Passive Agression II

This is going to be one of the most obnoxious posts if not for the sheer passive aggression that I am about to display, then definitely the utter nonsense that will be laid upon the pixelated screen in front of you.

I do not even know where to begin with it all to be honest, probably because I am completely done with it all but at the same time am completely entranced by the ridiculousness that it is. It is more than watching a car crash in front of you where you cannot look away, it is like more you are hurdling towards 17 cars that are about to blow up in front of you and becoming discombobulated in the wreckage that is being left in its wake. In reality I have nothing to do with the situation at all, as I was simply thrown into it, because trust me if I could I would want out of it quicker than you could imagine; however, the fact of the matter is I am much a player in this as any other, and I have to deal with all of the consequences and absurdities that come with it, and so I do.

But really? Really? This has come to a point where I am pretty sure no one could write a script for a movie that was this obscure and farfetched. Like, it almost makes me sick a little. It is funny too, but only funny because it is so painful, like when you walk into a glass door because you did not see it there and you are bleeding out of your nose but cannot help but laugh at how idiotic you were. In fact, it is exactly like that. It is just simply astonishing that this is even the current status of things. The best part is someone is probably writing the same thing in regards to me out there, but hey, that is what passive aggressiveness is all about right?

So seriously, this is nuts. Have fun with it all, because I honestly am just impressed by your abilities to keep up with it all. I checked out months ago.

I miss you

I re-read a message I sent to you,
After all of the shit when down.
I figured for my hundredth blog entry,
I would re-visit my feelings once again.

I still miss you.
More than I ever did,
And more so now that
I really have no method
to contact you.

And my friends tell me to stop
They say I am crazy
And I am
But I know that this will not feel right
Until I get to at least see you
once again.

You are amazing.
And it would be so easy to tell you
that you are awful with everything
you have put me through
and have done to me,
But I cannot say you are anything
less than perfect.

I wish you actually read this
And maybe you would contact me
But I will sit here,
Alone,
with our memories,
hoping you know how amazing you are
and that I think and miss you
daily.

Passive Aggression

Remember when I was so in love with you,
Like I thought you were so hot, and so cool,
And I was so jealous of anyone that talked to you?

And that whenever I wanted to talk to you,
I would shy away and think, I shouldn't,
You don't wanna talk to me.

I remember that high school
Man-you-are-so-cool attitude.
But now it is a distant memory
Because now we are grown ups... well... I am.

My Withdrawal

Hello friends, family, acquaintances and fellow members of the World. I am here today to formally withdraw my candidacy for the position of Most Popular Man on Earth. I realize that this position is being vied for by a number of incredibly talented, attractive, kind, funny, intelligent, skilled and good-hearted people who much deserve the title more than I. For within my own town where once everyone knew my name, I now am been thrown into the shadows of these other candidates. Noticing this change, I can no longer see myself viably being elected to this position. With this withdrawal, however, I will not be pledging myself to another candidate. Instead, I will be simply falling back into anonymity, with the hopes that some will follow me there realizing that this title is simply a farce that I as well have fallen into believing. I would like to remind every candidate still running, and all those supporting them and who were supporting me, that this title is more stress-laden than one could imagine, and that it is simply no longer worth the prestige that comes with it. In today's world, society raises whoever they can regardless of talent or skill to the highest ranks, only to have the ability to rip them apart. It is, for this reason, that I wish to be seen as more humble than popular, and wish to withdraw my candidacy from Most Popular Man on Earth. Thank you.

Goat Fucker

I have been teased since I was young so it is nothing new, really, but you would think that things would get better as time passes slowly but all you realize is that it just gets more conniving and sly but nothing more original than what was said in elementary school but it is on a grander scale with more random people involved that still do not care about anything in your life other than to make fun of it so they do it for various reasons, all of which on unbeknownst to me since it all does not make sense, and they mock and they pry and they try to tear you down until you fall to the floor holding your sides in pain from the words that slice just like daggers they flung at you but you, being strong, stand there unshaken by the turmoil and thus more knives are flying at you but you are still confused as to why they just do not give up and move on in life but instead they continue pummeling you until you are on the floor whimpering for help because, of course, you are too weak and think that their slander is truths but you are still being bludgeoned by their abc's of perpetual shit with one after another of these insults continuing to fly and now the whole town believes these rumors that you once fucked a goat on the side of the road for some petty cash and now when you pump your gas at the gas station you hear screams from your neighbors saying, "bet you wish that pump was your dick and that fuel tank was a goat," and you wonder how people could even remotely begin to believe such ridiculousness but you realize this is the society that continually likes to pick apart every little aspect of other brethren in order to better themselves because they are not you, master goat fucker of the universe, and you are the lowest scum that walks this earth because you are not a human being trying to make it through life like they are, but you are in fact a person already successful, content and happy in life and in order to feel better about oneself, you must, of course, knock down another... you goat fucker.

