beyond redemption

And one day he took my hand and led me down the streets of a dream.  He told me he could show me the end, but would I really want to know? 

This book does not have a happy ending.

No amount of verbal eloquence can ever lessen this pervasive feeling of despair.  For 10 years, I’ve known.  For 5 years I’ve been trying to tell you.  I’ve been trying to tell myself for longer.  Years of bad poetry trying to explain it to myself, to someone.  It’s amazing how much people, myself included, can ignore.

Where are the pretty words now?  What do I have to do to get them back?  What do I have to do to earn back my wasted time?  I know I can’t, goddamn it, but is it my fault?  Did I choose to waste myself like this?  Did I ever consciously choose?  Then why is this my fault?  I confess, I find myself at a loss.

Christmas is hard.  I guess I can start celebrating the anniversary of my parent’s eviction notice.  I think I’d rather get ridiculously trashed.

Every moment spent being myself is a moment wasted. 

I know someday I might get to look back on this and laugh.  I always do.  And that makes it so much harder.   "After all those years, forget about all the troubled times, all those years I was hurting to feel something more than life."  I once told someone I’ve been waiting for the moment I could forget the troubled times for my whole life.  Someday I can let this go, but first I have to beat it.  And that seems unlikely.  10 years of lost battles and a spectacularly lost war have me convinced that there is nothing better, that I was never anything better, and it can only get worse. 

I don’t remember what it feels like to be happy.  To not know that I was different and hated because of it.  I’ve spent over half of my life living this half-life. 

It’s funny how anniversaries put things into perspective.  It’s nice that I have 2 this time of year.  Gives me something else to reflect emo-ly on.

Forgive me.