For the past week or so, I've been going to the "notepad" feature on my dumbphone to jot down a few words here and there that will remind me of stuff to write about when I get the chance. I just looked at it because I have a chance to write, but none of that stuff seems very important anymore. I wanted to bitch about work and stupid people of varying origins...I was going to give a little update on the animals (we now have 3)...I had planned on ranting about my opinions regarding people getting pregnant and having kids while on welfare (I will still probably rant about that, but not right now).
Right now I want to talk about how lonely I am. I don't mean in the sense that nobody's around and I don't want to be by myself. I've gotten to the point where I actually enjoy a little alone time. What I mean now when I say I'm lonely is that I have no friends. My life consists of going to work, doing homework, going to school, spending time with the kids (though not nearly enough), and trying very unsuccessfully to keep my house in a state that won't be deemed a health and safety hazard by the government.
I miss going out. I miss having people over. I miss making spur of the moment plans and getting excited. I've become dull.
When I first stopped hanging out with people, it was because I decided that there was no such thing as a friend. There were people you could chill with and have a good time with, but if you let them get too close, they'd fuck your world up. I came to this conclusion based on my past friendships, not only because of what my "friends" had done to me, but also because of what I had done to other people who I considered my dearest friends. Somehow, being close to people has always brought misery. So I poured myself into Heather with the delusion that I was bettering myself; I was letting go of all the bullshit that I had been carrying around with me since forever. The reality of it was, though, that I was letting go of everything. And not because I was fed up with my friendships, but because I was fed up with my life.
At the time, I didn't take responsibility for the bad shit that happened to me. Or that I caused. Rarely do things just happen to people...most of the time, some way or another, they cause it. I caused a lot of bad shit. And I put the back of my hand to my forehead with a dramatic "why me" because I was too childish and selfish, and I'm sure a few other descriptive words that end with "ish", to acknowledge that I was the reason for my own struggle. The two years that followed were extremely bumpy and mostly uphill. Eventually, as in 5 months ago, I grew up. I don't really know what happened. I just had an epiphany and was all of sudden different in my own mind. I wish I could say that it was because I had done a lot of soul searching and philisophical thinking and that I worked really hard to come to this enlightenment. Nope. Just *poof* and I was different. Don't get me wrong, I had done a lot of soul searching, but to no avail. I always ended up right back where I started. For some reason, the cycle just broke. I guess if you climb up and down a rope enough times, sooner or later it'll snap.
For the past few months I've been bored. I want to do stuff. I want to hang out with people again. I want to go out in big groups and cut up. I want to be in a conversation with someone standing across from me while two people to either side of me are in a separate conversation. I want friends.
It's really difficult for me to find friends that I can relate to. I had one once. I pushed her away. Actually, I pretty much drove my fist through her chest, grabbed her heart and pushed her backwards out a 50-story window without letting go of her lifeforce. She fell to the ground with a splat before I realized what I had done....or before I cared, I don't know which. And even once I did accept that I had killed a very special part of her, I was too wrapped up in my own bullshit to put forth enough effort to try to save her. We went our separate ways. I truly hope that whatever pain I caused her was for a reason. There's no reason that I can give, but hopefully she experienced what I did to her and somehow became a better person for having to overcome it. She did nothing to cause that. That was one of those rare occasions where it just happened to her.
That happened to me once too. Someone came into my life and killed me. She killed every last fiber of my being. She took from me all that I cared about and all that I lived for. I have never felt so much hate as I did toward her. I would have joyfully tied her to a pole with barbed wire in the center of a concrete cell, burned her clothes off of her and then put out the fire, slashed her face with jagged, rusty pieces of aluminum cans and splashed it with salt water, dug out her vagina with a fork, clipped her clitoris off with fingernail clippers, caught the blood that poured out of her in a bucket and made her drink it, which would hopefully cause her to vomit so that I could wipe it up with a towel and use it to gag her. Then I would have dunked one of her arms in gasoline and set it on fire, put the fire out before it spread to the rest of her body, pulled the blackend skin off of the arm like the burnt outside of a roasted marshmallow, and fed it to her. Oh, it could have gone on for days, hell, maybe even weeks. There wasn't enough torture in a psycho's mind to give her all that she deserved. I could have done all that and slept like a baby every night. I'd probably even dream up more things to put on the torture list for the next day. Oh, yeah...it was that bad.
I know you, the reader, are probably wide-eyed with disbelief and just now exhaling the breath you were holding while reading that last paragraph. I completely understand. After all, how could someone have such thoughts and be free to roam around in society? It's okay...I'm on medication. Rest easy, my friends. Those hideous urges are long gone. For you see, that girl not only ruined my life, but saved it at the same time. All the loathing and repulsion that I harbored for her dampened my quality of life. Eventually, as in 5 months ago, I let it go. The negativity that I carried with me evaporated. I have even thought about sitting down with her and having a little chat. I'd really like to know more about what goes on inside her head. I'm sure she wouldn't want to know the same about me!
I have absolutely no problem admitting that I'm crazy. It is precisely this that affirms my sanity. Insane people think they are the only ones who are normal and the rest of the world is what is fucked up.
What was the point of all that again? Oh, yeah...I'm lonely. Hmmm....I wonder why I have no friends.
But seriously, folks, I really am a very kind-hearted person. I'm sensitive and caring. I value life, mine and that of all people. I do believe that there are some people who are a waste of healthy organs, but I would defend their right to life, nonetheless. I realize that my thoughts are a bit scary to the outsider. In here, though, everything makes perfect sense. In here, in my mind, I am at peace. There are no characteristics about myself that I am ashamed for people to know. Nothing I would worry about the press getting their hands on if I ever ran for president (which, of course, I wouldn't because I hate politics and all the hypocrisy that it requires). This blog is to me as confession is to Catholics. I'm sure it wouldn't kill me to say a few Hail Marys just for shits and giggles, but I don't know the words.
I know that to have friends, I have to make the effort in the friendship. And effort involves time. Which I do not have. So I guess until my obligations thin out, I'm just gonna be bored. I'm really ok with that most of the time. I have so much other shit that I should be doing. I do know, though, that if you don't cut loose (foot loose, kick off your sunday shoes...) every once in a while, you can lose your mind. I'm pretty sure I'm half way there.
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