Island

When I was about 8 years old I used to imagine my closet was an island and that I was king. I would rule over the island with an iron fist and there were only two rules: everyone had to listen to me and no one could utter a word. For hours I used to sit in my closet and imagine the water surrounding my domain in complete silence. No one bothered me at all because no one could say a word or else be forever banished off the island, and as much as you hated not being able to say a word, you were also completely enamored by the silence. This is why I made it a law that no one could ever speak, so that I would have a place to sit in silence. No one could judge or fight or scream or yell and everyone was private. It was better that way, to surround myself in positive thoughts and not have to see the world around me that was better, smarter, faster and more attractive than I. When I sat on my island, without communication we were all equal, since no one could express their favoritism. I used to think that everyone was thinking about me for once. I used to say in my head, "well if they needed to ask someone a question, they would totally come to me." I loved my island.

As years passed I realized that I was neglecting my island. I visited it occasionally but by now it was deserted, and I sat there in my silence alone thinking that maybe people would come visit again, but they never did. My closet island was destroyed when I was 9 and I was forced listen to the minds of others. I was forced to hear their mindless chatter about parties, politics and superficiality. I was no longer king of anything. It was rough at first to adjust to the idea that perhaps I was not the best at anything.

Even more years passed and my island was completely annihilated and but a distant memory. I now shared my inner thoughts and problems with the world around me who eagerly waited to dump their problems on me. It was a give-give relationship, but I was okay with it. People came in and out of my life quicker than wind through a tunnel, but it was nice to feel the breeze.

And now I am writing this blog, reminiscing the days where I had my island. I type vigorously to an unknown audience stating my issues and problems and thoughts and ideas. And throughout the memories and ramblings I have created, I come to realize that I am still on my island, and this is still all the silence I needed, but I was never king.

Say what?!

Oh hey there blog, sorry I neglected you again for a long period of time like always… I promise it will not hap… nevermind we all know that’d be a lie if I promised that… So now the issue of what to write… as is always the problem with blogs since it is really just a completely opinionated bunch of garbage written by someone to express what they believe to be profound statements of profundity (I know that was a very profound statement) that really only boosts their own ego by thinking their insight should be shared with the entire human population… perhaps this is why I blog.

So let’s move on to more pressing issues shall we… I am not going to sugarcoat my day like … sugar covering…a … coat?... but my day has not been that fantastic… in fact on a scale of good days, this would rank rather low… however, I still attempt to remain optimistic about ("aboot" for my Canananananandian friends) it all. I find it more that I am struggling with the day internally than I am from the external factors that are surrounding it all... Now some could argue that it are this events occurring outside the realm of my control that are indeed affecting (not effecting) my inner self and causing turmoil. The other whole weird thing about it all is the fact that I am completely content with myself and the way I act, and yet I seemingly deliberately sabotage myself in order to perhaps prove the reality of myself. I feel it is some underground man syndrome (Dostoevsky ftw) where I need to prove the pain in order to accept the reality that I am actually a pretty awesome guy. So I continually battle the ideas that perhaps I am really not living life as good as I could be and to reassure myself that I am I begin to purposefully make poor decisions. It makes me feel alive for the moment, surely, but alas I end up thinking that perhaps I should just believe it all from the beginning without needing to go through the hassles of perhaps destroying my own positive reputation.


I am not even sure that this all makes sense, but it makes sense to me and as I previously stated, I think that's all bloggers really care about.

Expectations

I want to share an anecdote with you, I promise it’s not too long, not too long at all, in fact it just happened yesterday so my mind is too busy racing to even try to tell you the whole thing, since it just happened, you know. And it just happened so you don’t want to relive it twice, you know, like two days in a row, but I need to tell you it I promise you’ll like it. So I was watching the game yesterday, the big game, the soccer game, the finals of the soccer game, the World Cup, and I was so excited, super excited really, to be able to share this experience with my fellow countrymen and women, you know, because we were all watching it together although not in the same room because that room would need to be large and we wouldn’t have enough room for all of us to fit and it was humid anyway so that would have just made things worse and people might have just been fainting from the lack of fresh air filtering through the cracks of sweaty armpits in the room, you know? Anyway, so it was hot in the room and I was watching the game and I was enjoying a cool glass of water with six ice cubes, no more or my sensitive teeth would have shivered away from my gums, and so I was watching this game with high anticipation because we were going to win, you know, with our players so mentally and physically tough, which is great because I was sweating just watching them play which I suppose makes me both mentally and physically weak but I never really claimed the opposite to begin with so anyway, we were really getting unfortunate breaks with posts and junk and I was upset but it was okay because we were expected to win so I never really thought anything of it because you knew by the end of it all you were going to be cheering in the glory of our victory. So we continued watching, we as in the entire country because we were all watching it together, and the anticipation was mounting, but again, not worried, and we finally put in a goal! We all celebrated, the country, and moved on with our daily lives because we were supposed to win.

