What’s love got to do with it?

                I love a lot of people and on a lot of levels. This doesn’t mean I bone everyone I love just because I tell them that I love them but I give them love. I’m angry, depressed and sometimes just flat out jaded. For the most part I think my heart might be broken. It’s really hard to love someone so much that not only will they never know but each horrible thing they say is one chunk that you’ll never get back.

                I’d be the first to admit that things haven’t gone great for the last five years of my life. I’ve so much time taking care of other people and their needs rather than seeing to my own ambition. To make matters worse, when I do chase any dream; it as if I wake some sleeping Cerberus. I begin to regret any and all things I’ve done for myself. Calling myself names and beating myself up. Looking back, I can’t help but to wonder if I did that to feel that the behavior of those I loved was acceptable.  Or did I justify the treat by accepting that as my truth.  What ever the reason, I’ve lost a lot of “love” to gain it from myself.

                Sometimes, the hardest thing to accept in your life is yourself with all your flaws and wretched thoughts. No one knows what happens behind your eye lids or that when you look in the mirror all you see is the monster you feel you’ve become. Even if you haven’t become a monster at all, it seems easier to accept the pain and injustice upon yourself then the people who did injustice to you. In the end it all seems like a moot point.

                I didn’t until recently realize that love has a lot to do with it. Loving yourself enough to love others can be the hardest task anyone to undertake. I know that much because I’m trying to complete it and most days I even wonder if I’m successful. I love many people on different level and each level is a deeper. Think of it as Dante’s Inferno but with more Bolgias. The men I have shared my life with have been special and unique. Each one of them had something special to offer the world and that made me fall deeper in love with them. With the exception of the first guy I slept with but you live and you learn. You hopefully learn to avoid the stupid, mean and occasionally smelly ones as was the case with number one. It helped me to realize that no matter how much you want to be someone’s number one they will always be number two. Yes, that was a poop joke.

                But as I got old my love is more complicated. I’ve been accused of being to solitary  or never getting lonely but that’s not true at all. Love is a lot like great chocolate, sometimes best enjoyed with the curtains drawn and candles lit so that if it makes you sick you can throw up in private and no one needs to know about it. Would you want it, if it made you puke and curl over in pain all the time. No thank you. I take one little piece and be on my way. Better to have the memory of the taste than to choked by the bitterness.

                They say the distance makes the heart grow fonder yet, for myself, it makes the pain grow deeper. I spend hours wondering if he loves me at all. I try to convince myself that he’ll just leave me and disappear out of my life forever. Tears well up as I concentrate at my work computer and plan to make one last trip to see him possibly my one precious last goodbye so that somewhere in the back of my mind I could pretend that I was special to him, even if it were for but a moment.I shove my tears into the deepest parts of my soul.  But I guess that what a wizard gets when he throws fire and water together. One of them has to disappear. I guess I just hope that he remembers me somewhere down the line and smiles. Maybe he will remember the good times. I’ll probably still wonder about the things that might have been which I know is a useless folly. Maybe it was the organic nature of him that feed my soul or the way just one hug could make me feel like I wasn’t as alone as I had always felt.

                They say that Shakespeare wrote that it is better to have loved than to never to have loved at all.  Clearly this dude had never seen just how far someone can shove their pain so deep and dark that no measure of love’s light could ever touch it .It’s the game of survival, it’s life. And as I stand inside my sphere of loneliness I can’t help but to wonder what love has to do with anything at all.

               

                

Half done

I haven’t written anything in a while but I guess you can probably tell that by now. For weeks in end, I’d been staring at the same dent in my ceiling waiting for some semblance of inspiration to hit me. After all that’s how I cope isn’t it? Writing, it seemed, was my life line. The one thing that never left my side or slapped my face. It is the one thing in the whole world that I could trust as much as divinity. There is no greater kingdom than that of one’s mind. Or at least that’s what I used to think until this feeling of disembodied realism set into my mind.

My have drifted over these keys for a hundred times in the last eight weeks. This resulted in many half written blogs, diary entries and things too true to my own mind that I took license to hide them from the world but keep them for myself. I remembered staring at them and remembering the tones of disappointment filtering through the voices loved ones. They wanted me to take down the blog. I think the worst part of it was the fact that I really didn’t think it was so bad that I should take down the blog. Or maybe it was the fact that many things in this blog are heavily sugar coated. Maybe it was the idea that all of the bad things I had written here are the truth. Or maybe it was the fact that no matter how often I tried to tell them the truth, I’d be forgotten. I could read the unedited versions and they would fall on deaf ears.

Some aspects are just lost in the wash. No matter what you do to be the best version of yourself you can be, there are some places and people in the world that just come up short. They won’t look at the situation as they should but sweep it under the carpet and forget about it. Too easily, the demons from the past are enabled to become living ghosts in our waking lives. Maybe, I’m just a little misunderstood.  

I tried to assess my license of integrity. Was I really helping anyone if I just put it down?  Or was I allowing my voice to be taken away? Or maybe I had considered that I would be shoving my inner demons in some corner to allow people to swallow whatever tablespooned sized image of myself that I cooked up for them. I figured that I would be playing the same game I did over and over again. No one ever asks questions. They just accept it and that’s it. My writing was naked or at the very least as naked as I would allow myself to ever be.

I found some peace in writing and maybe it is the only peace I would ever know.