Obsession, Threat, Pervasion, Death Mature content No. 120 Published March 11th, 2020 6:09am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The universe is gray and fading. The colors are gone. No more waiting for autumn, no more waiting for football season, no more waiting for the clock to fall back an hour, and no more waiting for good things to occur. In high school, my buddy and I used to ride our bicycles up into Mission San Jose and toward a particular house I loved to see. We fantasized about coming in to a large fortune, buying that house, and setting up our music studio within. That was the biggest and most far-fetched dream I had at the time. Even before the simple yet complex vision of actually being with a woman, the house and our desire to play music, record, and enjoy the time was everything. All summer long we rode up there and built our future one step at a time. As the years passed, that house and neighborhood changed, as did our hopes. I am no longer in contact with him, and just as our connection faded as life moved along, the dream of being where I wished has equally faded. Now? Everything is gone. All of it. As you read these words, mark it. There will no longer be additions to this web space. Nothing new will appear. I will continue to write -- both fiction and non -- yet none of it will be published. The outlet has been false, just as my view of the future. Thirty-plus years of becoming mired within reality, coupled with forty-plus years of being so horribly damaged have resulted in this current state of gray. Expect no good. No up. No nothing. Day after day after miserable fucking day, the comforts and small doses of joy have carried me along while large sections have fallen away. The last just fell moments ago. Pain, damaging behavior, and the truth of that which I am capable have finally summed. That number is not good. It is not something I thought would actually take place, but it is here nonetheless. Fuck it. I am done. A few words toward the 'why' are below. All is lost. The threat had been absent for years. Unfortunately, that was due to a fucking shit situation that I created out of a need to be comfortable. I've done it before, but will not do it again. The prior attempts to control such a situation failed miserably, had me vying for pills and guns, and nearly killed two people while within the warmth of a very sexual embrace. A bubble, if you will. The threat was overwhelming and destroyed me for a time. My fear was nearly all within, however some time after I realized that I am a human being and deserved some sort of consideration, I learned that the threat was very real, very close, and the realization that I could be the end of it. Well, I never did anything about it and continued to suffer, just as I am now. The source was removed in the worst possible sense, and then I scattered my fucking self to the corners of the world to get away. I did not wish to hear commentary while the revolver was loaded and ready. I needed to be away from everyone and everything. I needed to drown within understanding and I fucking found it. Damaged, just like her, yet with a mutual need for 'genuine'. I fucking found it, ran my ass off in whatever direction was necessary, and told those who knew me to go and fuck themselves in a frozen fucking hole. Yep, that felt good. It still does all these years later, and I cannot WAIT to do it for the last time. Everyone. Every fucking soul who has been associated with me in one way or another for the last fifty-three years. Yes, that includes you, idiots. Suck it like overpaid whores. When I cross the state line, 'Mombasa' will be playing loud enough for Christ himself to fucking hear it. And soon after, he can shove the silence up his ancient ass. I must see what I need to see, drink what I need to drink, eat what I need to eat. Simple, right? Shove your opinion up your fucking boxes. Issues one, two, three, four. Well, number one is something which developed over a period of decades, two is out of my control (unless isolated from everyone), three is something I will not go into, and four is a problem that I thought I could keep reined in but was apparently way off the mark. I was stupid, weak, and tried to calm myself about it by reasoning the past and my current condition as a way to compensate something I loathe. Well, I was fucking dead wrong. Heh, dead. That should be funny. To be honest, I have dealt with issue one for a very long time, explored the hows and whys for what seems an eternity, and in the end decided that my feelings about it are not wrong. They simply exist. There is no right or wrong, and considering some of the fucking people in this world, well, the deviant nature no longer appears as such. At least, not to that degree. I felt that in the beginning due to having no confidante nor any research-based support of any kind. Now? I still do not like it because I cannot explore. It hurts. Everything hurts. And after calculating that issues one and four are related and have to do with my daily physical health, there was simply no easy way to help myself. There have been others who understood and even told me I am beautiful and unique because of the correlation. Insane, right? I thought so. Honestly, I still feel that the interest and obsession are unnatural to the point of being extremely difficult to explain. Nearly all of the time it is bottled up, compacted, filed away, and becomes very hurtful. My heart aches, I find that the mere thought of being unable to embrace such an obsession piles up inside me over time, and the resulting issue four rears its head and leaves me feeling suicidal on a weekly basis. That is not good. Years of it? Along with a distinct lack of outlet? I am dying inside. Dying. After careful consideration and calculation, I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way to cease that issue from harming me and making me feel less than a man. Guess. 'Falling Away' was only the beginning. 'Sex and Suicide' was the continuation. Read it. Them. All of them. Whatever. Fuck it anyway. Who cares? And do it quickly. The archive is going to be destroyed seven days after this moves to the production environment. 'Standing outside in the cool morning air and awaiting work, I often look to the sky and its constellations if the weather is clear. Right now I'm not terribly happy because Ursa Major is all sideways as we head uphill toward summer, and the position means Ursa Minor is difficult to see. This morning? Well, looking toward the north-northeast, I spotted what appeared to be a satellite cruising across from west to east with its steady light. Not an aircraft. No strobes. Just east of that point, I viewed somewhat of a distorted version of Ursa Minor, except longer and less square. A triangle of three stars with three more as a tail of sorts, but they were moving. Yes, moving. All six at the same velocity. I stared, just above the tree line, for a moment before looking left to see several more, evenly spaced, also cruising along in a very straight line. In total I may have seen ten. The distance between each of the single points of light was consistent other than the triangle that led. Butterflies, especially after decades of watching science fiction films. Well, that lasted only to the evening. After considering wondrous possibilities all fucking day, I learned that I was seeing a line of satellites launched by a company for which I previously performed research. Space research. Aerodynamics. A controlled atmosphere through which a projectile was launched at hypervelocity to be photographed and studied/measured in flight. Yes, I supported that. Years of it. And the main contact was a woman I drooled over for weeks. That was me. Is me. Will continue to be me. Fuck it, just me.' I had such hopes. Looking at my name brings all manner of emotional turmoil. Just my name. Those hopes and some recognition along with another person seeing my name add up to more gray. Just fucking GRAY. I do not like it. All of my accomplishments were tempered by failures, and those failures defined more of me than the aforementioned good stuff. Why? Because I let it happen. I made it happen. I failed, and I even failed within failing. Huh? What? Read it, dumbass. When I failed, other failures were either related or repeated. Fucking figure it out. Too much? There is more. Much more. The girl last Friday night seems to have become an end in and of herself. On the heels of that, I made a massive mistake elsewhere by attempting to connect enough with a woman to photograph her hands. Yes, just her hands. That was likely the tenth time I have tried to do so, and that means I am done. Finished. I can no longer accept myself for this interest. The girl from Friday night was a name, yet one that appeared in the last entry and hearing it threw me for a loop. The name is lovely and unusual. Having just completed that section of the story and hearing her fucking name the same day took me by surprise. I reacted a bit at hearing her state the name and then went away as I always do. I tried to understand from where this fucking mindset birthed, but to no avail. I stood at the base of the steps during the show and greeted nearly twenty others that I have known for years. Most of them were female. My acquaintances from the bar throughout the entire time I have been associated, and many were smiling when they said hello and hugged me. After twenty minutes of that, the gentleman behind me tapped my shoulder and asked if I owned the place. Heh. No, I just know plenty of people. But not that girl at the door. The one with the fucking name that floored me. Was it her looks? Partially. She was cute, yet not aligned with issue one. After passing her several times to head through the front door for a cigarette, we gained a rapport of sorts. A smile, a wave... Something. None of that mattered, really. Just the name. I find it beautiful, just as any name beginning with either a 'J' or a 'D'. It was just a name. I will never see her again and that is a fucking fact. I do not care to see her again because it does not matter. I have seen all I need to in this life. Too much, in fact. I saw the goddess and her enormous, beautiful eyes looking at me. ME. I will never understand. There was more, and I have no fucking Goddamned idea if I appreciated it enough at the time. That has been eating away at my insides for more than a year and I cannot recover. I saw it, right there in living color and inches from my fucking deviant eyes. I recorded it in my brain. I saw it. All of it. And at a time when I had nearly given up on the possibility. I've seen plenty. Fucking believe it. The beauty that defies description. Galactic mistakes. They are so large that I cannot fathom the magnitude. An earthquake in my memory. Yes, that girl's name was lovely, as were her dark eyes, but in the end it did not fucking matter. Soon I will match that fact. I will be across the line, mired, sunken, sullen, and more gray than this fucking entry. Are you wondering who owned the voice from the end of that last entry? The diary? Keep wondering. My arm brace is cutting the skin. Off it goes. Just another weakness illuminated. How many more? The girl at the door? Was she a weakness? Of course, but a manageable one. She is gone forever and I do not fucking give half a shit. There will be others before long and I will care the same. Issue one is the least of my worries, even when it leads to four. But that will not happen again because