Thirsty Camels

Here we are, in moments like these... where we realize the emptiness and loneliness more than ever before. I say we, simply because I am never truly alone... I have the choir singing their lullabies and the cat awaiting his moment of jubilation. As for myself... solitude would be an understatement. I played a few games this evening, not so much for the "digital therapy", but for the hope that someone would speak to me or at least notice my presence. Bouncing between an online flash game called Batheo, Facebook Games, Xbox 360, EverQuest 1 & 2, World of Warcraft, Rift, Pogo Games and Star Wars Galaxies... nothing and no one. I am truly the invisible pixel. Tomorrow I have to see my therapist... there I will be seen and the center of attention. After all, I am playing him for his time... no sincerity, tea or biscuits for this one. I tell myself often, "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this...". Perhaps the few readers I have are sick of hearing me cry about the dusted tears... some perhaps going as far as just waiting for the day that the posts stop coming. Everyday my heart breaks a little more... which is curious in it's own right. If I can't feel love, the soul emotion from the heart, how can it be breaking daily? I am debating covering myself with, "Handle With Care" packaging stickers... maybe I am too fragile? I am the cracked vase, with my splinters wedging themselves deep within the carpet... waiting for someone to take notice as I cut and rip my way into their lives... the troublesome nuisance I am so often reminded of being. We always want that which we can not have... but what about the things we so desperately need? Do I really need a friend or companion? My heart screams yes, but as for the rest... it is just the mirrored mockery of my own mind.

A Hushed Audience

Comfort and understanding... these things are of great importance to most. To me, they are instrumental... living in a world of constant confusion and emotional torment. I reach out to strangers... either as a source of comfort for themselves or friendship for us both. These attempts are beyond futile... again, I find myself questioning what it is I am working towards. My primary purpose of writing here, is that one day, somehow, in some way, I will make a positive impact on someone's life... for someone to think to themselves, "I get that....". I also write here for myself, to vent my frustrations, fears, desires... not all is as it appears to be, the written word is fluid and artistic. I am certain that people may have visited here once or twice and immediately cast judgment upon me and my thoughts... this is nothing new, nor surprising. One thing that does bother me however, is the rejection I receive when I extend myself to the world... beyond the void, stepping out of myself and trying to make friends. I have been writing here for quite some time now and I feel even more alone than I did when I started... it is hard to imagine that as even possible. I have had visitors from all around the world and one or two people that visit here whenever I write something new.... I do recognize and appreciate those few that try their best to support me. Perhaps it is shallow and insignificant, but it is hurtful that after all this time, I have no people openly following my blog and not so much as even one comment of support. I am a real person and even though I don't quite understand the feelings swirling inside... I do feel, deeply in fact. At this point, even if someone just left a comment saying, "Shut the fuck up, you sick piece of shit!"... it would be mean something. It makes me wonder if I am truly that far beneath everyone else. Friendship seems even more unattainable... an actual friend. One that communicates with you on a regular basis and without being prompted to do such... I have someone to talk to on occasion, but only if I reach out and bare my soul to them first. Even then, it is limited and awkward...no one appears to have the desire to actually get to know me on a personal level. Casual, noncommittal and lifeless. Is there more out there? I see the rest of the world with these things... I see other people writing in their blogs with everyone paying attention, caring and supporting them daily. What have I done wrong now... what new sins have I accrued? Is there even anyone out there... or in here?

