Don’t even read this. It’ll be too long and boring. I’m just venting.
You’ve been warned.
“The shit has hit the fan”, people say when things have catastrophically spiralled out of hand. Such is the case in my life right now. My depression is increasing, my little world is collapsing and the best I can do is just sit there and take it in. Like Johnny from “Johnny Got His Gun” (the subject of Metallica’s “One”, in case you didn’t know), I am aware of things, yet I’m unable to do anything about them.
Self-Awareness 1: Canada
I’ve complained, always, that I don’t have that many friends (or much of a social life). Yet, I’ve managed to live with that. But the realization and the self-awareness are sinking deeper into me. Am I really that intolerable?
Sure, I’m introverted, and socially retarded, but I can’t be all bad, no? There must be something people can find interesting, if not likeable, about me. But no, people avoid me like I’m covered in shit and throwing handfuls of bees at them.
Self-Awareness 2: Mexico
When I left Mexico in 2005, I left behind a consderable number of friends (which is weird in itself, considering I haven’t cemented a single friendship in the almost four years I’ve been up here). Even on my trips back home, I keep meeting new people, many of whom I’ve befriended. I even met my girlfriend that way.
Yet something’s happened. Many of my original friends – and I’m not talking acquaintances here, I’m talking friends since way back – have all but disappeared. What is it about me that makes people say “good, he’s gone. Let’s move on”?
Sure, I still have a handful of friends that are fucking amazing. They even take the time to talk to me almost every day. For them, I am grateful. But then there’s the “hellos” and the “what’s up!s” that sit there, piling into eachother, unreplied to, in other friends’ conversation boxes on my Messenger.
Am I some kind of “social leper”?
SINCE ”EMBEDDING IS DISABLED BY REQUEST”, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, HERE’S THE LYRICS TO FAITH NO MORE’S “FALLING TO PIECES”
Back and forth, I sway with the wind
Resolution slips away again
Right through my fingers, back into my heart
Where it’s out of reach and it’s in the dark
Sometimes I think I’m blind
Or I may be just paralyzed
Because the plot thickens every day
And the pieces of my puzzle keep crumblin’ away
But I know, there’s a picture beneath
Indecision clouds my vision
No one listens…
Because I’m somewhere in between
My love and my agony
You see, I’m somewhere in between
My life is falling to pieces
Somebody put me together
Layin’ face down on the ground
My fingers in my ears to block the sound
My eyes shut tight to avoid the sight
Anticipating the end, losing the will to fight
Droplets of “yes” and “no”
In an ocean of “maybe”
From the bottom, it looks like a steep incline
From the top, another downhill slope of mine
But I know, the equilibrium’s there
Indecision clouds my vision
No one listens
Because I’m somewhere in between
My love and my agony
You see, I’m somewhere in between
My life is falling to pieces
Somebody put me together
Ah, here’s where it all blends together. Messenger, Facebook, the blogs… People from Mexico and Canada, and hell, all over the world have access to me. Again, I might not be the most social guy in the world, but at least I’m fortunate enough to live in times like these, when we have the internet.
Yet, despite proving to be relatively intelligent, culturally relevant, well-spoken (most of the time), courteous in my conversation (for the most part, I at least take the time to listen and reply accordingly – as opposed to just typing LOL – and I have the decency to end my conversations by not just disappearing) and in some instances helpful, funny or at the very least sincere, it would seem people disregard all that and prefer befriending the cliché-ridden types of people I always end up mocking.
Perhaps the most haunting aspect of the whole internet thing doesn’t even have to do with other people, but with myself. There’s times when I’ll wake up at 6:30 in the morning, terrified because I can’t remember what I wrote as a “status” and if I shouldn’t have, or people will take it the wrong way, or if a certain conversation went the wrong way, or if something I said upset someone. For example, even though “I hate myself and want to die” is a song by Nirvana, and to an extent describes my mood, I’ll find myself regretting writing it as my Facebook status. And, sure enough, some friend will find it in his heart to comment that I come off as a 14 year old emo girl.
Family Life
About a month ago, I decided to create a new email account. A more “personal” one, if you will. Fucking hotmail and its spam, its notifications from Facebook, and the like. The one at canada.com, well, let’s say 500 people a day want to sell me herbal viagra, cheap watches, and hook me up with teenage girls, so fuck that. I have another one at gmail.com, which I intended to use with my blogs. But I needed another, more personal one. So, I went with my whole name at gmail.com.
The first thing I did was send a mail to every member of my family whose email address I had. Yes, we’ve been distant for the most part, but I wanted to take a step towards keeping in touch. Stupid me. You know how many of those assholes bothered with a response? ZERO. When I asked for email contacts for the rest of my family, only one of my sisters was nice enough to respond.