Impression

I have realized I have put a lot of time and effort into trying to look good, like most people do, when going out and junk. Granted, yes, I want to look presentable in general, but it is like I take extra time to just make sure that everything is perfected, and for what? Inevitably someone has spent more time and effort into "dolling up" themselves, and even better, there will be people who without needing to glamorize will still look better than me naturally. I am okay with that though. I just want to know why I bother trying to make this great first impression which is also, completely the opposite of who I am to begin with. I am that person that when he gets home, I immediately take off my tie, shoes, whatever, and lounges in shorts or sweatpants (depending on the weather) and tee shirt for the rest of my day. If someone is looking to be even just my friend, they should probably get used to the fact that I give very little about style and look more for comfort anyway. And for the "one" who I will hopefully spend the rest of my life with, well, 95% of my life is going to be looking like a mess who just got out of bed. I am seriously just confused as to why I am (as I am sure others are) obsessed with trying to seem better than I already am (mainly because it is impossible to be more amazing than I already am [confidence, not arrogance]). I do not know why I try to seem cooler than I am and put like, "Oh I do A, B and C," just because I think that's what others want to hear. People have surprising interests and so do I, so the fact that I make up conlangs or play Pokemon is just something else about me beyond the fact that I can beat you in tennis and write a lot. I do not really understand why I always feel like I need to back down or dress up for people ... that is not who I am nor will I probably ever be. I am who I am and look like who I look like, and I much rather not try hard to conceal that anymore.

Did any of this make sense?! I refuse to reread what I just wrote so I am just going to post it instead.

Name Nemesis

You know that name that everyone you absolutely despise tends to have? You know, that name that you are like, "Ugh, he's such an asshole, his name must be _____" because everyone you have ever met with that name has been nothing but absolute dipshits. I have a "name nemesis" (noun: the common name or nickname between everyone who you tend to think or learn through constant experience is a douche), but I think I will withhold that information for now just to be safe as to what my name nemesis actually is, yet now every time I meet someone with that name, I immediately judge them as being a douche. I know this is unfair to them, but I kinda can't help it. I mean, a name nemesis does not just show up, it takes time. For example, let's say Jenny is a dick to you. Okay, we assume that it was just this particular Jenny that is a dick. But, continuing over the next few months, we meet three other Jennys (all different) who are just cunts to us as well. Then Jenny becomes your name nemesis. And it is unfortunate because the next Jenny you are going to meet without ever actually speaking to her, you are going to think, wow, she must be a fucking twatwaffle, simply because all other Jennys you have ever met were. Who knows, perhaps every name naturally has a name nemesis, and we are just instinctively adversed to those with that name. That makes me wonder as well that my name must be someone's name nemesis... do they automatically assume I am a dipshit too without saying one word to me?