The We, Not Meant For Me

By some chance, a miracle really, we were to dine together... my family and yours, an arrangement of courting. It was unexpected and welcomed with great anticipation. I sat on the couch, fondling your younger sister, as I awaited your arrival. Driven by those from within, they wanted other graces than what my heart and mind desired. Starting slowly with her toes... waiting for further advancements and stolen innocence. Soon you graced the doorway, with your elegance and beauty... the beasts within were silenced, as I took center stage. There you stood, dressed formally in a knee lengthened skirt, blouse, pantyhose and sensible shoes... lighting the room with a smile of acceptance. I returned the gesture for but only a moment... quickly noticing my soiled jeans, hole infested tee-shirt, bare feet and knotted, unkempt hair clawing at my waist. Your parents had accompanied you in this affair... equally fashionable, although disapproving. You had brought with you, two elaborate desserts... one was a cake with flowing, warm, chocolate fudge rising from the center, dancing it's way to the edges of the tray. I had no parents to call my own, only this dysfunctional gathering of a friend, a neighbor and a deviant uncle. Quickly, my neighbor scoffed at the deliciously moist cake... it was served in a fashion that was unfitting and improper. She proceeded to claw out the center of the cake with her soiled hands, smashing it vehemently... making it more suiting. After this display of primal behavior, I noticed the meal we had prepared for such an important occasion... a poor man's soup, of boiled meat and onions. A pair of rusty scissors had been stabbed through a pornographic magazine, securing it tightly to the cracked, wooden table before you had arrived... I desperately pawed at it, trying to remove it's offensive glare. Ribbons of flesh danced through the air... breasts and pubic hair falling like crematorium ashes. I gathered the bits and pieces, looking for a place to hide them... my only choice was the desk of a child. Once filled only with crayons, glue and coloring books... now it too, was robbed of it's purity. I fled in terror, removing myself to the restroom with sorrow and embarrassment as my only companions. Secured by no extra walls or door... it was a stained toilet at he end of the hallway, with a clear view of the street and falling leaves. It was being shared by an old man and a young child, as they wrote their names in the murky water... trading pencils as they wrote with laughter. I looked out the window, to see you walking away... with head down and your smile fading. You had been replaced in appearance, by the young girl from high school... whom sang the aria of Ariel the mermaid with absolute perfection, so many years before. Your hair, face and gestures no longer were your own... but it was you. Inside, the radiance declared it so. I would try again, to better all of the short comings... anything to get you to return to me just once more. I slide on my finest nylons and party dress... matching the myriads of colors of my full length beard. I grabbed my insulated barn coat and ran into the streets to find you... wrenching at the knots in my hair in hopes it would fall as pressed satin, as yours had always done before. You were nowhere to be seen. A woman, with jet black hair, in a white summer jumper stood instead with eyes of disgrace and judgment. Uncertain of her glances, I shoved my hair down into my dress and frantically tucked it into my nylons. I wept and I was once again all alone. I awoke in in my bed, sweating through my shorts and shirt... the sheets wrinkled and damp with fear and heartache. It was but a dream... but more so, a dream never to be within my grasp.

Cranberry Ashes

I survived... the dreaded day has passed. For those feeling contempt for my extended time here, I hear your screams. The cat has also informed me that I have a full year to remedy the situation and leave this world... then all will be forgiven and forgotten. Mercy is indeed a favored spice in life. I am still struggling with this ordeal and increasingly becoming more and more confused... distant and bitter perhaps in some ways. It was a day, like any other day... I awoke to the screams from within, sat at my computer and began running away as fast as possible. Whether it be by reading online or pretending to be someone else in an Xbox 360 game... setting time aside to dull my senses with pain killers and anxiety medication. Laughter, an old distant friend, hasn't called for a visit in quite some time... my emotions have been wiped away into a cloud of dissipating chalk. Sorrow, however, has accompanied me with absolute devotion. I remember being a young teenager, like many I imagine, aching to have someone love them... to hold onto those feelings recklessly, awaiting that blessed moment. I no longer await that dream... I find myself mourning it's absence. As this illness further rots my mind, I realize now that is something I will never know. It sickens me greatly and angers me even more when I think of all of the people in this world that abuse, manipulate and take for granted something as special as love. Part of me has also become quite bitter at the youth of today, thinking they know what love is... just because someone told them it was so, so they could have a quick fuck, majestically labeled "making love". Of course, of course... didn't your mothers teach you that sex is love? How daft can you be? I love you... now, let's go fuck. The world should be neutered... all of the "pimps", "studs", "playas", "sluts" and "whores" should be chemically sterilized. Fucking idiots... I pity the next generation of people to populate this world. Love is the thing that pounds within your chest and every fiber of your soul... not a swelling in your crotch. When I think about experiencing love with another person, it isn't a sexual encounter... it's being able to sit beside someone comfortably and holding them in my arms or having them hold me. To be able to have someone touch me without feeling sick inside and jerking away from them. To be able to make eye contact and smile at each other. To laugh without feeling self conscious... the little things. The simple, yet marvelous moments in which time ceases to exist. Perhaps I'm the fucking idiot...