Then, there’s the immediate family. Other than a short call on Father’s Day, I haven’t spoken to my dad since February. It’s kind of hard talking to him, lately. And my sisters, well, I can’t really blame them for anything. They’re still around, just we’re all too busy doing our thing.
And then, of course, my daughter. I’ve only spoken to her twice this year. Apparently, that’s all I’m allowed to.
Moneytalks
It’s been a hell of a year, so far. It’s hard enough to live on a two-day work week. It’s been stressful at times to struggle to come up with enough money for, say, rent. Or food. But I’ve managed. The thing that depresses me the most about this is that even though all this global crisis thing isn’t my fault, I still consider it a personal defeat that I wasn’t able to go home for the summer. The worst part is, if I had been able to, I’d be there right now.
AND WELL, ANOTHER ONE I CAN’T SEEM TO POST. THERE GOES THEIR PROMOTION. HERE’S THE LYRICS TO SOUL ASYLUM’S “RUNAWAY TRAIN”.
Call you up in the middle of the night
Like a firefly without a light
You were there like a blowtorch burning
I was a key that could use a little turningSo tired that I couldn’t even sleep
So many secrets I couldn’t keep
I promised myself I wouldn’t weep
One more promise I couldn’t keepIt seems no one can help me now,
I’m in too deep; there’s no way out
This time I have really led myself astrayRunaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I’m neither here nor thereCan you help me remember how to smile?
Make it somehow all seem worthwhile
How on earth did I get so jaded?
Life’s mystery seems so fadedI can go where no one else can go
I know what no one else knows
Here I am just a-drownin’ in the rain
With a ticket for a runaway trainAnd everything seems cut and dried,
Day and night, earth and sky,
Somehow I just don’t believe itRunaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I’m neither here nor thereBought a ticket for a runaway train
Like a madman laughing at the rain
A little out of touch, a little insane
It’s just easier than dealing with the painRunaway train, never going back
Wrong way on a one-way track
Seems like I should be getting somewhere
Somehow I’m neither here nor thereRunaway train, never coming back
Runaway train, tearing up the track
Runaway train, burning in my veins
I run away but it always seems the same
Home Life
I really, really hate myself for this. In all this time off, I’ve yet to get off my ass and tend to my home. Or my things. I had promised myself to leave the house spotless, for one. I haven’t even bothered to find out where my girlfriend left the mop, almost two months ago. Sure, I’ll do the basics, like washing dishes, doing laundry and disposing of garbage properly, but I never did get around to most of my to-do list.
Speaking of laundry, the loads I washed on sunday are still sitting there in the bag I put them in after I pulled them out of the drier.
Love Life
Perhaps the most cataclysmic event in my whole depression bout, as of monday night, is the fact that I may, or may not, have broken up with my girlfriend.
There’s two levels for this. Before I explain, let me say I love her a lot. She’s a wonderful, awesome person and I’m an idiot for doing what I did. She’s proven time and time again she loves me, and not only me, but everything about me and my surroundings. She stood up to her family when they didn’t agree that she’d come to Canada without getting married first. She loves my sisters, my nieces and nephews, and she gets along great with my daughter. She’s funny, she’s tolerant of my “bad” habits, and there are so many amazing things about her that I only feel like more of an idiot as I type this.
Level 1 would be, of course, her darker side. She doesn’t trust me; she always believes the worst case scenario no matter what; she conducts her own little “investigations” about me, and no matter what I do, it’s just never enough. I give up an inch, she wants the whole mile. I don’t give up an inch, I’m an asshole. I’m tired of her making me feel inadequate, no matter what I do.
Level 2 goes beyond that. It’s kinda simple, actually. She requires a legally binding piece of paper stating that I love her. A wedding, so to speak. And, she wants offspring. I don’t. It’s not in my plans, at least for now, to offer her documentation as to what I feel for her, nor is it my dream come true to bring more people into the world. Selfish, perhaps, but only on the surface. A really selfish person would say “hey, deal with it”. Myself, I love her so much that if I can’t give her what she needs, I want her to find it. Even if it’s not with me. As I said, she really is special, and she deserves happiness. She deserves more than me. Yet, being without her is killing me.
Well, if you made it this far, I appreciate the interest. I know I sound emo, but believe me, eyeliner and hair over my eye and My Chemical Romance aren’t going to fix me. Sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Watch the videos (or read the lyrics to the videos I couldn’t post – Thanks, Music Industry, you geniuses, you!). The lyrics are great.
The Iceberg