Acceptance

Look at me go! Two days in a row! Okay, in reality I wrote this yesterday but then posted it today with the nifty (just realized what an awful word "nifty" is, and yet I still used it) future post option that exists. So what to ramble about today, you may ask, and my answer may be the Use and Effects of Realpolitik in United States History (complete lie, not even remotely touching that subject with a 50 foot pole... that is if a subject was a tangible item that could in theory be touched by poles ... and pole being an actual pole and not a slang pole...). In reality I am actually going to continue to ramble, since that is what I do best, and hope to come to an astonishing conclusion that will make everyone reading think I am a naturally gifted boy genius of sorts.... that is if that sentence did not already completely prove otherwise. I will actually go into an idea that was semi-touched (how do you semi-touch something?) upon in my last post about nothingness. That was the idea of acceptance in a society that is so incredibly diverse using subjective qualifiers to prove something to others (see that circle I just went in?). But it is a rather complex notion to attempt to describe with solely objective statements. Society is based on ties more than logical, but rather emotional. Thus, anything that is related to society, kind of needs to be taken with a grain of salt (what a weird expression). No one can please everyone, nor should they. People will have their differences and that should be celebrated (without parades). I have given up on impressing people, perhaps this is where my ideas are all stemming from (hatred, just kidding), but it seems like a battle that can never be won. The microcosm known as American high schools (I have never been elsewhere in a high school so I do not want to assume all high schools are like this although I heard some rumors through the grapevine) has taught me that regardless of everything, different people are going to ignore you, love you, hate you, talk shit about you, compliment you, include you, ostracize you, smile with you or laugh at you... and really it is all just inevitable (granted, if you are being a douche, it could be avoided if you just stop being a douche). Some people will judge you within the first 5 seconds of meeting you, others will do it superficially, and others will just want to know if you are as obsessed with football as you are. The criteria people choose to accept or deny someone is their own personal criteria, and whether you fit or not is just a hit or miss, it has nothing to do with you not being a good person, or you being a douche
(again though, sometimes it is about you being a douche). If you are being yourself, than it does not matter at all really. I know this sounds all teen-pop-baby-you're-a-firework kind of shit, but it is true. I have been discouraged plenty of times because you get those times of complete loneliness (well, at least I do, I guess not everyone technically has to have felt this before), but after it ends you have this sense of, why the eff was I upset to begin with? I'm rocking it my way, and some people are not going to like it, just like some people are just going to think this post is dumb, and to that I say, you may be right, but I still posted it.

Ramble Ramble

Perhaps I will eventually become a consistent blogger one of these days... for I always claim I will be and then reveal myself time after time as a fraud, but let us try once more shall we? Unfortunately, this is a blog just to blog since there is (well, in reality way too much on my mind but for conservation of time and virtual space I will claim...) nothing on my mind. I will just have to pull something out of no where now to at least make this post seem semi-worthy of being called anything other than shit. I have started writing again, which always ends up depressing me because, kind of like everything else, you know you are not terrible at it, but you know there are thousands... millions... out there that are better than you, and it kind of disappoints you. Now granted, if we just use people that you know, and for argument sakes let us use the amount of friends you have on Facebook, you can kind of appropriately gauge yourself with an accurate number... and furthermore it can actually give you a confidence boost if, let us say, you are actually the best out of the 300 (arbitrary number) friends you have on Facebook. So, yeah, sweet that makes you feel good. But then we have to consider that almost everything in life is subjective and that you are now just atop the list of 300 people in only your mind. However, someone else with the exact same friend's list as you (perhaps a you from another dimension), might have placed you at position number 4, 18, or 210. So then, pray tell, why am I even stressed out to begin with over the perfection of writing? The simple answer is to obviously appease myself, for I am not going to be happy if my own work is shit. However, as an author I am writing these things in the public eye and for more than just self-approval. Thus, my fears are more than just the fear that it is shit to me, but rather shit to others as well. So now I am worried once more that the reason I become disappointed in my writing is the fact that others will deem it nothing more than peasantry. Yet, I am constantly reminded that my opinion of myself is the most important. Yet, being "the toughest critic" of them all (so they say, I always thought I was easy on myself), I am still disappointed. I guess there does not need to be a definitive reason for anything anymore. Perhaps things are what they are because they are, and we do things because we do them. And that, fellow readers, is how you ramble enough to fill up space in a blog.

No longer sexy

I simply do not feel sexy anymore
No matter who says what to me
I cannot shake off that to me
I simply do not feel sexy anymore

I think you have stolen my allure
And now I am destined to be
What I have always thought I would be
I think you have stolen my allure

So I wait for some type of cure
To permit me to feel some beauty
and in my eyes reflect my beauty
So I wait for some type of cure

Now I am my own prisoner of war
Chained to a image, never free

And always I will simply abhor
The mirror you left me to see

Gorgeous Day

It is another gorgeous day,
The rain is pouring from the sky
like milk drenching soggy cereal in the morning,
and the birds have chirped all the time
waking me 5 minutes before my alarm clock.
Yup, I cannot complain about waking up alone
in on a cold sheet of ice alone
thinking about your lips touching the forehead
of the guy you said you never loved
but now you kiss him every sunset and sunrise
like clockwork, tick tock, you smell his cologne
Just another gorgeous day.
The wind sweeping across my face like tiger claws
against the underbelly of an porcupine
and every passerby I wave ducks their head
continuing without acknowledgement of my hello
so I hide my head beneath an umbrella
which has broken in two from the weather
and my mind is swept into mother nature's blueprint
to build an enclosure to cage me for life
within vines and clouds of heavens and hell
to stick thorns in my sides to remind me that well
it is another gorgeous day
where absolutely everything is wrong.

Insanity

I never thought
I would hurt
This much.

You say you're going crazy...
Well I am already insane...