Ten Years Gone

For those few that visit here, for whatever purpose... enjoyment, ridicule or enlightenment; I have returned. It has been a harrowing few weeks... time is creeping up and I have been lost in translation. My 10th anniversary is coming up on the 27th of this month... 10 years past since my expiration date. When I was 20 years old, I told everyone I wouldn't live to see 25... I worked hard at achieving this goal. Here I stand, for better or for worse, 10 years later and ready to see my 35th birthday. I know some may be thinking, "Oh, depressed over turning 35? Grow the fuck up!". Well, that's not the case. Honestly I don't really understand the increased depression. By the time I was 21, I had a wife, 2.5 kids, the pretty little house, 2 cats and a dog... everything people want from life. By the time I was 23, I was divorced, losing my house to the bank and foaming at the mouth laying across the floor with my father looking over me crying. The coffee table was dusted with homemade low-grade meth (commonly called "dirt"), empty hairspray bottles with needles stuck in the top (for easy drinking) littering the floor, the cats had given me the finger and ran away and I had shot the dog in the back of the head... I was all alone, except for the company of my weeping father. I should have died, just like planned, by 25. In fact, I had already O.D.'d twice by then... but it never stuck, I came back. If it hadn't been for the blind compassion of a stranger, I would have surely died. They came down to my home, from across the country, and brought me back home with them... nursed me back to health and sobriety. Over the past 10 years, I have struggled with my health physically from the severe drug abuse and my mind has slowly slipped away thanks to this wonderful disease of schizophrenia. Ten years gone. I am disabled and a prisoner to these four walls. My cat taunts me to kill myself relentlessly. I don't have the ability or understanding of feeling positive emotions. My therapist and others, seem to think I should be rejoicing with living the extra 10 years... I am very confused. Am I mourning the loss of life for the past 10 years or am I mourning the fact I never died? The choir has differing opinions. Some are angry and feel cheated. Others want to leave here once and for all. A few mourn the things I will never have in life. Then there is myself... listening to it all, rocking back and forth wondering when a decision will be made. There needs to be a common voice or opinion. About 10 years ago, I sold my soul to the devil in exchange for something I desperately wanted... perhaps I really am dead and my soul has been claimed. That is another story for another day. Maybe, just maybe, this is hell and the price that needs to be paid.

Infectious Ire

Over the past several days, I have been taken to a place long forgotten... moments of bloodlust and brutal punishment. I have suppressed these feelings of rage and destruction for many years... it was decided upon by the collective, for in those dark moments the return path is lost. I find it odd, that those voices that decided to issue a reprieve on this behavior are urging it's awakening. At night, those whispers to kill myself have turned solely into, "You need to kill him... we need this.". I am speaking literally... the images that flood my mind are beyond physical punishment or erotic disembowelment. They want carnage and I find myself agreeing with them. For over 16 months now I have been betrayed, abused, humiliated and recently threatened by someone that I once considered family. There would be no art or romance to this exercise of freedom and vengeance... mindless and barbaric compulsion. The acid rises from my stomach, as in my mind I stab him 73 times in the neck... beating further with every last twitch and convulsion. Every tear and pleading cry would go unheard... I would lose all remaining humanity. There is little left as it is... there would be no coming back. My empathy and concern have dwindled... it matters not, that he has an illness and is acting out because of it. I have an illness too... and I don't mindlessly fuck over everyone in my life to profit and protect my delusional state. There are no more excuses... it's not registering and the clerks have gone on their smoke break. He is already dead inside of me... there is nothing left, not one fiber of concern. The emotional switch has been flipped off and the flattened emotions have risen... wrath has returned and the dead lights are shining once more. I don't know how much longer I can ignore these screams that demand justice and protection... I am not too entirely sure I want to either.

Schizophrenia- One Moment Of Many

Received Text Message:

"I want you to know, that you mean a ton to me. I love you very much and so does the entire family... never forget that!"


Internal Commentary and Reaction:

"NO! Not that... don't surrender. Venomous whore... not after what you have done! They'll never love you! I love you... WE love you! Just us... just me. It will never happen! WE should kill you for entertaining such drivel! YOU should kill yourself... this isn't for you! Do it... DO IT! Rip it out... rip it out! Stop it! Not now... not NOW! Taste the bleach... DO IT!"

The vibrations become so intense... like ribbons of flesh dancing in pale light. The plague is spreading throughout my chest... violent vibrations pushing bile into the back of my throat. Confusion. I want to believe this... I want to feel it. I need to feel it, just this once. The screams become louder... more haunting. Like the victory grunt of a rapist's orgasm... the final thrust cleaves me in two. I flinch at the touch that intended comfort... with teeth pinned tight against my inner check, I taste the warm, salty blood fill my mouth. I can't do this... I can't feel this. I must go... fading dark now, I step aside. Someone else must deal with this... not me, not now. Shhhh, I'm here... go to sleep. Go to sleep.