Sunday, November 15, 2015

Gate A50

It's been a few restless nights and long days since I've last posted. I moved states, unmarried...and am actually still in the process of that last one. I wish I could sit here and say everything is better. Vivid memories of the nights sitting there writing...the sadness, the anger, the hurt...I feel it rush back into me; combing the lines of my past posts.

Now it's November, the cold already came, the snow is falling from the sky...but what isn't. I'm in an airport, I have been for 24 hours now. A feeble attempt to make it back home ended up in a missed flight with one missed standby after another. I say home, but honestly I couldn't define 'home' right now. If you asked me today I'd construe the airport as 'home'. I wish I could tell you I have a plan. A plan is the last thing I have.

There is a part of me, the kind of part you don't realize it was there until it's gone, it disappeared somewhere 25,000 feet above the Colorado rockies. Maybe, I don't really know where it dropped off the face of the earth, it could be somewhere in the Mongolian rim. Chances are I won't find it again, chances are I'll have to learn to live with out that bit of humanity that made me a decent person.

This airport, this flight I'm about to take, it's not the first time. I've made this flight thirty three times, trying to defy logic, or fate, or something. Finding something I haven't found, so I keep booking the next available get-out-of-here and make-a-run-for-it ticket. It's like always checking to see if the grass is greener, taking a blade or two from each place just to compare it. Thirty three times of not being any closer to an answer.

This is thirty four, and I still can't sit here an say it's my last. I'm the headphone cord in your bag, tangled in everything else, not being used for the indented purposes...because, well, it's too much effort to untangle.

That part of me I told you is unfound, I can't really even explain to you what it was. I don't feel any different, I pinch myself...and it's all the same. Saying it's that reasonable rational voice in your head, it's the closest I can come. It still talks to me, it's just saying things I never thought it would say. It forgot about it's soul, but yet somehow I still feel mine.

Thursday, February 26, 2015


It's hard to forget the past. More so, hard to forget all the bad things in the past. They continue to haunt us, while the good memories seem to fade away. When a bad moment happens, a tragic experience, or you did something you terribly regret, it sets the stage for fear. Fear you will loose what you have, possibly a social standing, your job, your love. Fear of loss creates sadness, regret, and all fear when stripped is just anger.

Mostly I'm just angry with myself. People do things to hurt me, and I just get angry with myself for being in that situation in the first place. Sometimes I do things out of character I can't even explain, and I ended up feeling like a terrible person. I probably am. I've done many things to create harm to others, I've lost a lot in my life. Keeping a constant in any part of my life isn't easy for me, and it doesn't come naturally. And because of the past, because of the fear, I tend to run away and hide from difficult situations. Or I take hard and stressful situations and make them worse. It's not on purpose, I don't know what makes me the imperfect person I am. I could take a guess but it would just sound like blame, and or passing my responsibility on to something else.

My fear brings a lot of my past into my current life, in my day to day. It causes anxiety, and depression. But it's all under the skin, hidden some where in my mind I can't possibly access. I just feel guilt, guilty for it all, guilty for not being able to control it. Guilty for not being a better person. I could be, better. Why I'm not, I really can't tell you. Maybe it has to do with my lack of sympathizing with others, and just generally not understanding human emotions. I probably let my Aspergers take too much of the blame for my digressions. I should know better, I'm not an idiot after all.

I'm struck with fear, and anger, and sadness, regret, guilt, so I sleep. It's the only thing to make it go away. Because as much as I try to push it all down, cover it with new experiences, I can't ever make it go away. So I sleep

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Midnight Hour

It's the end of the road, it's cold and I'm alone. I'm not quite sure how I got here, so I'm not sure how to turn around and go back. Where would I even go back to? I don't know how to fix things that I wasn't sure that they broken in the first place.

There was a moment I knew where I started, but I'm not sure I was ever really even there. Not sure when it became something else. What do I even know at all?

I don't know.

I do know that I'm not fond of where I am now, on this road that ended. I tried so hard to keep it, keep the road going, trying not to make a wrong turn. I thought I knew all the answers, I thought I had it all figured out for me, turns out I have more questions than I have answers. If I knew the truth, I would tell you.

I don't know.

I'm sort of so used to being unhappy, I always find myself there, if I wanted it or not. My stomach turns at sour thoughts, at past memories. I got myself here, even if I don't know how, and I feel like I have to keep trucking on. I'm so lost, I don't even know if I'm driving anymore. Take the wheel, find my heart, take me where I want to go. Tell me you love me, hold me, and tell me everything will be okay. Tell me I'm crazy for being unhappy, tell me I don't have to be. Say anything, tell me anything, tell me what to do. I need you there, and I reach out and touch nothing. Take my hand, that's all I want.

I don't think I'll get what I want, I don't think what I'm looking for is there. It breaks me