I’m working from a skewed perspective tonight, so here’s a little piece of fiction, mixed in with a little bit of fact. I’ll leave it up to you to decipher. Will I take questions? Probably not. I’m pretty sure we’re all leading mixed lives anyways. Sometimes separating truth from fiction is harder to do.
“Let’s rearrange / I wish you were a stranger I could disengage”
Those lyrics have been burned into my brain for the last 48 hours. I nervously check my phone to see if I’ve received word. Anything — a text, a tweet, an email. Damn, there are so many ways to get a message nowadays. It’s hard to deal when you be rejected on so many different levels. Yet, on the other hand, my ex has called me almost five times. He’s told me that he loves me…twice. He usually doesn’t do that unless he’s been reminiscing or something triggers it. I’m not quite sure what it is today. I sometimes wish I could disengage them both. I feel like they run me in circles with bouts of love and like and lust and hate.
I’d stopped drinking a few weeks ago but I’m starting again tonight. I have my reasons. We all do. The path of fire as it travels from my mouth to my core feels amazing. It tells me that everything will be all right. The cigarette that remains disengaged midair provides a plume of smoke and comfort all in of itself. What’s most amazing is that the little visceral comfort it takes to lift my spirits in such a temporary and fake way.
He’s asleep in my bed. It’s been a difficult evening. I don’t know what to make of it. All I can think of is the light in his eyes that I see whenever he talks to me. What comes out of his mouth — whatever downer he’s lamenting, whatever joke he’s cracking — it doesn’t matter. You couldn’t hold a match to those eyes. They get me every time. I’ve become such a love drunk. I don’t know why I ever let it get to me.
I have an old someone. He tells me that he loves me every so often. It’s probably more platonic than anything. He used to make me feel beautiful in such a way that no one else could. At least until this new one came along. He cut me down, he built me up — actually, THEY built me up — but for some reason I always put up with the changes. The less they gave, the more I craved. It’s so strange that it always worked out that way.
“Don’t think about all the things you feel / Just be glad to be here”
There’s plan B, C, D, E, and F. There always is. Doesn’t matter how content or happy I am. I know that it’s silly to believe that one person can be your everything. Putting too much expectation into one person only spells disaster. It helps to know that there is always a backup, a backup of a backup, etc. It doesn’t matter how committed I am, how far into the hole I can be, or how in love I am. I know that I love myself more. It’s been a difficult lesson to learn.
He’s snoring now. He hasn’t moved much. That’s a good sign. He usually has a lot of problems sleeping. Maybe emoting helped…maybe not. All I know is that I am up and I’m craving my next cigarette. I’m waiting to light a match and make a connection.
Dissociation is a bitch. Sometimes it happens when I least expect it. It happens on command. What’s a girl to do? A decade of abuse and post-traumatic stress disorder does that to a person. I’m only human. I’m not perfect. The world can manage without me, but my goal is to make it a little less exciting, a little less pure with my absence. I only want to share my love with the world. Not everyone wants that, apparently. It makes people suspicious, weary, jealous. Go figure. Too much of a good thing? Heaven on Earth? Someone pretending to be god-like? Unacceptable.
I think back to the what ifs, the could-have-beens. I have so many unturned stones in my past and present. It drives me nuts. I sometimes wish that I could split myself into multiple MEs so that I can live my life out on every single parallel universe I’ve ever created. Trying to be happy with the reality I’ve built myself is harder said than done.
It’s starting to all make sense. I am in a familiar place and I’m not sure if it’s comfortable. It might be best to just go with it. I have this amazing ability to see into the future but nobody knows it yet. It looks like it’ll be a lot of fun but it will be fruitless, empty, visceral. I prefer the here and now, and not in some temporary way. A mental connection is my aphrodisiac. Physical form doesn’t generally bear any weight. What really matters is what’s between the ears, not what’s between the legs.
“No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white / Just our hands clasped so tight / Waiting for the hint of a spark”
A lot of people think I have it figured out. I’m just taking things as I go. In a way I wish I could rearrange my life. Sometimes things just seem out of sync. I meet people at the wrong point in my life. Sometimes they are better suited for a different part of my life. I think maybe I’m going about it all wrong but what’s the harm in that? There’s a delicate joy in living a spontaneous life. We’re all in a phase.
I light my second cigarette and take a deep breath in. My bourbon and Coke is running out quickly. It’s nearing 5 o’clock in the morning. I’ve finished nothing and my heart has been effectively broken. What’s a girl to do at a time like this?
I’m feeling looser, a little better. Things won’t be that bad. Open is good, right? I can act on impulse. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. “Be comfortable with change.” I’m totally eating my own words at the moment. Oh, it’s so ironic. But it has the possibility to be a lot of fun. That whole conversation about parallel universes. I meet people all of the time that bring out a different side of me. Sometimes it’s programming. Sometimes it’s literature. Sometimes it’s just the power of observation. Sometimes it’s the ability to produce amazing works of art. I am human and I have impulses too. Given the freedom I’m not sure what good can really come of it. Boundaries is a good thing, for me at least. I’m insatiable. I’m a force to be reckoned with. I possess one of the most dangerous weapons in the world and it’s between my ears and between my legs. The last thing I want to do is to spark a World War III from it. I’d much prefer to leave a positive legacy and to help people. Pursuing personal interests is so yesterday. I don’t know.
Will I ever come back down to earth? I’ve have some impulses that I’ve repressed. It’s a caged monster and I’m not sure if it’s time to let her out. I kind of like things the way they are.
“Keep calm and carry on”
I’m not sure how I feel anymore. Things change. We’re humans. We’re dynamic. I don’t want to do anything that I’ll regret in the morning but hey, it’s only a few hours away. There were many times tonight where I could have left, slammed the door, conducted some sort of grand exit but I chose not to. Not sure why I’m staying. Was it the first time I met him? Every time I meet someone new I close my eyes for a split second and I see a vision. With some people I see pain. With others I see companionship. This was the first time I saw a white suit. What did it mean? I don’t know. He looked happy. His eyes lit up. He was in the sun and the Pacific Ocean was the backdrop, and he was in a white suit. That image has been burned into my mind. I can’t tell if it’s one of those instances where you try to create the reality that you want to see, versus the real image of reality. Sometimes I’m not quite sure how to tell the difference anymore.
I pour another drink.
All I know is that I love him so much. He makes me love drunk. He makes me work for it. I hate it but I love it. It’s my version of ecstasy on Earth. He’s alluded to things that have bothered him before. Was I too wrapped up in myself to take notice? I don’t know. Things are shaky. All I know is that he is asleep now…and I am awake. He is in a state of relaxation and I am up. It’s pushing 5am here and I feel like I’m just getting started.
“Don’t make a sound. Shhh — listen.”
I wish the universe would give me a sign. It’s given me plenty but perhaps I wasn’t paying attention. I think I need another cigarette before I call it a night. Here goes it…