All I Wanted

All I wanted was to share...
my world
my life
my heart
my soul
my laugh
my smile
my jokes
my love
my time
my mind
my kiss
my touch
my hand
my eyes
...with you and only you...
guess I am out of luck.

See you later...

So I guess this is it ...
I never wanted to say good-bye ...
but you already did ...
I tried fighting it ...
but it does not work ...
I just get sucked into depression ...
screaming for see you later ...
I do not understand how you ...
how you can just say good-bye ...
I refuse to see you go forever ...
but you have already gone ...
I feel so much pain right now ...
since you no longer want to be friends ...

Wedding Vows

She remembers her wedding vows; from the first time she met him she knew he was someone different. The light just struck his face differently. He shimmered, well not literally, and like a moth to a flame she was drawn. She had her doubts at first, but was willing to risk it for him. And now it has blossomed into this marriage, this undeniable bond between the two. There have been troubles along the way, but they were all worth it to get to this moment, standing before him, looking into his eyes, and near the verge of crying, for the happiness is overbearing. She can repeat these vows verbatim by memory.
He, although not as confident as his wife, remembers his vows; it was seemingly harmless to meet a potential friend, but never did he think this would be the result. To marry the one girl who made him laugh, smile, cry and have feelings these immense never seemed like a possibility for him in his life. He never expected to marry, nor expect to find someone he thought he would even want to marry. But as he stands before her, in front of family and friends, he has never felt so sure of something in his life. He can remember these nerves overwhelming him.
The two seal the deal with an “I do.”
“No, we do not need more potato chips in the house,” she turns away from him as he begins to scowl at her. “Maybe if you finished anything you begin with you would actually eat the chips at home instead of every week wanting a new bag.”
“They are stale! And you are one to talk about wanting new things when you aren’t finished. Do you want a carton of Cameron Masterson with that chocolate syrup? Or are you going to finish with me first?” The yelling begins to reverberate through the aisle.
She would smile at him, a soft reminder of the warm feelings towards him, as she kisses his cheek. He, although the stereotypical macho man, would blush and back himself away for a brief moment to revel in the sweet affection of his girlfriend. Slowly she would walk away, tears beginning to fall down her cheek, to return back to her house and not see him for at least another week. Yet the two were not destroyed like they should have been by the unfortunate circumstances their relationship existed in. Instead they would text until four o’clock in the morning, as if they were lying next to each other sharing the same pillow. It was this separation that connected the two deeper.
Her eyes begin to water, “Are you kidding me?! Wha…what…what would you… do you want me to do about that now?! Do you… like… want me to invent some sort of time machine and and and make myself… my past self… remember how much I love you now?!”
He retorts, “I want you not to do it!”
Only because she cannot fathom such a response she begins to laugh, “Are you… are you joking?” He stares back at her without a smile. “Listen,” she continues, “there is nothing I can do anymore but love you… but now you are making it so difficult… it is like a chore…”
Every day she would go to work, upset that she still made minimum wage and her college degree in medicine meant nothing more than a paper badge of pride. She came home to the same dinner table inhabited by her father, mother and younger sister. Miserably, she was forced into this life and continually dreaded each passing moment she had to sit at the table to discuss how the world could be better if everyone was a white Christian who attended mass every Sunday. With the phone in her hand, she would sit through the banter while thinking of her atheist boyfriend. Yet the phone never would ring, no matter how much she would pray for it to.
“A chore?! Well sorry that I cannot give you everything you need,” he battles back.
“Not what I meant! Not what I meant!” she tries interrupting. “You are twisting the words that I said!”
“No I am not, you said that loving me was a chore, didn’t you?” She nods with anticipation of being able to explain her thoughts but he continues, “So I am sorry that loving me is a chore, hunny, and that I cannot make you happy.”
“This is not what I said!” she screams.
While his parents did not invest much interest in his love life, her parents would express an interest but nothing short of wanting the gossip of their daughter’s life, which the neighbors would misconstrue as a “genuine concern about their daughter.” Often the dinner conversation would revolve around this “concern” of their daughter’s prospective mate, and how their idea of him would be a “refined young Christian gentleman with a secure job.” Always she would think after hearing these words that her boyfriend did not have a chance of survival in her house and that he was the exact opposite of everything her parents ever wanted for her. But she never actually cared about that, she was still in love with him. In fact, the one time he did visit as her “friend,” she was forbidden from allowing him in the house again. From then on out she would resort to lying to her parents just to see his face.
“I cannot even look at you right now!” he screams at her.
Unable to control herself she begins to cry, “I just want to know what happened to us. I used to lie to my parents just to be with you…even if just for an hour and…” she pauses her thoughts, unable to form words.
“and…now what?” he questions impatiently forcing her to finish her although broken sentence.
She swallows and breathes, “…now… our lives revolve around fighting over anything…when did this happen!?”
They would always embrace each time they met like it was the first time in ages that they saw each other. Vacations to mundane locations like the beach were their nirvana as a couple. They would look into the rolling waves and wonder about life on the other side of the ocean. Laughs would echo across the sand as people on the beach would start at their innocent, childish love.
“You know when? It was when you decided to throw our love through the window and decided to fuck Cameron whatever the shit his name is… that’s when!”
Only a few weeks into the relationship, she was weak. She could not stand her home life and could not stand not being able to see or talk to her boyfriend who lived across the state. Upset she went over her friend Cameron’s house, who she knew was always down for a quick fuck, but she herself just wanted to hang out, relax and vent about her life. Yet, as the night progressed Cameron and her became dangerously close. Then Cameron began to kiss her and she pushed him back. Unfinished, Cameron went back for a second kiss as she pushed him back again. She was incredibly upset at what was transpiring but she had no time to react. When Cameron came to her for a third time, she began to kiss back for a few seconds while grabbing her coat and shoes. With possessions in hand, she broke away from the kiss and she jetted out of the door. Riddled with guilt, she confessed everything to him later in the week and readied herself out of his life. Before she could leave the room, he saw her tears and grabbed her. Wiping the water from her eyes he said, “I am surprised and hurt…but I could never imagine my life without you.”
“I never fucked anyone but you!” she screams at him. “You said you forgave me but I guess you only forgive me when you can’t use it against me. If you couldn’t … if you couldn’t get over it, then why… why, I implore you, did you bother marrying me?” she questions.
“Because I love you!” he replies.
She always cuddled close to him on the bed when he put on a movie. She never wanted to watch any of the movies he picked, but she never complained. With her arms wrapped around him, she never had a reason to complain. In fact, many of the times she would stare into his eyes so intently watching the screen, and she would simply smile. Slowly she would inch closer to his body and begin to fall asleep.
The two look at each other. “So what happened to us?” she asks.
He shook his head, disappointed, “I asked for a bag of chips.”