my arms are failing. Flailing? Not yet. But soon. I will no longer need them. Just a crack. Just one. Done. Heh... One and done, a bar expression. Where am I going with this? Nowhere, as my head. A void. A worthless waste of effort along with every single fucking thing I have ever attempted. The goddess knew. She always knew. Her eyes told me. Clearly, confidently, beautifully. Always. And here I am sans goddess. Do I seem like things are on the up? Another soul affected and painfully aware of me. Splendid. Fuck me. The mind-bending calculation that I could be free of issue two was a falsehood. It was bad, very bad. That is what takes place when I 'think' I have an idea of what may be good for me or helpful. I thought it would disappear and leave me alone. The truth? Worse. Now everything spins inside my head each day despite me feeling as if I made it out of something so overwhelmingly difficult. I thought I had a solution, but alas I made it worse. Again. For the tenth fucking time, I used my supposedly brilliant mind to map out where I needed to go for self-preservation and failed. There is that word again. Failed. One within another within another, like those fucking Ukrainian dolls that nest within each other and shrink with each discovery. Failure inside failure inside failure and on and on it went. I always think I know what to do and the best pathway out of something that hurts me and then I fall on my stupid face and end up worse. Can I fix it? Nope. I cannot fix anything aside from a fucking toilet. And sometimes that even goes bad. Flood, leak, broken parts, whatever. Nothing works. Not even when I have experience, and the experience of which I speak permeates everything in the world. I thought there was a way to be comfortable without worry. The only glaring downside was that group of issues. Can they kill me? Of course. Would they have killed me had I gone away long ago? Yes. What about if I chose something different when the fork of 2010 materialized? Yes. What about right now? Yes. No matter the circumstances, the issues are going to command me, sure as hell. I thought... I failed. Again. Issue two is now larger than ever, still expanding within my head and heart, and providing a clear arrow which points to the fucking state line. Any other attempt to move myself past something so significant and a subject full of more conjecture than anything in existence is going to fall away. Yes, I am weak over it and likely amplified the whole fucking shitaree myself throughout years of trying to keep my head around it, but the God's honest truth is that once the flare took place and lit my fucking brain on fire, that was the end of it. No more can I reason out of anything. It is killing me, even at this fairly comfortable moment. There it is, folks. Issue two wins. Yay! Who cares? I knew it, assholes. Issue three is pervasive and in order for me to get away from it, well... I cannot, really. Everywhere, all of the time. Other than completely isolating as I did during the better part of eleven, my only option is avoiding others. That sounds good anyway. It began four days ago, so we shall see if such a decision proves effective. I have done this in the past, however not for a terribly long period of time. My reasoning back then was a bit different. Now? It's bad. I need to be away from those things which hurt. Self-preservation. And if that means people wonder why, so be it. The last thing I will do is explain myself. Perhaps the three people scattered to the corners of the earth that read this shit will get it. I don't care. I am tired of maintaining such a heavy facade for years and then trying to fit in while behind it. I do not agree. In fact, I disagree to such an extent that those next to me could not possibly follow along if I were to draw a fucking flowchart. Fuck it, to the four walls we go, gladly. Work will intrude, but the resources offset the routine enough to make it worthwhile (mostly). Issue three has grown over the years, relates directly to one and two, and nearly was the death of me more than once. Separating myself from the sheep seems the only way to create the space I need to live. The issue will remain, but at least only in my head. One and two? Fuck it. They will all combine and kill me soon enough. All I can do is my best. Time will tell, but you will not know. Two decades ago I was not so uptight about three. Sitting here now, I do not know of a difference other than the shit of society slowly chewing away my patience (and I have been painfully fucking patient with people). Every type of media, imagery which permeates the Internet, and my built-up anxiety over what can take place during social gatherings has all summed. Sometime during the past few months, a line formed and has been shoved behind me. I cannot turn around, understand, or reason my way out of this. One possibility is my sensitivity flaring last fall. I remember having much trouble during the last weeks of the calendar year, and my concern became much worse as the new year approached. Turning the page from one year to the next is never easy. Coupled with the issues I have and the fact that everything multiplied during the lead-up to the second of January helped to solidify my feelings about three. Number two was there and lit a second fire which then burned my ability to rise. Add the clock moving ahead an hour and that is that. One, two, three, four, me. This is me. Did I make them? No, but after so much time I have no choice other than dealing with them as best I can. Too much fear, threat, physical difficulty, and weakness. Obsession. Torment. Pain. Just like right now, parked in the city and seeing boots beneath the legs of goddesses. Trotting along to wherever, looking like a map of my brain, and forcing the issue to catch fire. Again. Like that girl more than a week ago. Still in there, still causing too much thinking, and continuing to push me down. Fuck. That one is most decidedly me. Tired. The Raven and I had a long conversation about three. She parroted Andrea in telling me that the differences in my personality from others were severe, very clear, and forced me into a type She had never known. Beautiful, unique (again) and intriguing. Childlike in some ways and very adult in others. I loved the way She understood, listened, and learned. That went away a short time later and I did not experience another like Her for years. And then everything flooded me and caused all manner of problems within. Concerns which had melted away with time returned and slammed me into a mental fetal position until the issues were explored. I was reminded of the Raven's sensitivity to my condition during that time. She always listened with wide eyes and open heart. That took place a second time just on the other side of a line which formed in my head. It was immovable, and remains as such. That is one aspect of the framework that will keep me away from society as much as possible. From limitless options years ago I am now reduced to one. Nothing is pleasant any longer. Memories, train wrecks, mistakes. The fact that I cannot deny is that I placed myself in the position to be affected by things I knew I would have been better avoided. I did it anyway, sometimes for comfort and other times excitement. Why? I don't have the first damned clue. Part of it may be the idea that I have always needed to run away when things became dire -- both to isolate from others and to be alone just in case I felt weak enough to destroy myself -- and though others hated it, I did not care. The feelings are returning... Those little inklings of need that can force me to pack my shit and hop in the car. Freedom, decisions, a place where others do not know of me or my issues, quiet, isolation, and the space to think as I need and work through things before actually driving into a bridge abutment. Perhaps that would happen, perhaps not. No one is to know for certain, but the idea of not thinking any longer is extremely enticing, especially after the past few months. Recently I felt that keeping myself safe would help to ease issue two but the opposite took place. It still is. The imagery and over-analysis will not stop at all and I am becoming so fucking exhausted that thinking is pain. To end that may be worth missing out on the future. I do not see many possibilities there anyway, so a trip east may have to happen in order for me to work it out. Maybe. Right now I just do not know and need to remain alone until such time as I can deal with people without lashing. I keep picturing the Raven standing in Her mother's living room and screaming that we were going to leave town for good. She grabbed Her cat and dropped into my car, full of tears. In a split-second I had to decide whether or not Her delusion could continue or if I should force Her to return home and cool the hell off. That night was insane, and represented the beginning of us being much closer (very good) and vying for more time together (very bad). Before long? Doom, in more ways than one. I have not recovered. She looked so fucking cute standing there in those low-rise jeans, leather boots, and with hair flying around as She spoke with her hands. God damn I miss Her so much. I am worried, and not all of it is directed at myself. There is one other person in the world over which I still agonize daily. Tracey was there for a short time, but that went bad. I had to send her an extremely unpleasant message once I learned of her motives, and thank Christ the entire exchange did not last more than mere days. In the beginning she was there for me to bounce thoughts -- and that didn't work well anyway because I will not discuss anything with anyone without masking the subject so much that they cannot understand -- and that seemed like a good idea. Her cute responses and supportive nature boosted the day here and there. Unfortunately, I am not the person with which to toy. Upon realizing that everything had been false, I torched it all. And for someone unfamiliar with my harsh nature, her reaction was worth every fucking syllable. Do I miss her? Nope. I only miss my vision of what I thought could be a friend. I will not let that happen again because the only recipient of my words is now the fucking keyboard. I will speak to no one. They are all worthless when it comes to exploration, so shutting it off is my only option. I miss it, but the necessity outweighs any possible benefit. She was nice, however I should have known from the beginning. I just should have known that something good is not going to come along. That was the fucking rub. I know better than to think I can fall into something warm and sensitive, caring and understanding, in this fucking day and age and in a world full of horseshit. Fuck you, I did it anyway because I was desperate. I have nothing and no one any longer and that fact is chewing me inside. Death? No chewing. And don't get all fucking bent out of shape for Christ's sake. No one controls me. 