Found this on my computer tonight. It was written in late August of 2007 over the course of three days. Looking back, it makes me cringe to remember who I wrote all of this about. Any text in red was stolen verbatim from another source.
(on the cover of the notebook I wrote all of this in)
is this ego play?
and am i writing this
for an audience?
(the rest is from inside the notebook)
two autumns
and i have not
changed enough
-†-
I hate this
This depression I feel
Over something like this
I am so selfish I make myself sick
And yet I still can’t shake this desire to see them
Fall apart
And to be there to pick up the pieces
To hold her in my arms
And tell her everything will be okay
Because I love her
But if I love her, and care about him as well, how can I also want them to fall apart and suffer? How can I desire something that will cause them pain, no matter how much happiness I get out of it? Even if she is eventually happier because of it, how could I live with the depression it would throw him into? Am I really so selfish as to be okay with putting him in my place so that I might be in his, no matter how temporary it may (will!) be? And what of those we spend time with? Could I live/love with the strain it would put on them? So I feel as though I must suffer through this for the good of those close to me. Yet, how long can I deal with being lonely around those I care for most before I implode as though I am made of glass? How long must each kiss of theirs’ that I witness cut into my heartstrings before they are completely severed? How long can I feel sick to my stomach, like I have swallowed a handful of needles and broken glass, without the ability to vomit everything back out, all this blackness and despair and selfishness? How many more sleepless nights and crushing dreams must I endure before I am able to peacefully sleep?
“All this wishing I was dead is getting old!” I have yelled a thousand times, but no one seems to hear, so I am left wondering how long I will feel this depression, how long I will be stuck inside this screaming bullshit festival, how long I must look at her and know I cannot even hold her hand or kiss her cheek because of the terrible ramifications of my actions – and yet part of me (the selfish, reptilian part of me) is not concerned with the consequences, and I want so badly to give into that part just a little (and have already done so to some extent – O, what a terrible thing!) to see how she would respond, and G-d how I hate myself for all of this, for my selfishness and my hero complex and the way I feel how everything must have a meaning and how I try to make logical decisions about emotional issues, how I rationalize the irrational, how I use my mind to figure out the workings of my heart – what (un)blessed backwardness! – O, G-d, make me afraid of what I’ve become! I hope this will go away tomorrow, but from previous experience, I think this problem’s gonna last more than a weekend – and how I wish I could use my own words to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of right words to say to explain to someone (who?) all of this, so I must rely on the words of others in order to try and make sense of all this and to get my words out on paper in the hope that they will no longer be inside me but rather on these pages, forever trapped in this book so that they no longer bother me.
Sometimes I want to sleep forever.
-†-
I ask God for a sign
Even as I focus my gaze
On her
As she breaks my heart once again
I can’t help but think
That I live for this pain
And I wonder –
How much can I take
Before I stop breathing?
-†-
I know the road to everything
I know it goes right off a cliff
Nothing is forever
(and I at once take hope and fear in that)
-†-
I can be lonely if she’s happy after all
But how can I
When every time I see her in my mind
Her lips are touching his
And I feel as if those lips were ever to touch mine
I would find a poison
That not even she knows is there
Because it would only affect me
For she is my weakness
And O, how weak I am
-†-
I think about this altogether too often
Yet every passing thought
Seems to take me farther (further?) from an answer
-†-
Maybe she is more observant than I give her credit for, and the only reason she has responded to my attraction (if she has responded at all – unlikely!) is that she no longer feels any for him, and I am merely the blunt instrument she will use to sabotage their relationship, leaving me bruised and covered in blood in the process.
Or maybe that is wishful thinking.
-†-
I awoke this morning
And as I rubbed the last vestiges
Of sleep from my eyes
I realized what I had thought was sleep
Was merely a continued thought about her
-†-
God damns the ones who damn their brothers
-†-
And I continue to think myself in circles on this, never moving forward, dwelling on – obsessing over – things that have happened and will never happen, and I just wish I could get over her, could be okay with a simple friendship and nothing more, but this always fucking happens, and I could use a metaphor, but I just can’t get beyond this shit, and I would say that I could use someone to talk to, but I have people, have talked to those people, and it helps and yet it doesn’t, and even still most of my conversations with men seem to revolve around music.
-†-