It has been six months since the divorce. Both fought to keep the marriage going but the tornado already touched ground, and everything that once was ended completely in disarray. He moved on though, right after the infamous grocery store fight, while she still sat there every night wondering how things could be different. They both actively think about the beginning of it all, the perfect mix of new and old, sharing their first moments like they have been friends for years. Then it changed.
He already has been living his life for months; meanwhile she sulks in self-pity for hours of the day, thinking she has a chance with him and refuses to let her heart to be drowned by the noisy divorce. “I will remain single or remarry my ex-husband,” she tells all of her friends, who respond with the same monotone “you need to get over him.” Yet she refuses.
It took a month after their big grocery store blow up for her to actually muster up the courage to file for divorce, but he had already made his decision just simply never cared to actually file for the divorce. He was content continuing his one life with her and the other he was already living. Every night he came home late and she waited for him to stumble through the bedroom door. She would scream and yell, but in the back of her mind she realized how much she was in love with him. She would shout her jealous slurs, trying to destroy him with guilt, and he would turn his back to her while quickly falling asleep. She would lean over to him to touch him and turn him to look into his face, but he would refuse to. She would pull her body up and look over his shoulder to see his face, which by now would be silently sleeping, yet she would always smile. She would stare for a few minutes more, when tears would form upon her cheek realizing he was already out of her reach, and there was no way of her retrieving him or his heart. She fought for a month like this, until she realized he was not happy anymore knowing he was already gone. Gaining all the courage she could, she suggested divorce, and he accepted the proposal without hestitation.
The time during the divorce was just as rough for her. She watched the world she was so content living in be destroyed before her eyes, by herself, and she saw him smile again. He moved out quickly and the two would talk occasionally, but she had to delete his phone number and e-mail in hopes that she could move forward by doing this. He would still tell her that he loved her and that he missed her, and every time she questioned if the divorce was the right thing for them he avoided the question. She knew that was his hint to her to move on in life, but she had no idea how to. She wanted for him to just say it, “I do not love you like I used to,” but he never did. Fantasies continued to replay through her mind about her and him lying in bed laughing about how cute the other one is. Soon the divorce was completed, and legally they were free from the other.
Never did she care about the marriage though, because she cared about him. He continued to live his life without telling her anything about whom and what he was doing. She never thought he would do be able to just continue on so easily, so she never really questioned what he was doing more than “what’s up?” Nevertheless, he was moving forward, unlike her. At work, she could not focus on anything and her coworkers knew exactly what she was going through and offered the same “you need to get over him” monotone advice. Despite this, her workload continued to grow but her willingness to complete it diminished. Lacking motivation, she began focusing on all of the problems she had in her marriage… and accepted all of the blame. Completely lost, she bothered him constantly through whatever method she could but simply never got the answers she wanted, so she continued struggling through her life.
Speculations swirled through her mind of all of the possibilities of what he was doing and where he was. She imagined him with Ashra, that perfect girl for him that was interested in everything he was. Ashra would do everything together with him and Ashra was so gorgeous that all she could say in her mind was, “Well, he was always out of my league anyway.” She imagined him and Ashra at the beach, smiling like he and she used to, but Ashra and him would never fight nor raise their voices, and she sighed at the thought that maybe he does deserve it and should be with Ashra; but she wanted too much to change her mind and just be back with him herself. She was depressed and pessimistic about this thought and blamed herself and her appearance as all of the problems they ever had. Yet, she never would speak of these things aloud and internalized her self-doubt.
Thoughts of his misery also lapsed in her head, that maybe every time their song came on that he thought about her and thought about calling her; but he never did. Because of this, she never actually believed that he missed her, no matter how much he said it in their occasional once every two week e-mail; she believed his actions never portrayed it. Plus, she was so confident that her thought of this perfect girl Ashra was actually happening that she was coping with the idea that he was in love with someone else.
Six months after the divorce, she sits quietly in her white bedroom, calming herself with thoughts of his happiness with Ashra. She hardly moves and constantly thinks, “What is the point?” Occasionally she laughs, although no one is really sure why, and every night she wakes up at least once and darts her eyes around the room wondering where he is and why he is not there.