'This loss is crippling and all-encompassing. I cannot escape the feelings of sadness and emptiness. During most days, all else matters not. I simply dream and regret and wallow. I fall. I fall endlessly, and said fall continues at this moment. There will never be another. Fucking never. She was THE one. Oh, of course there are many other works of art out there to gaze upon, but what goes on inside will remain a mystery. She added to me and I added to Her. That is such an unusual situation that the entire thought is difficult to process. As a matter of fact, I have seldom been able to consider Her enormous impact on myself in clear terms. The feeling of being close was warm, inviting, comforting, and peaceful. Just to gaze brought me above the shit of each day's trials. Her eyes brought me a solace which is otherwise nonexistent in this world. She provided such in abundance... Even while in the midst of issues. Just as others may occasionally say: Each person is unique. I am forced to agree, and She was an example of that statement. In more than ten years of very pointed searching, She was one. Just one out of the billions. And the one that found me -- waiting, needing, yearning -- and She filled those desires earnestly and honestly. As unlikely as this sounds, She quickly felt for me very nearly what I felt for Her. Of all the worthless wastes of space in this piece of shit society, She was the one beautiful person which fulfilled me... Completely. And that person is fucking gone. Let the hatred amplify and continue to my fucking end.' God damn that girl was adorable. When we sat at lunch or dinner and were quiet for a little while, I would look at Her face and see that little eye twitch which sent my heart into orbit. So fucking cute. And then those huge doe eyes would turn to me and force the planet sideways. Aside from running out of town that night with Her cat in tow, I would have done anything for Her. Maybe I should have run away that night. Who knows what may have taken place afterward? Being wrapped in Her arms was the pinnacle of life, so maybe that could have carried on a bit longer. I don't fucking know and second-guessing decisions is not supposed to be a good idea. One thing I have noted throughout the last several years is issue two did not have time to get off the ground back then. I have spent many days and weeks recalling our time together, and as I think of situations and trials through which we traveled over mere months, I know that it would have gripped me eventually. Knowing what I do now, that would have caused more destruction than I was equipped to handle at the time. After just five years passed since the Brunette and a lifetime of emotional damage, the likelihood of some sort of implosion has advanced, and right now I feel that there was no possibility of survival. It did not happen, however the reason we were cut short on time is unrelated. The Raven was just too much in many ways, and I honestly believe that more time together would have resulted in a very negative situation. My understanding of Her desire to be with me is still absent, but I love Her. After years of analyzing and remembering every aspect of Her and my need to be close, I have concluded that She had an effect upon me unlike anything in my life and there is a void within caused by Her loss. I learned nothing, wallowed excessively, and lashed out at anyone nearby for a very long time. I am now less than I had been, and I was not much before that time. I am mired in dissatisfaction, a lack of fulfillment, and what is referred to as major depressive disorder. The preceding months have shown me that whatever strength I once possessed is waning badly. My control over small issues and dealing with others is also diminishing. Between here and there, I chose here. I did that in a very uncomfortable manner and left everything very broken. My reasoning at the time has not changed weeks later. There was no out other than leaving. The sides are very different, one is frightening due to my nature, and the other offers a small percentage of what I need in order to maintain some semblance of a daily life and the ability to function around others. As stated above, the latter is quickly going away. That is both good and bad, but mostly in the positive so I can sit and accept it. Issue two is continuing to push me down and flare out of control at times, leaving me a heap of worry and discomfort even worse than the period of isolation in eleven. At that time I had nearly zero contact with anyone, drank everything in sight, and ran out of town often enough to force those who cared for me to turn their backs after being treated as second-class and unimportant. That period is about to be replicated. I see no other way out or up. I cannot handle what is swirling in my head and I cannot distract myself enough to avoid the pain of knowing what I do not wish. I left things in a bad state and am not proud of it. Nothing can improve me, no one can expect to speak with me and get through, and any location will be a reminder of adventures both near and far passed. In short, I fucked everything up yet again and have no faith in my ability to continue life in this manner. Too much is eating away parts of me, and as much as I deserve to be unhappy, I cannot go on without being able to extricate memories and vast amounts of information that cut me almost constantly. I am frightened out of my mind during at least half of each day. The bliss and understanding which I let go are stabbing me constantly, but the other side of that world cannot help me. Scared here, scared there, no matter what I do it does not go away. Nothing helps and I question myself several times during the course of any given hour. This is ruining me. No one can help. Too afraid and completely alone. I did it all. 'Here I sit day after day looking to the door in yearning. The door is there, so close to me, waiting for my approach. The door will not flinch when I threaten, nor will it forgive when I cower... It waits, quietly. The door awaits me every day and every night. Long, dark nights seemingly with no end and running headlong into long, bright days equally endless and downtrodden. The nights hide the door from my view but I know it is there waiting and watching... Almost calling. The door needs me as I need it. It needs me to come and find the answers and I need it to await my exit. The door must wait until I am ready... And it does. Patiently waiting and watching, never beckoning or commanding, and I see it across the room. I see my door and my door stares back knowing that I need to know what it can bring my way. I will walk through that door and travel to the Promised Land, and that time fast approaches.' I'd be lying if I said issue four is not a part of this. Everything is related, from the pressure to the pain to the visits to any restroom. Everything is a reminder of how vastly damaged and chronically emotional I have become after so many years. All of it... Issue one leads to four, two leads to three and then to four, one leads to four, you fucking name it. How I survived this long is a complete mystery. The recent time spent learning of the effects and how far down they can press me after a single word, image or reference have shown me just how difficult a single day can be. For years I have gone on about the little periods of joy and small pleasures that keep me upright, however they are diminishing quickly and leaving me in a hole lined with issues, memories, and piles of references to all that causes pain. The joys are giving way because they are not enough. I cannot get away. Nothing is far enough. The key is the fact that so much of it is deep inside. A person cannot escape themselves. Throw me a therapist and I'll show you just how effective I can be at alienating and railroading even the most fervent and steadfast professional. They will end up in a corner with nary a way out. I'm too fucking good at it. If a change becomes illuminated, you might see it here. Otherwise, farewell. I wish things had been different when I was young. Welcome to issue five. End of fucking line." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Obsession, Threat, Pervasion, Death Mature content No. 120 Published March 11th, 2020 6:09am pdt read ( words) Past entries "The universe is gray and fading. The colors are gone. No more waiting for autumn, no more waiting for football season, no more waiting for the clock to fall back an hour, and no more waiting for good things to occur. In high school, my buddy and I used to ride our bicycles up into Mission San Jose and toward a particular house I loved to see. We fantasized about coming in to a large fortune, buying that house, and setting up our music studio within. That was the biggest and most far-fetched dream I had at the time. Even before the simple yet complex vision of actually being with a woman, the house and our desire to play music, record, and enjoy the time was everything. All summer long we rode up there and built our future one step at a time. As the years passed, that house and neighborhood changed, as did our hopes. I am no longer in contact with him, and just as our connection faded as life moved along, the dream of being where I wished has equally faded. Now? Everything is gone. All of it. As you read these words, mark it. There will no longer be additions to this web space. Nothing new will appear. I will continue to write -- both fiction and non -- yet none of it will be published. The outlet has been false, just as my view of the future. Thirty-plus years of becoming mired within reality, coupled with forty-plus years of being so horribly damaged have resulted in this current state of gray. Expect no good. No up. No nothing. Day after day after miserable fucking day, the comforts and small doses of joy have carried me along while large sections have fallen away. The last just fell moments ago. Pain, damaging behavior, and the truth of that which I am capable have finally summed. That number is not good. It is not something I thought would actually take place, but it is here nonetheless. Fuck it. I am done. A few words toward the 'why' are below. All is lost. The threat had been absent for years. Unfortunately, that was due to a fucking shit situation that I created out of a need to be comfortable. I've done it before, but will not do it again. The prior attempts to control such a situation failed miserably, had me vying for pills and guns, and nearly killed two people while within the warmth of a very sexual embrace. A bubble, if you will. The threat was overwhelming and destroyed me for a time. My fear was nearly all within, however some time after I realized that I am a human being and deserved some sort of consideration, I learned that the threat was very real, very close, and the realization that I could be the end of it. Well, I never did anything about it and continued to suffer, just as I am now. The source was removed in the worst possible sense, and then I scattered my fucking self to the corners of the world to get away. I did not wish to hear commentary while the revolver was loaded and ready. I needed to be away from everyone and everything. I needed to drown within understanding and I fucking found it. Damaged, just like her, yet with a mutual need for 'genuine'. I fucking found it, ran my ass off in whatever direction was necessary, and told those who knew me to go and fuck themselves in a frozen fucking hole. Yep, that felt good. It still does all these years later, and I cannot WAIT to do it for the last time. Everyone. Every fucking soul who has been associated with me in one way or another for the last fifty-three years. Yes, that includes you, idiots. Suck it like overpaid whores. When I cross the state line, 'Mombasa' will be playing loud enough for Christ himself to fucking hear it. And soon after, he can shove the silence up his ancient ass. I must see what I need to see, drink what I need to drink, eat what I need to eat. Simple, right? Shove your opinion up