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Changing the world
one mind at a time
read at your own risk 
16th-Jan-2002 03:12 am
Let's just sit down and write this once and for all. Maybe in a year, I can scroll back and laugh at it, but right now...

When I first started the path that has led me here, it felt right. Now, these several years later, I feel lost again. It was so easy when I went away to college. Here I was, 18 and ready for life. I thought I'd go away to Wright State and everything would automatically get better for me, that things would finally start making sense now that I'm on my own. No longer bound to the rules of the High School social order. No longer forced to endure the constant reminders of who I was and what I had done. And once I got there, yes I did have the freedom I had coveted so long and so hard. I had found my freedom at last. I was free to be me. I started out getting involved and it all felt so good. I was somebody at last.
And then I got kicked out, put on Academic Suspension. I thought I'd go back in a year, get iot all over with, but FATE dealt me a lousy hand, filled with a student loan and unpaid bills. And I was left with nothing. I moved in with a friend, someone I barley knew at the time. I was a fledgling pagan, having just started down that path maybe a year and a half before at Embolc. I was in so much pain, my sense of identity stripped from me along with whatever remained of my dignity. I just wanted to lie in bbed and liuck my wounds, pretending to everyone that I was ok, that I was this wonderful supergirl(boy) who could be wading neck deep in shit and still smile about it, as if this was where I really wanted to be.
I've devoted too much time already to the man who I thought would lead me out of this, but for the sake of this essay, let me mention Kris yet again. I'm sure most of you already know bits and pieces about him; if you are really vurious, I'll send you our story upon request. Suffice it to say, I thought that perhaps he was my prince, there to sweeep me off on his white horse, and later, I thought maybe I was his prince sent to sweep him off of his shit covered plains. In those dark days after he left me while I awaited the eviction date, I even thought that all he and I were could be summed up as the feeders of each others illusions. I remember seeing him in his ideal state, falling in love with that trick of light, and then finding out as he called me a faggot on my soorstep that the the downside to an ideal is that there is an anti-ideal, and I was staring at it. I remember getting drunk with friends at a Chinese restaurant shortly thereafter, as the three of us sucked sweet alcohol and bitter misery. I kept thinking at the time, that wow, this is the pit, and after so many false bottoms, I've found a new one.
I moved in with another friend, this time smarting from another emotional wound, feeling cast out from my promised land of Canaan, Fairborn. And we fought, and we argued, because deep down, I thought that I was the only one with a right to be in pain, that I was the only one entitled to swim in my own misery.
I sat shiva for a while, repented, beat myself behind closed doors, all while maintaining this illusion of being more than who I was.
A new situation came along, and wow, I did everything I could do to get the situation to work out, and after a bit more that 40 days and 40 nights, I got to move back to Canaan. And I thought everything would be good again. And again, I lost everything. Every time I get my heart's desire I am stripped of everything else. So this time, after gluing the pieces back together once again, I decided not to care about anything ever again. I gave up everything that had mattered to me, because that way, the pain of losing it wouldn't cause me to fall apart yet again. I vowed never to care about anyone ever again. Never to care about any possesion, because all it could do was hurt me. So I slapped on some paint, varnished it up a bit, and called it done. Inside, I was still raw, but outside, I became the jester, always laughing at whatever FATE decided to throw at me.
I realize now, looking back with with eyes that are no longer blind, that I was commiting long term suicide. Even when I fought back by going back to college, I was still trying to kill myself somehow. I slept with anything that moved. I drove recklessly, trying hard to have an accident. I stopped paying bills. Everything that I could do that would lead eventually to death of some kind. Hell, I even tried slitting my wrists with a butter knife at one particularly bad moment when my facade of being ok fell apart at my feet. I tell a lot of people who know about that that I felt my connection go blip, the way a computer occasionally boots you off-line. But the truth is that that was one instant when I felt connected, and I didn't want to feel connected anymore. More than anything, I wanted to be someplace away form everyone and everything, where the pain of living no longer exsisted. Where maybe I could cast off the flesh and get on with life. And then, there was the jail experience, when I got that wish to a degree. A part of me liked that, because all of my options were exhausted. there was nothing really bad that could happen, and most of my friends would disown me. But even behind concrete wall, it still came through. I slept 15 hours at a time just because in sleep, I found a piece of death, where nothing could come. Then that solace evaporated with the dreams.
Then, on the outside, I knew my days were again numbered to my time in Eden. I knew it was going to come to an end, but the way it happned was a bitter pill to swallow. Being told that the new lease was signed by my roommate at the time and a new friend of his, behind my back. I mean, yes, I knew it was coming, but was it too much to ask for honesty about it? I guess it was, because that was and is a friendship that has become like a broken arm that never got set right. On the rare occasion that I talk to him, there is an awkwardness there that never exisited, and in the silence, I feel the betrayal that he felt at how my life was led when I lived with him.
And now, have I found that solace again? No. I still feel hollow, still feel empty inside. I've tried religion, but it doesn't touch the void inside. I've tried therapy, but a counsellor is someone you pay to ask you stupid questions. I've tried drugs, but the don't fill the void very well, and in fact strip away most of whatever filling I still had left. I feel like a jack-o-lantern, smiling on the outside, and empty inside.
My reading material hasn't helped either. It brings new dreams. And when I meditate, I sometimes see a hand coming to lift me out of this, but even then, the hand drops me right back into the shit I've been wallowing in the past few years.
There is nothing left for them to take, and nothing can ever fill that void I have inside me. I am but a zombie, waiting to be put back in my grave.
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