It has been a year after the divorce now, and she receives a letter in the mail, “We should just be friends.” She immediately cries and begins to flashback to the years of their relationship once more… the perfect years before the two knew how to get under the other’s skin. And soon the memories settled to the dirt beneath her feet.
“No,” she gained the courage say, “No, we shouldn’t be friends. We can’t be friends. Maybe in the future we can be friends, but not now. Not…now.” She imagines while she says this that his arms were around Ashra as he wrote the letter. In her head, he probably smiled and kissed Ashra again while he said to Ashra, “Babe, I need to just finish this letter… she has gone crazy because of me.” Ashra probably muttered, “fuck that bitch.”
Strangely this image helps soothe her. Still in love with him, she imagines his smile while he wraps himself around Ashra and realizes she does not have a problem with Ashra or him. She realizes that she is finally being lifted the chains which locked her to his heart for years. Now, she has no reason to think about him or his possible new lover Ashra, or if she and him should or could ever get back together. She was free.
Falling to the floor she attempts to gain her composure. She, in the moment of clarity and pure understanding in her mind, was still muddied by the memories and feelings of her heart. Suffocating her face in her hands, she cannot fully shake the effects of her completely shattered heart.
Bawling now on the wooden floor with his image bombarding her mind, she grabs a box of tissues and rereads the words, “We should just be friends.” She recalls the story that he used to tell her. It was about his last relationship when he received a letter from his ex whom he loved with all of this heart,
“Dear you,
I love you immensely, but I do not think we are ready. We should just be friends.
Love,
Ashra.”

How bittersweet.

Unforgivable

I thought this was different than what it was. And now the only thing I can fathom writing is one solid stream of consciousness without hesitation or re-visitation. I thought I was the one who wronged you, but you played me. You had me completely wrapped around your finger until you decided that it was good enough to release me. I used to think that maybe I was not a good enough person for you, until I realized that, hell, you are the biggest asshole I may have ever met. Now do not get me wrong, I still would do anything for you if you asked and I wish you only the best in life, but seriously, learn something along the way.

You were able to manipulate my heart like it was nothing, like you had no idea what that contained. You said all of the right words to soothe me when I was in pain, and yet you did it only to soothe your own pain while you set up the biggest mastermind scheme of them all, and you succeeded. Congratulations. And at what cost did you do it? None to you I can assure.

I have no pity for myself, or for you. All I can imagine is that you are happier than ever and I am happy for you. Just realize I will never forgive you for the way you decided to treat me, because no one should ever be in the position I was put in, and yet you found it "acceptable" to do so. However, I never wish your heart sinks as low as mine did and that you always have a smile on your face. Sometimes it is best to find out things in the worst way possible, then to live the biggest lie in the world.

Here is lesson one for your ongoing life's journey.
Do not be a coward
I would never feel this way if you just had the heart and balls to tell it like it was months ago.