your fucking boxes. Issues one, two, three, four. Well, number one is something which developed over a period of decades, two is out of my control (unless isolated from everyone), three is something I will not go into, and four is a problem that I thought I could keep reined in but was apparently way off the mark. I was stupid, weak, and tried to calm myself about it by reasoning the past and my current condition as a way to compensate something I loathe. Well, I was fucking dead wrong. Heh, dead. That should be funny. To be honest, I have dealt with issue one for a very long time, explored the hows and whys for what seems an eternity, and in the end decided that my feelings about it are not wrong. They simply exist. There is no right or wrong, and considering some of the fucking people in this world, well, the deviant nature no longer appears as such. At least, not to that degree. I felt that in the beginning due to having no confidante nor any research-based support of any kind. Now? I still do not like it because I cannot explore. It hurts. Everything hurts. And after calculating that issues one and four are related and have to do with my daily physical health, there was simply no easy way to help myself. There have been others who understood and even told me I am beautiful and unique because of the correlation. Insane, right? I thought so. Honestly, I still feel that the interest and obsession are unnatural to the point of being extremely difficult to explain. Nearly all of the time it is bottled up, compacted, filed away, and becomes very hurtful. My heart aches, I find that the mere thought of being unable to embrace such an obsession piles up inside me over time, and the resulting issue four rears its head and leaves me feeling suicidal on a weekly basis. That is not good. Years of it? Along with a distinct lack of outlet? I am dying inside. Dying. After careful consideration and calculation, I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way to cease that issue from harming me and making me feel less than a man. Guess. 'Falling Away' was only the beginning. 'Sex and Suicide' was the continuation. Read it. Them. All of them. Whatever. Fuck it anyway. Who cares? And do it quickly. The archive is going to be destroyed seven days after this moves to the production environment. 'Standing outside in the cool morning air and awaiting work, I often look to the sky and its constellations if the weather is clear. Right now I'm not terribly happy because Ursa Major is all sideways as we head uphill toward summer, and the position means Ursa Minor is difficult to see. This morning? Well, looking toward the north-northeast, I spotted what appeared to be a satellite cruising across from west to east with its steady light. Not an aircraft. No strobes. Just east of that point, I viewed somewhat of a distorted version of Ursa Minor, except longer and less square. A triangle of three stars with three more as a tail of sorts, but they were moving. Yes, moving. All six at the same velocity. I stared, just above the tree line, for a moment before looking left to see several more, evenly spaced, also cruising along in a very straight line. In total I may have seen ten. The distance between each of the single points of light was consistent other than the triangle that led. Butterflies, especially after decades of watching science fiction films. Well, that lasted only to the evening. After considering wondrous possibilities all fucking day, I learned that I was seeing a line of satellites launched by a company for which I previously performed research. Space research. Aerodynamics. A controlled atmosphere through which a projectile was launched at hypervelocity to be photographed and studied/measured in flight. Yes, I supported that. Years of it. And the main contact was a woman I drooled over for weeks. That was me. Is me. Will continue to be me. Fuck it, just me.' I had such hopes. Looking at my name brings all manner of emotional turmoil. Just my name. Those hopes and some recognition along with another person seeing my name add up to more gray. Just fucking GRAY. I do not like it. All of my accomplishments were tempered by failures, and those failures defined more of me than the aforementioned good stuff. Why? Because I let it happen. I made it happen. I failed, and I even failed within failing. Huh? What? Read it, dumbass. When I failed, other failures were either related or repeated. Fucking figure it out. Too much? There is more. Much more. The girl last Friday night seems to have become an end in and of herself. On the heels of that, I made a massive mistake elsewhere by attempting to connect enough with a woman to photograph her hands. Yes, just her hands. That was likely the tenth time I have tried to do so, and that means I am done. Finished. I can no longer accept myself for this interest. The girl from Friday night was a name, yet one that appeared in the last entry and hearing it threw me for a loop. The name is lovely and unusual. Having just completed that section of the story and hearing her fucking name the same day took me by surprise. I reacted a bit at hearing her state the name and then went away as I always do. I tried to understand from where this fucking mindset birthed, but to no avail. I stood at the base of the steps during the show and greeted nearly twenty others that I have known for years. Most of them were female. My acquaintances from the bar throughout the entire time I have been associated, and many were smiling when they said hello and hugged me. After twenty minutes of that, the gentleman behind me tapped my shoulder and asked if I owned the place. Heh. No, I just know plenty of people. But not that girl at the door. The one with the fucking name that floored me. Was it her looks? Partially. She was cute, yet not aligned with issue one. After passing her several times to head through the front door for a cigarette, we gained a rapport of sorts. A smile, a wave... Something. None of that mattered, really. Just the name. I find it beautiful, just as any name beginning with either a 'J' or a 'D'. It was just a name. I will never see her again and that is a fucking fact. I do not care to see her again because it does not matter. I have seen all I need to in this life. Too much, in fact. I saw the goddess and her enormous, beautiful eyes looking at me. ME. I will never understand. There was more, and I have no fucking Goddamned idea if I appreciated it enough at the time. That has been eating away at my insides for more than a year and I cannot recover. I saw it, right there in living color and inches from my fucking deviant eyes. I recorded it in my brain. I saw it. All of it. And at a time when I had nearly given up on the possibility. I've seen plenty. Fucking believe it. The beauty that defies description. Galactic mistakes. They are so large that I cannot fathom the magnitude. An earthquake in my memory. Yes, that girl's name was lovely, as were her dark eyes, but in the end it did not fucking matter. Soon I will match that fact. I will be across the line, mired, sunken, sullen, and more gray than this fucking entry. Are you wondering who owned the voice from the end of that last entry? The diary? Keep wondering. My arm brace is cutting the skin. Off it goes. Just another weakness illuminated. How many more? The girl at the door? Was she a weakness? Of course, but a manageable one. She is gone forever and I do not fucking give half a shit. There will be others before long and I will care the same. Issue one is the least of my worries, even when it leads to four. But that will not happen again because my arms are failing. Flailing? Not yet. But soon. I will no longer need them. Just a crack. Just one. Done. Heh... One and done, a bar expression. Where am I going with this? Nowhere, as my head. A void. A worthless waste of effort along with every single fucking thing I have ever attempted. The goddess knew. She always knew. Her eyes told me. Clearly, confidently, beautifully. Always. And here I am sans goddess. Do I seem like things are on the up? Another soul affected and painfully aware of me. Splendid. Fuck me. The mind-bending calculation that I could be free of issue two was a falsehood. It was bad, very bad. That is what takes place when I 'think' I have an idea of what may be good for me or helpful. I thought it would disappear and leave me alone. The truth? Worse. Now everything spins inside my head each day despite me feeling as if I made it out of something so overwhelmingly difficult. I thought I had a solution, but alas I made it worse. Again. For the tenth fucking time, I used my supposedly brilliant mind to map out where I needed to go for self-preservation and failed. There is that word again. Failed. One within another within another, like those fucking Ukrainian dolls that nest within each other and shrink with each discovery. Failure inside failure inside failure and on and on it went. I always think I know what to do and the best pathway out of something that hurts me and then I fall on my stupid face and end up worse. Can I fix it? Nope. I cannot fix anything aside from a fucking toilet. And sometimes that even goes bad. Flood, leak, broken parts, whatever. Nothing works. Not even when I have experience, and the experience of which I speak permeates everything in the world. I thought there was a way to be comfortable without worry. The only glaring downside was that group of issues. Can they kill me? Of course. Would they have killed me had I gone away long ago? Yes. What about if I chose something different when the fork of 2010 materialized? Yes. What about right now? Yes. No matter the circumstances, the issues are going to command me, sure as hell. I thought... I failed. Again. Issue two is now larger than ever, still expanding within my head and heart, and providing a clear arrow which points to the fucking state line. Any other attempt to move myself past something so significant and a subject full of more conjecture than anything in existence is going to fall away. Yes, I am weak over it and likely amplified the whole fucking shitaree myself throughout years of trying to keep my head around it, but the God's honest truth is that once the flare took place and lit my fucking brain on fire, that was the end of it. No more can I reason out of anything. It is killing me, even at this fairly comfortable moment. There it is, folks. Issue two wins. Yay! Who cares? I knew it, assholes. Issue three is pervasive and in order for me to get away from it, well... I cannot, really. Everywhere, all of the time. Other than completely isolating as I did during the better part of eleven, my only option is avoiding others. That sounds good anyway. It began four days ago, so we shall see if such a decision proves effective. I have done this in the past, however not for a terribly long period of time. My reasoning back then was a bit different. Now? It's bad. I need to be away from those things which hurt. Self-preservation. And if that means people wonder why, so be it. The last thing I will do is explain myself. Perhaps the three people scattered to the corners of the earth that read this shit will get it. I don't care. I am tired of maintaining such a heavy facade for years and then trying to fit in while behind it. I do not agree. In fact, I disagree to such an extent that those next to me could not possibly follow along if I were to draw a fucking flowchart. Fuck it, to the four walls we go, gladly. Work will intrude, but