My children were here, unexpectedly just eleven days ago. My world freezes when they visit, and it's just begun to spin again. It's been just long enough to justify how much I miss them already. They are old enough that I try to give them their space and let them enjoy themselves when they are here, despite my urge to hug them every five minutes.
I guess I'm about to tell a story, one that no one really knows, and the whole time, I'll be wishing someone actually read this. My secret journal, isn't so secret, people just don't seem to dig this deep to get to know me. I used to try, really try to get close to people, to have relationships and best friends... I didn't intentionally give up, or push anyone away, but as people grew distant, I let them.
Here I am, a couple paragraphs in, and already this isn't the story I mean to tell, but maybe it should start here, I'll give you the outcome, then the reason. Tarantino, effect-cause style.
I'm not good for people. I wanted so badly to add a comma to that sentence, but that period fell in just the right spot. I don't have and great if and's or but's, there are simple things in my world I can offer people, but those are shallow, art based things, nothing of great substance, nothing I've learned that really counts. When they leave my world, or don't bother stepping too far in to begin with, I don't stumble to let them know how wonderful they are, I don't show them what is good in me, because I don't want them to feel stuck with the reality of me. I can't think of any simple way to phrase any of this, some tried and true saying that would summarize the intent of my words.
I'm sick... On a few levels, and I'd like to air them all, get it off my chest. I've tries to tell people in the past, and it hurts their feelings, it literally changes how they look at me. I can't ever take back what I've said, when I tell people this; I do not feel well, I've been to doctors, I've had tons of scans, and I feel like it's my fault that I can't express to them in simple terms, what it is that makes me feel sick. I've had multiple head injuries, chronic bronchitis, severe anxiety/depression and insomnia, these things are easy to define. Some of that is treatable, or maskable at least, some is not. I can't leave my home without serious effort, lest I suffer a pretty intense panic attack. For several years that much has been true, but now they even happen at home. There are these other things though, that I can't describe, and when I try I get blank expressions from people.
I hurt. Everyday, it's hard to breath, my head feels wrong, my hands are numb, I lose my breath or feel like I'm breathing too rapid. There's so much more I just can't explain, it all seems to tie together and it feeds my anxiety and insomnia. I have no idea why I'm still alive, I've almost died enough times, that I view it very differently than I used to... I don't want to die, but I don't fear it either. I've been in a hospital covered in blood and I've hidden away in the darkness in shame, and everything in between. I still exist on this plane, and maybe there is some reason, but to shorten this a bit... I keep people away, so they don't have to watch this happening, so slowly to me. I catch the glances, I know the look, people think I've let myself go, or that I have some addiction they can blame for how I seem. Anything I've done in the past few years, medication or alcohol, it's just to help hide how I really feel, to attempt to be pleasant and social.
That's the most I've admitted about that in a while, and it decidedly keeps people away. When they care too much, I feel obligated to let them know, but no one has breached that wall in a couple years now. I've successfully kept people at a safe enough distance that the gravity of my life doesn't suck them in, or weigh them down.
Back to the story I wanted to tell. And realize if you do read this, there's a lot in my professional life that I am blessed to be involved with, but this is about me, the stripped down, raw truth, no white eye, and no bullshit.
My world has begun spinning again, it's been post-Christmas, nit wanting to accept that I won't see my children for a while. This won't be some story where I explain how I've been wronged, the events that led to this point can't be changed, so I try not to dwell in yesterday. Another story, perhaps? The how doesn't matter right now.
I am a man that is wasting away, mentally, physically, my life has been frozen. My children live over three hours away, I can't pay child support because I can't even leave my home. For the first time in my life, I can't pull out some straight-forward goal to fix my life. I don't know how to change where I am right now, I feel useless to others and I've failed myself.
I can be a great friend, I can love without bounds. There have been many passionate years spent on this earth that were devoted to being lost in love, savoring life, and art, music with a passion. I still make music an art, and I still have something to feed that fire, pain paves the road art travels. But the love, I can't bring myself to let someone dig that deep, it hurts them, an then they hate me; they hate me, because they love me. I have been yelled at numerous times, people angry that they can't stand knowing what my life is, upset that they have to feel burdened by my life... It never helps when I point out that I'm the one burdened with this life, I can't step out of these shoes. It's why I keep people away. I'd love to seek someone to spend my days with, to feel the warmth of someone at night. It is selfish though, for me to chase my desires, if it ruins someones life.
I'm sorry I don't know how to end this, so I'll just stop writing for now. It feels redundant, and yet I haven't properly expressed what I want to say.
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