Swallowing My Pride

I was wrong. I understand that I messed up. Everything was devised of poor decisions, poor mentality and poor thinking. I believed for the first time in my life I was invincible, infallible, incapable of error... and I was wrong. I have always been stubborn and a bit arrogant but I always misconstrued it to myself as being confident. I realize now that I thought I was better than mistakes and, well, I am not. In fact I am far from the perfection I once believed I was, and I am okay with this now. I am swallowing my pride, simply because my pride in perfection no longer exists. I am not perfect; I make mistakes and not everything that is wrong is someone's fault, because many times it is my fault. I mess up but I am allowed to. I lose in things but I am allowed to. I say things I wish I did not but at the time I was allowed to. I am a human being and I am allowed to do things and regret things and apologize.

I once believed I should not regret anything in my life, but I change my opinion. I regret things I have done, and I find nothing wrong with this feeling. To regret something shows there was a lapse in perfection for the moment, even if perhaps it was not possible to realize that in the future something would be affected (ex: I regret not eating that cupcake because I am so hungry now). I regret what I did, I regret the pain I caused you and I regret playing it off like it was simply nothing. I am aware that what I did was terrible, and although a few months late, I realize that any reaction of it that you had and still have is fair. I took things for granted and for that, I apologize.

Perhaps karma has already caught up to me, but I am in pain. And this pain, as Dostoyevsky would explain, makes me realize I am real (although at this time perhaps I would rather make believe that I just do not exist). I do apologize wholeheartedly, and you deserve the world.

The world was my oyster, and I returned it to the sea.

Encrypted

Dear Blogosphere;

I am not really sure if that is what you go by... well, at least nowadays with the constantly altering technological terminology... but alas, that is not the point of this blog and I already digress. I figured for once I should be honest with you... and by you I suppose, in turn, I mean myself, as I really have zero idea who actually reads this... plus at the rate update this (which is abysmal) I doubt anyone would actually realize I even wrote something new. Regardless...

For once I wish to be stripped of this shield that I so readily created... so readily made for aesthetics... because it was simply thrown together with construction paper and glued on bedazzlement. In the face of the universe I hid myself, for reasons I cannot quite describe in words nor could I have enough time to ever explain it fully or correctly.

But I find it funny, that even in this incredibly vast universe, I hid myself; because I now realize that everything in this world is both universal and unique. It is this idea that I can listen to a song and you can listen to the same song and understand exactly how I feel, yet feel it differently... that this song affects you and I the same, but differently. It was this musical paradox of uniqueness and generality that has made me realize that I am not alone and should let go my cardboard protector, and express myself in my singularity. So I begin.

Basically what it comes down to, bare bones, is I miss you. Perhaps I miss the old you, the one that texted me every morning, noon and night saying "hey you," which made me feel like I was the only sweet toothed kid invited to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory (yes, I was that happy). Perhaps I miss just any kind of you, even if it is the one that became too busy to even write "Hi" on my Facebook wall or make a phone call to me while I lie coughing on my bed with some sort of unknown illness but had time to visit friends or update your own status. Perhaps I miss your touch, your smile, your eyes and your voice. Perhaps I miss how you made me feel when you just wanted to hold me at night and wake up to my face in the morning. Perhaps I do miss waiting on your texts and constantly checking my phone to see if my service was good enough to receive one. I miss it all. And I will not lie, sometimes I would call your phone just to hear your voice, even if it was just your voicemail... simply because I miss it.

I have been struggling for a while now, although it is not really too hard to guess now, and I know by this time I should be getting better, but I am not. In fact I find myself falling further into what I am trying to climb out of. It is frustrating... to think you can make progress but only find out that the escape is further from where you just were. And what makes it worse is I have no idea what you are doing or where you are. Many times I just imagine you already are out of this hole, that you have escaped the tragedy of repetitious self-grieving. But alas, I cannot make it there myself.

I wonder if you think about me. I wonder if you defend me in front of your friends, or you just join in on their slander of my name. I guess I should expect it and probably deserve it. I wonder a lot of times if you wonder the same things about me. I wonder a lot.

I feel weak, and that writing this only confirms that I have lost everything that I built up... but I pour this out on here only to show the world, myself and you that I am real and I am struggling... I could fake being fine on the outside but I would still be beating myself on the inside. I much prefer being honest with it... and I will let the critics speak their words and opine of my weakness and pathetic nature... but for once I needed to verbalize everything I feel, or else I am certain I would have no chance at my heart matching my head and being content in unison once more.

Say what you will about me, but I miss it all and I have no shame in it.

Yours truly,
Dark White Shadow