the resources offset the routine enough to make it worthwhile (mostly). Issue three has grown over the years, relates directly to one and two, and nearly was the death of me more than once. Separating myself from the sheep seems the only way to create the space I need to live. The issue will remain, but at least only in my head. One and two? Fuck it. They will all combine and kill me soon enough. All I can do is my best. Time will tell, but you will not know. Two decades ago I was not so uptight about three. Sitting here now, I do not know of a difference other than the shit of society slowly chewing away my patience (and I have been painfully fucking patient with people). Every type of media, imagery which permeates the Internet, and my built-up anxiety over what can take place during social gatherings has all summed. Sometime during the past few months, a line formed and has been shoved behind me. I cannot turn around, understand, or reason my way out of this. One possibility is my sensitivity flaring last fall. I remember having much trouble during the last weeks of the calendar year, and my concern became much worse as the new year approached. Turning the page from one year to the next is never easy. Coupled with the issues I have and the fact that everything multiplied during the lead-up to the second of January helped to solidify my feelings about three. Number two was there and lit a second fire which then burned my ability to rise. Add the clock moving ahead an hour and that is that. One, two, three, four, me. This is me. Did I make them? No, but after so much time I have no choice other than dealing with them as best I can. Too much fear, threat, physical difficulty, and weakness. Obsession. Torment. Pain. Just like right now, parked in the city and seeing boots beneath the legs of goddesses. Trotting along to wherever, looking like a map of my brain, and forcing the issue to catch fire. Again. Like that girl more than a week ago. Still in there, still causing too much thinking, and continuing to push me down. Fuck. That one is most decidedly me. Tired. The Raven and I had a long conversation about three. She parroted Andrea in telling me that the differences in my personality from others were severe, very clear, and forced me into a type She had never known. Beautiful, unique (again) and intriguing. Childlike in some ways and very adult in others. I loved the way She understood, listened, and learned. That went away a short time later and I did not experience another like Her for years. And then everything flooded me and caused all manner of problems within. Concerns which had melted away with time returned and slammed me into a mental fetal position until the issues were explored. I was reminded of the Raven's sensitivity to my condition during that time. She always listened with wide eyes and open heart. That took place a second time just on the other side of a line which formed in my head. It was immovable, and remains as such. That is one aspect of the framework that will keep me away from society as much as possible. From limitless options years ago I am now reduced to one. Nothing is pleasant any longer. Memories, train wrecks, mistakes. The fact that I cannot deny is that I placed myself in the position to be affected by things I knew I would have been better avoided. I did it anyway, sometimes for comfort and other times excitement. Why? I don't have the first damned clue. Part of it may be the idea that I have always needed to run away when things became dire -- both to isolate from others and to be alone just in case I felt weak enough to destroy myself -- and though others hated it, I did not care. The feelings are returning... Those little inklings of need that can force me to pack my shit and hop in the car. Freedom, decisions, a place where others do not know of me or my issues, quiet, isolation, and the space to think as I need and work through things before actually driving into a bridge abutment. Perhaps that would happen, perhaps not. No one is to know for certain, but the idea of not thinking any longer is extremely enticing, especially after the past few months. Recently I felt that keeping myself safe would help to ease issue two but the opposite took place. It still is. The imagery and over-analysis will not stop at all and I am becoming so fucking exhausted that thinking is pain. To end that may be worth missing out on the future. I do not see many possibilities there anyway, so a trip east may have to happen in order for me to work it out. Maybe. Right now I just do not know and need to remain alone until such time as I can deal with people without lashing. I keep picturing the Raven standing in Her mother's living room and screaming that we were going to leave town for good. She grabbed Her cat and dropped into my car, full of tears. In a split-second I had to decide whether or not Her delusion could continue or if I should force Her to return home and cool the hell off. That night was insane, and represented the beginning of us being much closer (very good) and vying for more time together (very bad). Before long? Doom, in more ways than one. I have not recovered. She looked so fucking cute standing there in those low-rise jeans, leather boots, and with hair flying around as She spoke with her hands. God damn I miss Her so much. I am worried, and not all of it is directed at myself. There is one other person in the world over which I still agonize daily. Tracey was there for a short time, but that went bad. I had to send her an extremely unpleasant message once I learned of her motives, and thank Christ the entire exchange did not last more than mere days. In the beginning she was there for me to bounce thoughts -- and that didn't work well anyway because I will not discuss anything with anyone without masking the subject so much that they cannot understand -- and that seemed like a good idea. Her cute responses and supportive nature boosted the day here and there. Unfortunately, I am not the person with which to toy. Upon realizing that everything had been false, I torched it all. And for someone unfamiliar with my harsh nature, her reaction was worth every fucking syllable. Do I miss her? Nope. I only miss my vision of what I thought could be a friend. I will not let that happen again because the only recipient of my words is now the fucking keyboard. I will speak to no one. They are all worthless when it comes to exploration, so shutting it off is my only option. I miss it, but the necessity outweighs any possible benefit. She was nice, however I should have known from the beginning. I just should have known that something good is not going to come along. That was the fucking rub. I know better than to think I can fall into something warm and sensitive, caring and understanding, in this fucking day and age and in a world full of horseshit. Fuck you, I did it anyway because I was desperate. I have nothing and no one any longer and that fact is chewing me inside. Death? No chewing. And don't get all fucking bent out of shape for Christ's sake. No one controls me. 'This loss is crippling and all-encompassing. I cannot escape the feelings of sadness and emptiness. During most days, all else matters not. I simply dream and regret and wallow. I fall. I fall endlessly, and said fall continues at this moment. There will never be another. Fucking never. She was THE one. Oh, of course there are many other works of art out there to gaze upon, but what goes on inside will remain a mystery. She added to me and I added to Her. That is such an unusual situation that the entire thought is difficult to process. As a matter of fact, I have seldom been able to consider Her enormous impact on myself in clear terms. The feeling of being close was warm, inviting, comforting, and peaceful. Just to gaze brought me above the shit of each day's trials. Her eyes brought me a solace which is otherwise nonexistent in this world. She provided such in abundance... Even while in the midst of issues. Just as others may occasionally say: Each person is unique. I am forced to agree, and She was an example of that statement. In more than ten years of very pointed searching, She was one. Just one out of the billions. And the one that found me -- waiting, needing, yearning -- and She filled those desires earnestly and honestly. As unlikely as this sounds, She quickly felt for me very nearly what I felt for Her. Of all the worthless wastes of space in this piece of shit society, She was the one beautiful person which fulfilled me... Completely. And that person is fucking gone. Let the hatred amplify and continue to my fucking end.' God damn that girl was adorable. When we sat at lunch or dinner and were quiet for a little while, I would look at Her face and see that little eye twitch which sent my heart into orbit. So fucking cute. And then those huge doe eyes would turn to me and force the planet sideways. Aside from running out of town that night with Her cat in tow, I would have done anything for Her. Maybe I should have run away that night. Who knows what may have taken place afterward? Being wrapped in Her arms was the pinnacle of life, so maybe that could have carried on a bit longer. I don't fucking know and second-guessing decisions is not supposed to be a good idea. One thing I have noted throughout the last several years is issue two did not have time to get off the ground back then. I have spent many days and weeks recalling our time together, and as I think of situations and trials through which we traveled over mere months, I know that it would have gripped me eventually. Knowing what I do now, that would have caused more destruction than I was equipped to handle at the time. After just five years passed since the Brunette and a lifetime of emotional damage, the likelihood of some sort of implosion has advanced, and right now I feel that there was no possibility of survival. It did not happen, however the reason we were cut short on time is unrelated. The Raven was just too much in many ways, and I honestly believe that more time together would have resulted in a very negative situation. My understanding of Her desire to be with me is still absent, but I love Her. After years of analyzing and remembering every aspect of Her and my need to be close, I have concluded that She had an effect upon me unlike anything in my life and there is a void within caused by Her loss. I learned nothing, wallowed excessively, and lashed out at anyone nearby for a very long time. I am now less than I had been, and I was not much before that time. I am mired in dissatisfaction, a lack of fulfillment, and what is referred to as major depressive disorder. The preceding months have shown me that whatever strength I once possessed is waning badly. My control over small issues and dealing with others is also diminishing. Between here and there, I chose here. I did that in a very uncomfortable manner and left everything very broken. My reasoning at the time has not changed weeks later. There was no out other than leaving. The sides are very different, one is frightening due to my nature, and the other offers a small percentage of what I need in order to maintain some semblance of a daily life and the ability to function around others. As stated above, the latter is quickly going away. That is both good and bad, but mostly in the positive so I can sit and accept it. Issue two is continuing to push me down and flare out of control at times, leaving me a heap of worry and discomfort even worse than the period of isolation in eleven. At that time I had nearly zero contact with anyone, drank everything in sight, and ran out of town often enough to force those who cared for me to turn their backs after being treated as second-class and unimportant. That period is about to be replicated. I see no other way out or up. I cannot handle what is swirling in my head and I cannot distract myself enough to avoid the pain of knowing what I do not wish. I left things in a bad state and am not proud of it. Nothing can improve me, no one can expect to speak with me and get through, and any location will be a reminder of adventures both near and far passed. In short, I fucked everything up yet again and have no faith in my ability to continue life in this manner. Too much is eating away parts of me, and as much as I deserve to be unhappy, I cannot go on without being able to extricate memories and vast amounts of information that cut me almost constantly. I am frightened out of my mind during at least half of each day. The bliss and understanding which I let go are stabbing me constantly, but the other side of that world cannot help me. Scared here, scared there, no matter what I do it does not go away. Nothing helps and I question myself several times during the course of any given hour. This is ruining me. No one can help. Too afraid and completely alone. I did it all. 