Connected by sinewy ennui.

Constant white noises assuage the tension and soothe my anxious mind.  It proves to be a tonic– whether a gimmick, gaffe or hoax– it helps.  It alleviates my ailments.  There are many people who take stimulants to jump-start their brain into a cartoonish mode of jumping from task to task, never shutting down or crashing for hours and days…. almost maniacal in their behavior.   Not many want to crawl into the gray matter and turn the lights out for a little break from the constant worry and war drums reverberating within their cranial cavity.

The words and thoughts in my head won’t dissipate or decay into extinction.   They simply instruct me of nothing.  I have nothing guiding me to harm nor heal.  I’m just unable to find that simple “sleep” mode that allows everyone else to discover via sheer exhaustion or that Luna moth of a sleeping pill.  If I could tap into that stream of data–the dawdling flow of unconsciousness–  if it could be slowed to a language I could understand, perhaps I would be on to something… brilliant.  Instead, I open many windows on my computer, I turn the lights off…. I listen to music, I start learning the chords to songs in my head, I read a passage, I start re-writing my own, I watch a candle flicker,  I watch it dull, the alarm clock blink, the PS3 remote say it’s low on battery, The game console whirring, the dog and cat jingling their collars in synchronization.  A flurry of distractions from what?   That’s the frustrating part.

I’d rather hear my ulna cracking.  Taste my lip bleeding.  Feel the skin ripped from my flesh by blunt or sushi sharp utensils–rather than sit in stagnation anymore.  However– I don’t do that anymore.  I’m almost a year sober in regards to cutting or harming myself externally.  Internally… well, we all have our vices.  At least I never popped pills, shot myself up, or inhaled anything.  I have that going for me.  Except I am enjoying the faint scent of “Pine” and “Vanilla cookie” candles at the moment.  Delicious.  Better than the cheap weed the kids below us have constantly billowing into our windows and embedding itself into our pillows.

Logistically, I understand that those types of bandages and sutures will never work for more than the instant they occur.  You lament that they happened the moment that blood becomes uncontrollable.  After the medical aspect is addressed– and wound properly dressed– you realize that you now have the mess to deal with– psychologically, physically and…. realistically…. in a domestic sense with the materials and fibers around you.  You press your fingers to your throbbing temple and attempt to discern the reasons as to “why?”  The answer is simple.  It’s not hard to state that you were out of control and needed to feel something other than numb– but, grab that shovel and dig deeper and you realize a more grave issue is the top soil thrown onto a coffin.

Take a step back and look at those around you.  Imagine them clad in black– grieving at your selfish inability to quench your insatiable thirst for normality…. something you realize you’ll never grasp entirely.  It’s impossible to swallow.  It sits in your entrails as though you choked on a boulder– succumbed to an avalanche of pain you brought on to yourself.  Who will you let down?  Who will you take down with you?  The answer is more than you can enumerate.

Be brave. Be strong. Prove yourself wrong.

Every breath, every second, every moment spent on this earth- you are providing someone else with fuel to take another step.  You don’t know it, but you are.  Some people are more obtuse and guarded by moats, internal demons and serpents, and impenetrable gates than you can never do more than chip chinks from .  But, they are always there.  Cheering you on in silence, providing you warmth and love through gifts, sending you thoughts or simple words when you least expect, but most need it.

I look into the eyes of those I love and cannot help but turn away and take an overly dramatic gulp– eyes brimmed with tears–aversion inevitable. Expected.  I never denied being a sensitive entity.  One who has been submerged in a tank of cloying tentacles dragging me below the atmosphere…  1.2.3. gasp for air…rinse and repeat. All the while battling strangulation from self-imposed ennui… but, always hearing and absorbing each word like a sponge in the Sahara.  My issue has never been a lack of adoration or love…. Conflict arises within .

Shirking and flattening myself against walls to escape the gaze of others trying to help.  I become a slot canyon– deep beneath the surface that no one can see without delving into the thick molasses of hurt and pain.  I evade contact.  Always flying under my imaginary radar, but signaling red flags on everyone around me’s sonar.  My perceived naivete was a mask.  I felt that ignorance would be as symbolic as a white flag.  I mean no harm, but stay away.  And then I cry out for a savior.  I thought that this  would spare everyone from becoming enslaved like a chain gang.  I wanted no one to be captive to my needs. It did not take long to realize that this happened regardless of my intentions.  I lassoed everyone into a tightly wound knot of horror.  Dealing with me became laden with pain than pleasure.

It’s so easy to grab a set of throwing knives and hurl them towards a carnival-esque  rotting original sideshow board– trying to target the reasoning behind my outcome.  But, really– it just boils down to no one’s fault, but my own.

Could not of been raised among a sturdier, more selfless, and honorable set of people.  I was provided with every opportunity that I would or could ever need or want during my developmental years.  I’m sure everyone could sense, even at this point, that I was different.   However, knowing the reasons behind it– or if it were something I would grow out of is a completely irrelevant question at this juncture.   I am unique.  In anagrams– the U in my name always stood for “Unique” in elementary school.

