What is and what will never be…
I’ve not written a single word in over a month. What is that?! So, you know what, fuck it. Let’s get real. This is how it is. If I can’t write one piece of fiction, then maybe there’s something wrong with me. So, like I said, let’s get real. And this is how it is:
I’m so fucked, and have been fucked, for far too long ( I should preface all of this with a caveat: I’m very much under the influence of alcohol right now but, as they say, “in vino veritas”…or some shit like that. I don’t know. I don’t care.) Regardless, I need to write something. I need to get back at it. I need to just…be. So here it is.
I’ve lost my soul. I’ve lost it in the despicable depths of what I call a “job”. This place, this credit union, it’s sucked the life out of me. Everything I am, everything I was, it takes it all from me like some insidious leech sucking on whomever it is I thought I was. I’m losing myself every single day and I don’t know what to do.
Where went the boy that I was? What happened to me? God, I hate my life. God, I hate you, and I don’t even believe in you. Fuck.
I don’t know where I am. I had thought, “Well, shit! I’m graduated! Let the opportunities pour in! I can’t wait to deny these asshole jobs because I’m getting far better offers. My life is set!!
WRONG!
WRONG!
But maybe that’s on me. Correction: it IS on me.
I never took the time, I never put in the work, to put myself in a place of opportunity, a place to succeed. And now I’m paying for it. It’s my own fault, my own burden.
And then, Girls. Fuck.
Where could I be, where could I have been, if I didn’t, hadn’t, given so much attention to these girls over the years? If I could have just said, “Fuck girls. Fuck sex. Fuck love. I’m all about success!”
Where could I be?
The answer, really, truthfully, is not here. But then I wouldn’t be me.
I don’t think I could handle that.
I love, “Love”. It’s tantamount to anything ever having, always. Love is it. It is all. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
But maybe that’s because my parents, the high school sweet hearts, the prom King and Queen, have always been so good, in my eyes. They’ve always been perfect. Even when my father would mow the lawn and my mother would, hesitantly say, “I’m taking the boys to see ‘Austin Powers’ and dad would say, without a beat, ‘Okay’, (because secretly they had their own problems, their borderline I’m-not-sure-we’ll-be-together-next-week problems) that it was always okay. Until I grew up and realized that their shit was never “Blue skies and rainbows”. They had their shit, too. But they made it work. For them, and for me, for us.
I’ve always wanted that.
I’ve looked. I’ve tried.
But I’ve never nearly come close.
Truthfully, I don’t know where this is going. But, like I said, I haven’t written anything in over a month. I needed to put something down. Anything. It needed to happen. I hope it’s all worth it.
I’m drinking a beer now (Blue Moon, to be exact. I hate it. I hate this belgium, flavored shit. Give me an IPA any day. Right now. Something strong. Something worth drinking.)
I’m an asshole. I can’t believe I haven’t pointed that out yet.
I. Am. A. Bad. Person.
This is fact. I’ve made mistakes. I have regrets. Some far greater than others. I’m anyplace and everyplace all at the same time and, unfortunately, people have suffered for that. People I wish, like Hell, would have never felt that. But this is life, right? Fuck that. This is people. We are people, no? We make mistakes. I make mistakes. I…make mistakes.
Creative non-fiction. Something to write. Something to talk about. Just…something.
I’m losing it. I’m losing who I was, who I thought I’d be. Who people think of me to be. I’m not there. I’m so far away from that. It’s frightening.
More than anything I just want to love. I want to be loved. I want to right wrongs. I want to be the friend people thought I was. Not flaky, not flighty. Someone reliable. Someone worth talking to. Someone…just a human worth liking. I’ve lost that and I want it back.
Selfishly, I just want this rant, this admission of guilt, this piece of honest, to be something that gets me back to who I was. Something that affords me a second (or third, or forth chance, depending on the person reading this) at being the person I knew, I know, I can be.
Only time, as cliché as it is, will tell…