'Here I sit day after day looking to the door in yearning. The door is there, so close to me, waiting for my approach. The door will not flinch when I threaten, nor will it forgive when I cower... It waits, quietly. The door awaits me every day and every night. Long, dark nights seemingly with no end and running headlong into long, bright days equally endless and downtrodden. The nights hide the door from my view but I know it is there waiting and watching... Almost calling. The door needs me as I need it. It needs me to come and find the answers and I need it to await my exit. The door must wait until I am ready... And it does. Patiently waiting and watching, never beckoning or commanding, and I see it across the room. I see my door and my door stares back knowing that I need to know what it can bring my way. I will walk through that door and travel to the Promised Land, and that time fast approaches.' I'd be lying if I said issue four is not a part of this. Everything is related, from the pressure to the pain to the visits to any restroom. Everything is a reminder of how vastly damaged and chronically emotional I have become after so many years. All of it... Issue one leads to four, two leads to three and then to four, one leads to four, you fucking name it. How I survived this long is a complete mystery. The recent time spent learning of the effects and how far down they can press me after a single word, image or reference have shown me just how difficult a single day can be. For years I have gone on about the little periods of joy and small pleasures that keep me upright, however they are diminishing quickly and leaving me in a hole lined with issues, memories, and piles of references to all that causes pain. The joys are giving way because they are not enough. I cannot get away. Nothing is far enough. The key is the fact that so much of it is deep inside. A person cannot escape themselves. Throw me a therapist and I'll show you just how effective I can be at alienating and railroading even the most fervent and steadfast professional. They will end up in a corner with nary a way out. I'm too fucking good at it. If a change becomes illuminated, you might see it here. Otherwise, farewell. I wish things had been different when I was young. Welcome to issue five. End of fucking line."
Obsession, Threat, Pervasion, Death
Mature content No. 120 Published March 11th, 2020 6:09am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"The universe is gray and fading. The colors are gone. No more waiting for autumn, no more waiting for football season, no more waiting for the clock to fall back an hour, and no more waiting for good things to occur. In high school, my buddy and I used to ride our bicycles up into Mission San Jose and toward a particular house I loved to see. We fantasized about coming in to a large fortune, buying that house, and setting up our music studio within. That was the biggest and most far-fetched dream I had at the time. Even before the simple yet complex vision of actually being with a woman, the house and our desire to play music, record, and enjoy the time was everything. All summer long we rode up there and built our future one step at a time. As the years passed, that house and neighborhood changed, as did our hopes. I am no longer in contact with him, and just as our connection faded as life moved along, the dream of being where I wished has equally faded. Now? Everything is gone. All of it. As you read these words, mark it. There will no longer be additions to this web space. Nothing new will appear. I will continue to write -- both fiction and non -- yet none of it will be published. The outlet has been false, just as my view of the future. Thirty-plus years of becoming mired within reality, coupled with forty-plus years of being so horribly damaged have resulted in this current state of gray. Expect no good. No up. No nothing. Day after day after miserable fucking day, the comforts and small doses of joy have carried me along while large sections have fallen away. The last just fell moments ago. Pain, damaging behavior, and the truth of that which I am capable have finally summed. That number is not good. It is not something I thought would actually take place, but it is here nonetheless. Fuck it. I am done. A few words toward the 'why' are below. All is lost. The threat had been absent for years. Unfortunately, that was due to a fucking shit situation that I created out of a need to be comfortable. I've done it before, but will not do it again. The prior attempts to control such a situation failed miserably, had me vying for pills and guns, and nearly killed two people while within the warmth of a very sexual embrace. A bubble, if you will. The threat was overwhelming and destroyed me for a time. My fear was nearly all within, however some time after I realized that I am a human being and deserved some sort of consideration, I learned that the threat was very real, very close, and the realization that I could be the end of it. Well, I never did anything about it and continued to suffer, just as I am now. The source was removed in the worst possible sense, and then I scattered my fucking self to the corners of the world to get away. I did not wish to hear commentary while the revolver was loaded and ready. I needed to be away from everyone and everything. I needed to drown within understanding and I fucking found it. Damaged, just like her, yet with a mutual need for 'genuine'. I fucking found it, ran my ass off in whatever direction was necessary, and told those who knew me to go and fuck themselves in a frozen fucking hole. Yep, that felt good. It still does all these years later, and I cannot WAIT to do it for the last time. Everyone. Every fucking soul who has been associated with me in one way or another for the last fifty-three years. Yes, that includes you, idiots. Suck it like overpaid whores. When I cross the state line, 'Mombasa' will be playing loud enough for Christ himself to fucking hear it. And soon after, he can shove the silence up his ancient ass. I must see what I need to see, drink what I need to drink, eat what I need to eat. Simple, right? Shove your opinion up your fucking boxes. Issues one, two, three, four. Well, number one is something which developed over a period of decades, two is out of my control (unless isolated from everyone), three is something I will not go into, and four is a problem that I thought I could keep reined in but was apparently way off the mark. I was stupid, weak, and tried to calm myself about it by reasoning the past and my current condition as a way to compensate something I loathe. Well, I was fucking dead wrong. Heh, dead. That should be funny. To be honest, I have dealt with issue one for a very long time, explored the hows and whys for what seems an eternity, and in the end decided that my feelings about it are not wrong. They simply exist. There is no right or wrong, and considering some of the fucking people in this world, well, the deviant nature no longer appears as such. At least, not to that degree. I felt that in the beginning due to having no confidante nor any research-based support of any kind. Now? I still do not like it because I cannot explore. It hurts. Everything hurts. And after calculating that issues one and four are related and have to do with my daily physical health, there was simply no easy way to help myself. There have been others who understood and even told me I am beautiful and unique because of the correlation. Insane, right? I thought so. Honestly, I still feel that the interest and obsession are unnatural to the point of being extremely difficult to explain. Nearly all of the time it is bottled up, compacted, filed away, and becomes very hurtful. My heart aches, I find that the mere thought of being unable to embrace such an obsession piles up inside me over time, and the resulting issue four rears its head and leaves me feeling suicidal on a weekly basis. That is not good. Years of it? Along with a distinct lack of outlet? I am dying inside. Dying. After careful consideration and calculation, I have come to the conclusion that there is only one way to cease that issue from harming me and making me feel less than a man. Guess. 'Falling Away' was only the beginning. 'Sex and Suicide' was the continuation. Read it. Them. All of them. Whatever. Fuck it anyway. Who cares? And do it quickly. The archive is going to be destroyed seven days after this moves to the production environment.
'Standing outside in the cool morning air and awaiting work, I often look to the sky and its constellations if the weather is clear. Right now I'm not terribly happy because Ursa Major is all sideways as we head uphill toward summer, and the position means Ursa Minor is difficult to see. This morning? Well, looking toward the north-northeast, I spotted what appeared to be a satellite cruising across from west to east with its steady light. Not an aircraft. No strobes. Just east of that point, I viewed somewhat of a distorted version of Ursa Minor, except longer and less square. A triangle of three stars with three more as a tail of sorts, but they were moving. Yes, moving. All six at the same velocity. I stared, just above the tree line, for a moment before looking left to see several more, evenly spaced, also cruising along in a very straight line. In total I may have seen ten. The distance between each of the single points of light was consistent other than the triangle that led. Butterflies, especially after decades of watching science fiction films. Well, that lasted only to the evening. After considering wondrous possibilities all fucking day, I learned that I was seeing a line of satellites launched by a company for which I previously performed research. Space research. Aerodynamics. A controlled atmosphere through which a projectile was launched at hypervelocity to be photographed and studied/measured in flight. Yes, I supported that. Years of it. And the main contact was a woman I drooled over for weeks. That was me. Is me. Will continue to be me. Fuck it, just me.'