Maybe I am not ever going to be that intelligent.  Perhaps, I could have been.  That ship has sailed. I’m twenty-eight years old and no closer to figuring out the right path for me to take in this snarled and convoluted maze of life.  All I want to do is learn.  As I said… the alcohol is to keep the brain from realizing I have no stimulation just a simulation of what I want to see.  I yearn for a reason to even exist.  It frustrates me to be frustrated.  But, with the incapacity to make friends– I am sucked into this vortex of emptiness.  I’m entrapped.  I step outside and am blinded by light and possibility.  My eyes reflect the physical blindness and mar the internal reasoning of excelling without LITERAL sight.  I can do things without relying on one of five senses.  I can.  And maybe I will.  Who knows?

Let me tell you what I do know.

– I know that every time my Dad sends me an email saying that he loves me– I cry.  He’s not the most verbally emotional of folks.  Although, he is one of the most verbally gifted with words.

-I know that if my Mom hugs me or offers to take me for food or to run an errand– that I should always accept– not because I need it for the sustenance, but because I won’t always have her and she wants nothing more than to be someone who makes me happy in life.   And she makes me feel like a human again.

-I know that every time I see my niece, Cate, grow a little bit more, learn a little bit more, that my heart grows a million times more (I know it’s improper grammar :P)…. Who’d of known?   That she views Meg and I as a singular presence and scolds Meg because she couldn’t make her birthday party…. means that not only is it a sign of social progress but an acceptance and acknowledgment as us being  important  to her.  I never knew I could love a little creature more than I do her.

-I know that despite my sister and I not communicating daily– she is a very busy gal– that each time we are together, we always laugh and have fun.  We are so similar in just the right ways.  We are so different in MANY more ways, but humor solidifies us as siblings.  I love her so much more than she knows.

-I know that without my sister, I would not know my brother-in-law, Josh.  And what a great brother-in-law I inherited 🙂  Someone who will always look out for me and be there if I need him.  And if I need to talk nerdy movies with.  I love him so much, too.

-I know that my dog, Raleigh, is one of the best creatures in the world.  I don’t need to explain.  I know my dog is better than 95 percent of them out there.  Sorry.

-I know that I owe so much to my fiance’s family– even if I have never been able to prove my worth to them.  I have many cards, emails, and notes written to them that I never sent out of embarrassment, hesitation, and fear of rejection.  I’m always worried about how I am perceived in other’s eyes– and especially those of the few Meg holds closest to her heart.  I can never fill the void that exists by the distance between her and her family, but I hope that she always knows that I would give everything for her and them.  I’m grateful to have met them at all.

-I know that every thing that Megan does is for me– and that she does not graze my hand, gently touch my cheek, press a palm upon my shoulder, trace my spine, nor sweep her lips against mine without every single nerve in her body longing for me. And mine for her.  She is incapable of hiding anything from me.  She looks at me and I see down to her core– and the penetrating, guarded to some, dark eyes couldn’t cloak and dagger anything from me.  I may have blue eyes, but they can pierce and melt  hers into a puddle…  until I cock my head to one side and converse with her beating heart– finding it suddenly resting complacently my palms.  And mine in hers.

Sometimes, this scares me– I don’t like the idea of being a solved puzzle or completed Sunday NYT crossword…. I’m no trophy to be won. Instead, I choose to crawl into the realms of darkness that I allow to envelop me.  I try to add some intrigue to my obvious mirror-like reflection to her own visage.  I come off as distant.  I come off as a character in “The Others” who believes themselves to be alive–while others know you are truly dead.  She resuscitates me with a single grabbing of the hand.  She snatches me back from the haunted crevices and back into the brightly colored future.

It’s funny.  No one thought we’d last.   I’ve heard these rumblings from before I even let her know I was interested in being saved.  And although the beginnings were non-traditional and inauspicious– no one can deny the magnetism, longevity and innate understanding we have for one another.  Each of us has a piece of the other buried deep within each other’s soul.   It wasn’t like this for her, but It was love at first sight for me.   I study and I think.  I process.  I knew that she was the one I needed to wrangle me in and shape me into something better than who I thought I was.  Someone to build me up and not collapse my world (jenga style).   Not an earthquake.  But, a rumbling of resuscitation was the only way I could explain it.  To this day– I still remember what she was wearing the first time I met her… how she sat in front of me… how she spoke… how I just wanted her a step closer to me, yet wanted her to stay so far away out of fear.  And let me say– Ghostbusters II shirt, baggy pants with paint all over them, hair in a pony tail, drunk and being an aloof jackass.  She wanted to keep me away, but drew me closer.   Almost 4 years later and I am still incapable of almost throwing myself to my knees and thanking whatever power that be for dragging me into such a potentially precarious situation and blessing me with an endless fortune of fortuity.   So, thank you to whichever weird alien star planet princess was available that day….

Love doesn’t usually make sense.  If it does– then a fiery red head with a belligerent, militant,  obstinate attitude who has a heart of gold…… wouldn’t end up with a wall-flower, pacifist, political and pop culture junkie with nothing to offer but what you see in front of her.  I have nothing, but am loved beyond any definition.

I lived my whole life waiting for her.  I’ll never give that up.  This year has transformed me from self-centered into a new realm of focusing on what benefits those around me.  Maybe I am worth something.  Maybe.  Maybe.

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Posted on January 10, 2014, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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