A Borrowed Story In My Own Words

Tonight, while search for inspiration for what to post, I came across a blog post entitled, "Like a Girl Who Barely Notices You Are Alive?".  Reading the post, I felt moved by the general sentiments of the post and would love to explore his ideas further.  So tonight instead of proclaiming with my own voice, I tell his story with my own words.  My version is first, and his original version is at the bottom in purple.

What a waste is my self-loathing for it curries no favor in his eyes.  Every night I endure this torment with no reward, lost and alone in my own pity.  Hopelessly romantic, I oft feel if I do not allow my love to die, if I stoke the flames long enough, then like Heathcliff, I can meet my love in the hereafter.  Find him in a place where we can finally be together in bliss.  Alas, this is all my own work, for if Catherine was truly destined to be with my Heathcliff, then it would not take death to unite them.  All Catherine would have to do was bridge the gap between our hands and hearts and take me back into our love.  

To live in such fantasies is a self defense, because otherwise the pain of his ebb and flow of affection would kill all that still breaths inside of me.  To pretend my suffering is for a larger purpose is to feel that I am investing in a higher goal, and it makes the agony of every passing moment tolerable.  His cruelty is almost enough to smother my already waning ability to trust.  For the sad truth is despite his best attempts to convince me it is not so, I feel broken in a way that cannot be fixed.  How can I blame him for a lifetime of being afraid, for my constant fear of rejection?  It lives with me always and denies me the knowledge of what comfort feeling happy can bring.  I fear the good, because the darkness is all I have ever known.  

It is always at the end when we look back, trying to see the exact moment that it all went wrong.  While I am left here to deal with the carnage, I do not allow him to see it.  Impressions that all was well with me was exactly what I hoped he would get from my pantomimed half of our final conversation.  Only by playing this scene several times before was I able to finally give a convincing performance.  But when he left, he took our life together with him.  I am now the lone child on the playground, tentative on the edge of the blacktop because I can not count a single friend among the gleeful faces.  All of them sense the darkness that is inside of me, so I am merely tolerated, never loved, never adored.  Is this why he could never love me, my inability to love myself?

Is he the target of my anger?  How can he be?  For was I not the same when I was his age?  My desire to assign blame to him is from all the ways he disappointed me.  Though a portion of blame is my own for the foolishness of setting forth expectations he could never meet.  I set him up to fail before we even began.  The pain he dealt to me was pre-prescribed, but perhaps necessary, for pain provides the world's oldest education.  

So now I stand alone and question my purpose, if my purposes was not to love him.  Perhaps my purpose is to someday finally gain understanding from others that my voice is not common, my words are not theirs, that my ability to create emotion and love where none was before is worth the investment of time.

Hey Stupid - 

She is not into I tell myself everynight feeling sorry for myself.  I am one of those stupid poetic idiots who thinks hey why not be sad about a girl for eternity and then be heathcliffe and meet her in the afterlife.  The only problem with this logic is you are not catherine's dream or she would of been with you in life.  I call it the silly lies we tell ourselves because it is less painful then she treated you like a yoyo, one day I love you the next day I do not and you have no trust in women after it.  You are glad you are friends but you will never trust another could love you because you are broken in a way that can't be fixed.  It is not her fault but a lifetime of being afraid.  It is never knowing how to be comfortable with being happy.  Fearing the good more than the bad because bad is all I will ever truly know.


It was a success in terms of relationships.. I did leave things ok.. which is something I have had trouble with in the past.  Now based on her actions I am the guy in the school yard with no real friends.  I am tolerated not loved by any because I could not love me.  it is the age old curse.. I really want to be angry at her but who is not like that when they are 20.  It is my fault for being silly about it.. for not understanding the flaws in expection.. I am angry but I do not who to be angry at.. it all is a mess with no real understanding who to blame.. and if blame is even the right word since pain is the worlds oldest education.  It is like we are being made for someone purpose. someday people will understand my voice is not common, my words, the way I am able to create emotion is something worth having.. until then I go broke hoping for a single company to get their head out of their ass and realize I could be a advertising star if I could find a company with someone to mentor me on the x's and o's of the industry.  Will they?  No because companies want the degrees with no life experience.  You can't learn what I know in school. 


I have no idea what was the point of this blog.  I never do as everything with me is random.  It is so annoying never having order in my life.. I dream of order but end up floating away.. bye