We are all nostalgically indebted to the person we used to be in our younger days. I find my eyes closed, bringing me back to high school. Ninth grade and Whatshername. Tenth grade with Whatsherface. eleventh, twelfth, and another burdening memory within.
I realize I have always been chasing the loneliness. A tireless attempt to run away. Escape the ebbing nothingness inside. to fill a void and replace my stack of DSM-IV certified issues.
It’s asinine really. To think all I needed to fix myself was affirmation from those around me. To feel awash with adoration.
I am not alone in this struggle. There are far too many out their. Guided by their pasts into believing salvation lies just beyond the horizon of self hatred. Their histories guiding them from loveless stint to loveless stint.
Bathed in our toxicity. Shaken to the core that one day we may be outed from our emotional castles into the barren vulnerability. The darkness of the night a bit too consuming in it’s nature for us to ever feel comfortable sleeping alone.
I told many my secrets whilst I honed my tongue into bladed weapon willing to cut asunder relationships. Wore my weaknesses as some makeshift chain-mail protection.
I am fucked up.
I am a mess.
I do drink too much.
I find myself wondering how hard I have to hit the guardrail to find nirvana through the windshield.
I curse too much.
And no one can use those things against me. I hold them like knife to my own neck. Threatening everyone in the room with the prospect of becoming accessory to tragedy. Do not look away from me.
Do not get uncomfortable in your seats.
You are now accomplice to this pain.
It’s just you and me.
I am haunted. The shadow moving slow and steady, ever forward, to envelope me. To beat me into dank submission. To appropriate me into history. Another one weighed, measured, and found lacking.
My mind seems to be moving at a mile a minute as my heart threatens cardiac arrest trying to keep up with the decision-maker. Emotions come and flee. It seems that way at least. It feels like they are here for but a moment before dissipating. I am stuck in a constant whirlwind. Smashing between apathetic and ambivalent. I break against the rocks, and for the moment, I know there’s nothing I can do.
Something’s fucking wrong with me.
I tilt my head back. Close my eyes. Spirits spin the world around. Haunting me. As I cascade into dream, I feel I am refugee to the former me.
We are all running away from something. A marathon race toward redemption. A fast break to forgiveness, hoping others see.
The dozens of other relationships trashed along the way.
No longer in my life nor do I wish them to be. But, I want them to see.
The castle doors open, I step out into the barren vulnerability. My true colors to splatter the sand growing ever hotter beneath my feet. I bask in the sun. I am ready to be blasted into oblivion.
Being lonely is a tiresome burden. Far too much for one to carry on their own.
They tell you to apologize. Make it slow like molasses, so they know you mean it. Slow motion, so it can be broken into a million pieces like the pretty little hearts broken along the way.
I’ve been practicing in the mirror. Meeting my eyes and searching for the genuine forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, I’m a fuck up.”
I don’t forgive me. Why should you? We should sit in our passionate hatred, burning bright from bitter memories. I hate me. You hate me. Let’s flood our feelings with whiskey. Saturate them with wine until we both are bent over a porcelain bowl asking a higher power when we will be worthy of redemption. Between the retching and the wretched. We will find our salvation between the retching and the wretched.
I slam myself back inside and get to the brick and mortar. I will build a fortress to Heaven so I can ask the higher power myself. So no one may breach the pieces of me I have left over. The stained soul bearing my name. Like a participation trophy for breathing, it is largely meaningless to everyone but me. The tattered banners of my heart beating defiantly against my chest.
I feel largely meaningless to everyone but me. Wrapped tightly in my narcissism. A sick, twisted, idea that the only person who knows how to properly care for me is me.
But, I don’t love me. It’s why I need you to. I need you, too.
Gaslighting myself into believing my savior will come in the form of love. Risen from the ashes of lust. From this love this time. All the while unsheathing serrated tongue.
Visceral hate creating waterfalls.
Slow like molasses are the apologies.
The knife held to my neck. Guilt-ridden, we are now accomplices to this self-loathng.
Stuck here between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all.
I fall asleep. Falling away from reality into memories. Ghosts of my past surround me. Encapsulate me.
I wake up sweating. Suffocating in the debt of nostalgia.
I am not what I used to be.
I reach out in the dark of my loneliness, grasping for something. Anything.
I am not who I used to be.
From armor made of fuck ups, I ride forward across desert and away from that which looms dooming over me.
I wonder if I will ever find the exoneration I desperately seek on my woe is me journey.
One thing I know to be sure though.
I am a refugee of who I used to be.