I haven’t written anything in a while, but I felt compelled to write about something that happened yesterday that jump started me into writing this.
I know a lot of you have been worried about my absence, and I don’t know what to say to that as I didn’t know I had made that kind of impact in your lives. So, I think you guys deserve an update for your concern, and I appreciate your support during all this without ever needing to know why.
After I had a very successful work month in February, I set aside March to take a break and have some me time to refuel for future projects, including the Year 47 Anthology.
As if Clark W. Griswald had planned it, this vacation didn’t work out.
A whole bunch of personal stuff came to a head all at once. My health took a dip, I hit some financial trouble, and I had to finally admit to myself I wasn’t going to be happy continuing in the relationship that I’ve been in for nearly a decade with my best friend. My only relationship.
I had enough sense to know my depression was going to invade my world like Poland, but I didn’t expect you guys would notice my pattern change. Several of you called me out to ask what was wrong, and I had to admit that I needed to step away.
Since then, it only got worse, and I didn’t talk about it because I didn’t want to burden anyone, especially my friends in the community who have their own issues and need to stay focused. I’m not about bringing negativity into lives if I can help it. I’m getting to old for that nonsense.
I did the only thing I could that kept away those thoughts of removing myself from the equation. I put myself in parentheses and shut out everything else. Become a variable to solve later. If nothing else, become a remainder.
I didn’t have anyone I could really discuss my history with in person aside from the one who I was asking to leave. I only ever had four people in my life who I could be open with and have a chance at being understood.
One was a mentor in a counciling program many years ago who I had the utmost respect for and felt I received the same. But he retired and hit the open road on motorcycle to see the world. I miss Dan tremendously and hope I’ll somehow find him again one day. But, if not, I hope he’s happy.
My kid sister was always easy to talk to as well, but she got married to a military man and moved away. Her career keeps her busy. Barely responds to text, and I’m lucky to see her a few days out of the year. Not much time for serious talk.
My buddy Zack and I have shared tears as well as laughs, and I know he’d take a bullet for me. But every since he moved and started school, it’s hard for me to engage him or anyone about my problems when it’s not in person. But he does try. Probably the most.
And it’s none of their faults because they’re doing what I so desperately want to do, which is live.
But the fourth? Up until recently, I had planned to share my life with her. But it isn’t working anymore. This isn’t about her though or trashing her because it isn’t like that. I still love her, and she gave me the happiest moments of my life. We just don’t work anymore.
I am not happy anymore.
So here I am, still in the midst of all this, the fog only getting thicker and the night only darker. The moon escaping my view.
I’m utterly lost, but I need to keep moving, even though I don’t want to take another step.
I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about suicide again. I’ve been away from that thought for a while now, but never long enough.
But I take another step.
I either can’t sleep or sleep the day away, having godless nightmares where I can feel the bottom. Where I’m short of dying, only to wake and wonder why I’m still alive.
But I take another step.
I try and write, read, draw, watch, play, anything to distract myself from the darkness yet find numbness.
But I take another step.
Even after an unexpected talk with another writing friend (Read Silvia’s post Here), I didn’t know if I was going to be capable of writing anything new again.
But yesterday happened.
I would preface this story if I knew how to, so I’ll simply start.
The day was stressful from the get go with an apartment inspection coupled with some serious naseua and drowsiness. When I was able to finally take a nap, nightmares again. Ones dealing with the harsh break-up I’m still in the middle of ending.
I decide that, after a few more minutes of degrogging, I’ll go out for a while, which I never do.
As the day goes on, that’s when it happens. The reason for writing this.
I met someone. I don’t “meet” people. I’m not that type of guy. I don’t have “game” and I never touched the dating scene to begin with. I met my former fiancée online. I’m 35 years old and a sad 35 at that.
But there I was, suddenly talking to this beautiful girl so beyond my league, one of my hunky, alternate universe selves had to have been wondering what the hell was going on in his timeline.
Short, black hair. Stunningly cute, round face with these thick, black frames on that made her only more adorkable. Short-cut, banana yellow jacket. She kinda put me in mind of Jubliee from X-Men only in her 30s. No, I didn’t tell her that. Probably wanted to, but didn’t.
I don’t remember how our conversation ever really got started, but it was going great. We were laughing. My attempt to derail it by hinting I’m not interested yet still flirting (which is most certainly not me) wasn’t ending the kismit moment. I even had the nerve to comment on her voice, which I was in love with from the start. I said something about how it’d be nice to hear it again or something, feeling like an embarassed ten year old boy flubbed Shakespeare. But I caught a smile that told me I did alright.
But that’s why I’m here. That was the absolute best I have felt in a long time. I was genuinely happy.
But I can’t remember what her voice sounded like.
I can’t because as soon as I expressed that admiration, I woke up from that exact same nap as earlier. I struggled to remember her, but she faded into that alternate universe.
And as I tried to remember her, I felt this sadness that I was causing her pain as she was trying to remember herself. Remember me. That, as I was trying to hear her voice one last time, I was doing her more harm than good.
So I stopped trying and “let her go” which is a stupid, fucked up thing to write, I know. I can’t imagine how it is to read it. All this in less than a minute.
My brain has been fucking with me royally for almost my entire life, but that one hurt. I know it was just a dream, but goddamnit, I was happy. I can’t even remember the last time I had a good dream. I didn’t need to be tricked into thinking about love again.
Am I mourning the loss of a fictional woman? No. The last thing I need is that obsession. I’m mourning the loss of the happiness I had gained in my 35 years on this planet. And in the end, my brain may have been trying to help me, though not in the most healthy way.
This week, I redo my lease papers. In a few weeks, I’ll be living by myself, which I have never done extensively. I’ll be a single guy, way out of my prime, having to rebuild from less than what I had before, mentally and physically.
Why write all this and be this open? Cause I simply don’t have any more bottles to store this stuff anymore. I need to try something new. Mistake? I don’t know, but I don’t have much to lose at this point anyway.
So I’ll take another step until something more substantial stops me permanently.
If you want an opportunity to work with a fucked up writer like myself, I am still looking for submissions to the Year 47 Anthology. Picked up submissions get paid (I have the money set aside. No worries). If you’re interested, just click here for info.
I have no idea how to feel about this, so tell me how you feel about it below. And if I should be emvaembarra by this post, do tell me so I can take it down for the love of all that is good and decent.
And if you’re still reading, I love you. Thank you.