I had such hopes. Looking at my name brings all manner of emotional turmoil. Just my name. Those hopes and some recognition along with another person seeing my name add up to more gray. Just fucking GRAY. I do not like it. All of my accomplishments were tempered by failures, and those failures defined more of me than the aforementioned good stuff. Why? Because I let it happen. I made it happen. I failed, and I even failed within failing. Huh? What? Read it, dumbass. When I failed, other failures were either related or repeated. Fucking figure it out. Too much? There is more. Much more. The girl last Friday night seems to have become an end in and of herself. On the heels of that, I made a massive mistake elsewhere by attempting to connect enough with a woman to photograph her hands. Yes, just her hands. That was likely the tenth time I have tried to do so, and that means I am done. Finished. I can no longer accept myself for this interest. The girl from Friday night was a name, yet one that appeared in the last entry and hearing it threw me for a loop. The name is lovely and unusual. Having just completed that section of the story and hearing her fucking name the same day took me by surprise. I reacted a bit at hearing her state the name and then went away as I always do. I tried to understand from where this fucking mindset birthed, but to no avail. I stood at the base of the steps during the show and greeted nearly twenty others that I have known for years. Most of them were female. My acquaintances from the bar throughout the entire time I have been associated, and many were smiling when they said hello and hugged me. After twenty minutes of that, the gentleman behind me tapped my shoulder and asked if I owned the place. Heh. No, I just know plenty of people. But not that girl at the door. The one with the fucking name that floored me. Was it her looks? Partially. She was cute, yet not aligned with issue one. After passing her several times to head through the front door for a cigarette, we gained a rapport of sorts. A smile, a wave... Something. None of that mattered, really. Just the name. I find it beautiful, just as any name beginning with either a 'J' or a 'D'. It was just a name. I will never see her again and that is a fucking fact. I do not care to see her again because it does not matter. I have seen all I need to in this life. Too much, in fact. I saw the goddess and her enormous, beautiful eyes looking at me. ME. I will never understand. There was more, and I have no fucking Goddamned idea if I appreciated it enough at the time. That has been eating away at my insides for more than a year and I cannot recover. I saw it, right there in living color and inches from my fucking deviant eyes. I recorded it in my brain. I saw it. All of it. And at a time when I had nearly given up on the possibility. I've seen plenty. Fucking believe it. The beauty that defies description. Galactic mistakes. They are so large that I cannot fathom the magnitude. An earthquake in my memory. Yes, that girl's name was lovely, as were her dark eyes, but in the end it did not fucking matter. Soon I will match that fact. I will be across the line, mired, sunken, sullen, and more gray than this fucking entry. Are you wondering who owned the voice from the end of that last entry? The diary? Keep wondering. My arm brace is cutting the skin. Off it goes. Just another weakness illuminated. How many more? The girl at the door? Was she a weakness? Of course, but a manageable one. She is gone forever and I do not fucking give half a shit. There will be others before long and I will care the same. Issue one is the least of my worries, even when it leads to four. But that will not happen again because my arms are failing. Flailing? Not yet. But soon. I will no longer need them. Just a crack. Just one. Done. Heh... One and done, a bar expression. Where am I going with this? Nowhere, as my head. A void. A worthless waste of effort along with every single fucking thing I have ever attempted. The goddess knew. She always knew. Her eyes told me. Clearly, confidently, beautifully. Always. And here I am sans goddess. Do I seem like things are on the up? Another soul affected and painfully aware of me. Splendid. Fuck me.
The mind-bending calculation that I could be free of issue two was a falsehood. It was bad, very bad. That is what takes place when I 'think' I have an idea of what may be good for me or helpful. I thought it would disappear and leave me alone. The truth? Worse. Now everything spins inside my head each day despite me feeling as if I made it out of something so overwhelmingly difficult. I thought I had a solution, but alas I made it worse. Again. For the tenth fucking time, I used my supposedly brilliant mind to map out where I needed to go for self-preservation and failed. There is that word again. Failed. One within another within another, like those fucking Ukrainian dolls that nest within each other and shrink with each discovery. Failure inside failure inside failure and on and on it went. I always think I know what to do and the best pathway out of something that hurts me and then I fall on my stupid face and end up worse. Can I fix it? Nope. I cannot fix anything aside from a fucking toilet. And sometimes that even goes bad. Flood, leak, broken parts, whatever. Nothing works. Not even when I have experience, and the experience of which I speak permeates everything in the world. I thought there was a way to be comfortable without worry. The only glaring downside was that group of issues. Can they kill me? Of course. Would they have killed me had I gone away long ago? Yes. What about if I chose something different when the fork of 2010 materialized? Yes. What about right now? Yes. No matter the circumstances, the issues are going to command me, sure as hell. I thought... I failed. Again. Issue two is now larger than ever, still expanding within my head and heart, and providing a clear arrow which points to the fucking state line. Any other attempt to move myself past something so significant and a subject full of more conjecture than anything in existence is going to fall away. Yes, I am weak over it and likely amplified the whole fucking shitaree myself throughout years of trying to keep my head around it, but the God's honest truth is that once the flare took place and lit my fucking brain on fire, that was the end of it. No more can I reason out of anything. It is killing me, even at this fairly comfortable moment. There it is, folks. Issue two wins. Yay! Who cares? I knew it, assholes. Issue three is pervasive and in order for me to get away from it, well... I cannot, really. Everywhere, all of the time. Other than completely isolating as I did during the better part of eleven, my only option is avoiding others. That sounds good anyway. It began four days ago, so we shall see if such a decision proves effective. I have done this in the past, however not for a terribly long period of time. My reasoning back then was a bit different. Now? It's bad. I need to be away from those things which hurt. Self-preservation. And if that means people wonder why, so be it. The last thing I will do is explain myself. Perhaps the three people scattered to the corners of the earth that read this shit will get it. I don't care. I am tired of maintaining such a heavy facade for years and then trying to fit in while behind it. I do not agree. In fact, I disagree to such an extent that those next to me could not possibly follow along if I were to draw a fucking flowchart. Fuck it, to the four walls we go, gladly. Work will intrude, but the resources offset the routine enough to make it worthwhile (mostly). Issue three has grown over the years, relates directly to one and two, and nearly was the death of me more than once. Separating myself from the sheep seems the only way to create the space I need to live. The issue will remain, but at least only in my head. One and two? Fuck it. They will all combine and kill me soon enough. All I can do is my best. Time will tell, but you will not know. Two decades ago I was not so uptight about three. Sitting here now, I do not know of a difference other than the shit of society slowly chewing away my patience (and I have been painfully fucking patient with people). Every type of media, imagery which permeates the Internet, and my built-up anxiety over what can take place during social gatherings has all summed. Sometime during the past few months, a line formed and has been shoved behind me. I cannot turn around, understand, or reason my way out of this. One possibility is my sensitivity flaring last fall. I remember having much trouble during the last weeks of the calendar year, and my concern became much worse as the new year approached. Turning the page from one year to the next is never easy. Coupled with the issues I have and the fact that everything multiplied during the lead-up to the second of January helped to solidify my feelings about three. Number two was there and lit a second fire which then burned my ability to rise. Add the clock moving ahead an hour and that is that. One, two, three, four, me. This is me. Did I make them? No, but after so much time I have no choice other than dealing with them as best I can. Too much fear, threat, physical difficulty, and weakness. Obsession. Torment. Pain. Just like right now, parked in the city and seeing boots beneath the legs of goddesses. Trotting along to wherever, looking like a map of my brain, and forcing the issue to catch fire. Again. Like that girl more than a week ago. Still in there, still causing too much thinking, and continuing to push me down. Fuck. That one is most decidedly me. Tired.
