The Lost (Cont)

What have I lost? I have lost so much. I have lost trust. I have lost faith. I have lost the belief that my life means something to someone other than myself. In the future, perhaps, when I become famous someone will assign a meaning to their life based on me. But it won’t be that they believe in the meaning of my life, it will be because they want their own life to be defined in a meaning like mine. Ha. It never will be such.

Instead we all struggle to define ourselves in terms of others only to realize once we try to reach our goal that our struggle was to be looked on by others as having meaning. And instead those people are just conning themselves the same way the people before them did. And a car passes by me and the lights hit me and my thoughts shift.

I have to come to an awkward point in this diary where people have begun to read again and there are a great many personal things that I cannot seem to force myself to share. The permanence of the world is so completely heavy that if there is anything I am cynical about, it is not that I will not succeed or that I will not find love, but that for every action done, I seal a thousand doors. And it is true. By the time I finish writing this, I will have sealed the doors that lead to certain beliefs about myself that I hold, that others hold, and that perhaps even Fate holds. There is no turning back, however. I must find my way home. And another car passes by and the light hits me and my thoughts shift.

I have lost the great power to love. Long ago I was broken, from the very beginning perhaps….and that second moment when I tried so desperately to persuade, no beg, someone to give me a single chance to prove to them how much I could mean to them…..they denied me. They denied me a place in their heart, and for that I will forever realize that mankind is more selfish than even selfishness can understand. So completely self-centered is mankind that they will willingly push away someone who is good for them so that they may find something either better, or something that they believe will provide them with less so they will not feel guilt. There is a paradox here that I can’t quite put into words, but here it lies….and hopefully you can assemble the fragments of my thoughts and that of my past entries to understand what I mean. I cannot explain it. There is a girl on the porch of a house I walk by and I hear her talking and I think of other things.

I have lost my courage. I have lost all the strength I may once have had to admit to love. To say words that I cannot take back. I have become this ambiguous wordsmith whose details lack a certain tangibility because he is afraid that once he reveals the truth, people will shy away. And what’s more, they already have. Every so often I build myself up, only to be broken down again. I struggle to hold onto things….I struggle to hold onto so much and I begin to obsess. I have lost it all.

I am a pathetic wretch of a man, and that is the absolute truth of things. I hope now to confess it all. The lights shift again, this time right here, not in my memory, but in my very eyes and I feel my heart let the gates open and I cannot shut them now for fear that my heart will burst from the pressure of them pushing the doors open. Even now I feel my fear trying to suppress it all and my fingers fly across the keys hastily trying to spill out all I want to say before it is too late.

I am a pathetic wretch of a man, and that is the absolute truth. I fall in love with beauty and I obsess upon it. I defeat myself so that I do not have to bear the truth of being turned away, but in this self-defeat I deny myself the possibility of a pleasure spent with someone who loves me. I cannot understand the signs. I see them but I don’t….and I wish that the world would just stop toying with me and make it plain. For too often do I question my own motives and wonder if I just see things because I want to see them there. Why won’t the world ever tell me?

I used to fight, and now no more. If someone pushes me aside I give up. I break down. Pieces of me shattered again and again everytime I muster the strength to confess something truly deep. I speak now openly about most everything, because I do not fear pain or anger or retribution or castigation because I have so often felt in when dealing with the term known as love that I know there is no pain in other places. If I say that I have shown my dick to a gay man, I am not afraid of curious eyes, disdainful looks, stories repeated behind my back. Because I have said that I love someone, and for it I have been battered…..and it is my fault, too.

And a car passes by and I see something in the face of the driver that reminds me that I am the one who confessed. Had I not I would not have lost the friend that I once had who is now feeling nothing but awkwardness when I’m around because they know that I also confessed that my love will never die for them. My love never dies. It is beaten into a coma perhaps, but it never dies. It beats on and on and just waits for that chance to redeem itself in me and too often it has been defeaten, too often it seems that it will never rise again….but it is a pheonix and never does it stop rising. My bed is of ashes and still I rise again. And every time I do only to get knocked down again, I do not blame them. I do not blame myself. I blame nothing at all and just accept that they do not love me that way and never will and that no matter how much I care for them, no matter how good I would be and no matter how good I would feel and would make them feel, they are just humans….and humanity in and of itself does not understand the benefits of emotion and abstract. What they see is personality and looks.

My words are so strong. They always have been. I sedate them time and time again and now I’ve begun to realize that the me that the world sees isn’t even the real me when I confess things….because I’ve become so good at hiding it all….I’ve become so good at suppressing it that one day I’ll die in my sleep unable to breathe, choked off by my own denial that I have ever really lived.