense loathing for the man.
I do take after him somewhat, though. I’ve heard of how intelligent the man was in his younger years and seeing photo albums of him travelling the world in his youth have inspired me to dream of making a career out of that for myself someday. But he won’t understand that. “There’s no money in journalism,” he apparently told my mom after hearing about what I wanted change my major to. I don’t care.
(This also somewhat relates to another thought I’d had come across my mind. Mrs. Minute, a former English teacher of mine in high school, read a paper of mine about what I wanted to be and my dreams and goals and how I’d just shut away being an astronaut or a pilot or travelling the world because it wasn’t practical. Said it didn’t have to be practical in principle for it to work out if you tried. It’s stuck with me since and it’s one of the things keeping me resolute on the journalism major as I’m enjoying the work I’ve been doing.)
I also take after him in many other ways. I’ve had trouble ignoring or forgetting people’s opinions. I’m sometimes as spiteful as him. My temper, once broken, is probably around as bad as his. I’ve had bouts of ignorance, but I’ve lately been trying to push through that.
I don’t want to grow to be anything like him.
What am I really scared of? Losing her? Ending up like him? Perhaps even something worse? Or even something even more miniscule than those fates, just a tiny detail that I fear becoming in my life?
I’m my own monster. It’s true that every man takes pride in his diseases.