The Raven and I had a long conversation about three. She parroted Andrea in telling me that the differences in my personality from others were severe, very clear, and forced me into a type She had never known. Beautiful, unique (again) and intriguing. Childlike in some ways and very adult in others. I loved the way She understood, listened, and learned. That went away a short time later and I did not experience another like Her for years. And then everything flooded me and caused all manner of problems within. Concerns which had melted away with time returned and slammed me into a mental fetal position until the issues were explored. I was reminded of the Raven's sensitivity to my condition during that time. She always listened with wide eyes and open heart. That took place a second time just on the other side of a line which formed in my head. It was immovable, and remains as such. That is one aspect of the framework that will keep me away from society as much as possible. From limitless options years ago I am now reduced to one. Nothing is pleasant any longer. Memories, train wrecks, mistakes. The fact that I cannot deny is that I placed myself in the position to be affected by things I knew I would have been better avoided. I did it anyway, sometimes for comfort and other times excitement. Why? I don't have the first damned clue. Part of it may be the idea that I have always needed to run away when things became dire -- both to isolate from others and to be alone just in case I felt weak enough to destroy myself -- and though others hated it, I did not care. The feelings are returning... Those little inklings of need that can force me to pack my shit and hop in the car. Freedom, decisions, a place where others do not know of me or my issues, quiet, isolation, and the space to think as I need and work through things before actually driving into a bridge abutment. Perhaps that would happen, perhaps not. No one is to know for certain, but the idea of not thinking any longer is extremely enticing, especially after the past few months. Recently I felt that keeping myself safe would help to ease issue two but the opposite took place. It still is. The imagery and over-analysis will not stop at all and I am becoming so fucking exhausted that thinking is pain. To end that may be worth missing out on the future. I do not see many possibilities there anyway, so a trip east may have to happen in order for me to work it out. Maybe. Right now I just do not know and need to remain alone until such time as I can deal with people without lashing. I keep picturing the Raven standing in Her mother's living room and screaming that we were going to leave town for good. She grabbed Her cat and dropped into my car, full of tears. In a split-second I had to decide whether or not Her delusion could continue or if I should force Her to return home and cool the hell off. That night was insane, and represented the beginning of us being much closer (very good) and vying for more time together (very bad). Before long? Doom, in more ways than one. I have not recovered. She looked so fucking cute standing there in those low-rise jeans, leather boots, and with hair flying around as She spoke with her hands. God damn I miss Her so much. I am worried, and not all of it is directed at myself. There is one other person in the world over which I still agonize daily. Tracey was there for a short time, but that went bad. I had to send her an extremely unpleasant message once I learned of her motives, and thank Christ the entire exchange did not last more than mere days. In the beginning she was there for me to bounce thoughts -- and that didn't work well anyway because I will not discuss anything with anyone without masking the subject so much that they cannot understand -- and that seemed like a good idea. Her cute responses and supportive nature boosted the day here and there. Unfortunately, I am not the person with which to toy. Upon realizing that everything had been false, I torched it all. And for someone unfamiliar with my harsh nature, her reaction was worth every fucking syllable. Do I miss her? Nope. I only miss my vision of what I thought could be a friend. I will not let that happen again because the only recipient of my words is now the fucking keyboard. I will speak to no one. They are all worthless when it comes to exploration, so shutting it off is my only option. I miss it, but the necessity outweighs any possible benefit. She was nice, however I should have known from the beginning. I just should have known that something good is not going to come along. That was the fucking rub. I know better than to think I can fall into something warm and sensitive, caring and understanding, in this fucking day and age and in a world full of horseshit. Fuck you, I did it anyway because I was desperate. I have nothing and no one any longer and that fact is chewing me inside. Death? No chewing. And don't get all fucking bent out of shape for Christ's sake. No one controls me.
'This loss is crippling and all-encompassing. I cannot escape the feelings of sadness and emptiness. During most days, all else matters not. I simply dream and regret and wallow. I fall. I fall endlessly, and said fall continues at this moment. There will never be another. Fucking never. She was THE one. Oh, of course there are many other works of art out there to gaze upon, but what goes on inside will remain a mystery. She added to me and I added to Her. That is such an unusual situation that the entire thought is difficult to process. As a matter of fact, I have seldom been able to consider Her enormous impact on myself in clear terms. The feeling of being close was warm, inviting, comforting, and peaceful. Just to gaze brought me above the shit of each day's trials. Her eyes brought me a solace which is otherwise nonexistent in this world. She provided such in abundance... Even while in the midst of issues. Just as others may occasionally say: Each person is unique. I am forced to agree, and She was an example of that statement. In more than ten years of very pointed searching, She was one. Just one out of the billions. And the one that found me -- waiting, needing, yearning -- and She filled those desires earnestly and honestly. As unlikely as this sounds, She quickly felt for me very nearly what I felt for Her. Of all the worthless wastes of space in this piece of shit society, She was the one beautiful person which fulfilled me... Completely. And that person is fucking gone. Let the hatred amplify and continue to my fucking end.'
God damn that girl was adorable. When we sat at lunch or dinner and were quiet for a little while, I would look at Her face and see that little eye twitch which sent my heart into orbit. So fucking cute. And then those huge doe eyes would turn to me and force the planet sideways. Aside from running out of town that night with Her cat in tow, I would have done anything for Her. Maybe I should have run away that night. Who knows what may have taken place afterward? Being wrapped in Her arms was the pinnacle of life, so maybe that could have carried on a bit longer. I don't fucking know and second-guessing decisions is not supposed to be a good idea. One thing I have noted throughout the last several years is issue two did not have time to get off the ground back then. I have spent many days and weeks recalling our time together, and as I think of situations and trials through which we traveled over mere months, I know that it would have gripped me eventually. Knowing what I do now, that would have caused more destruction than I was equipped to handle at the time. After just five years passed since the Brunette and a lifetime of emotional damage, the likelihood of some sort of implosion has advanced, and right now I feel that there was no possibility of survival. It did not happen, however the reason we were cut short on time is unrelated. The Raven was just too much in many ways, and I honestly believe that more time together would have resulted in a very negative situation. My understanding of Her desire to be with me is still absent, but I love Her. After years of analyzing and remembering every aspect of Her and my need to be close, I have concluded that She had an effect upon me unlike anything in my life and there is a void within caused by Her loss. I learned nothing, wallowed excessively, and lashed out at anyone nearby for a very long time. I am now less than I had been, and I was not much before that time.
I am mired in dissatisfaction, a lack of fulfillment, and what is referred to as major depressive disorder. The preceding months have shown me that whatever strength I once possessed is waning badly. My control over small issues and dealing with others is also diminishing. Between here and there, I chose here. I did that in a very uncomfortable manner and left everything very broken. My reasoning at the time has not changed weeks later. There was no out other than leaving. The sides are very different, one is frightening due to my nature, and the other offers a small percentage of what I need in order to maintain some semblance of a daily life and the ability to function around others. As stated above, the latter is quickly going away. That is both good and bad, but mostly in the positive so I can sit and accept it. Issue two is continuing to push me down and flare out of control at times, leaving me a heap of worry and discomfort even worse than the period of isolation in eleven. At that time I had nearly zero contact with anyone, drank everything in sight, and ran out of town often enough to force those who cared for me to turn their backs after being treated as second-class and unimportant. That period is about to be replicated. I see no other way out or up. I cannot handle what is swirling in my head and I cannot distract myself enough to avoid the pain of knowing what I do not wish. I left things in a bad state and am not proud of it. Nothing can improve me, no one can expect to speak with me and get through, and any location will be a reminder of adventures both near and far passed. In short, I fucked everything up yet again and have no faith in my ability to continue life in this manner. Too much is eating away parts of me, and as much as I deserve to be unhappy, I cannot go on without being able to extricate memories and vast amounts of information that cut me almost constantly. I am frightened out of my mind during at least half of each day. The bliss and understanding which I let go are stabbing me constantly, but the other side of that world cannot help me. Scared here, scared there, no matter what I do it does not go away. Nothing helps and I question myself several times during the course of any given hour. This is ruining me. No one can help. Too afraid and completely alone. I did it all.
'Here I sit day after day looking to the door in yearning. The door is there, so close to me, waiting for my approach. The door will not flinch when I threaten, nor will it forgive when I cower... It waits, quietly. The door awaits me every day and every night. Long, dark nights seemingly with no end and running headlong into long, bright days equally endless and downtrodden. The nights hide the door from my view but I know it is there waiting and watching... Almost calling. The door needs me as I need it. It needs me to come and find the answers and I need it to await my exit. The door must wait until I am ready... And it does. Patiently waiting and watching, never beckoning or commanding, and I see it across the room. I see my door and my door stares back knowing that I need to know what it can bring my way. I will walk through that door and travel to the Promised Land, and that time fast approaches.'
I'd be lying if I said issue four is not a part of this. Everything is related, from the pressure to the pain to the visits to any restroom. Everything is a reminder of how vastly damaged and chronically emotional I have become after so many years. All of it... Issue one leads to four, two leads to three and then to four, one leads to four, you fucking name it. How I survived this long is a complete mystery. The recent time spent learning of the effects and how far down they can press me after a single word, image or reference have shown me just how difficult a single day can be. For years I have gone on about the little periods of joy and small pleasures that keep me upright, however they are diminishing quickly and leaving me in a hole lined with issues, memories, and piles of references to all that causes pain. The joys are giving way because they are not enough. I cannot get away. Nothing is far enough. The key is the fact that so much of it is deep inside. A person cannot escape themselves. Throw me a therapist and I'll show you just how effective I can be at alienating and railroading even the most fervent and steadfast professional. They will end up in a corner with nary a way out. I'm too fucking good at it. If a change becomes illuminated, you might see it here. Otherwise, farewell. I wish things had been different when I was young. Welcome to issue five. End of fucking line."
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