A Woman, A Gun, and A Noodle Shop. (Warning: Some Sexual Content)
I can’t believe how much I give, and how little I get in return. It’s fucking incredible to me. I open my heart, my mind, and what do I get? Jack-fucking-shit. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being abused. I’m tired of all these delusions warping my thinking. I’m tired of being empathic towards everyone. I’m tired of being so sensitive to the world around me. I’m tired of not knowing what love feels like…
I should really blame myself, but I really shouldn’t either. It’s a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I was brainwashed by my father, and emotionally abused and manipulated, and on the other hand, I haven’t done anything about my appearance lately. Truth is, I don’t think it’s either of those. I think it’s because every relationship I have ever had with any girl has been one of friendship.
I remember my first experience feeling any kind of attraction towards a woman. It was the Spring of 1997. My family and I were on vacation in Tuscany, Italy with family friends, who had rented a villa in the middle of the countryside. My family friends had brought along people unknown to me, but one I would soon see more of than I could imagine at the time.
One day, the sun was bright hot in that beautiful, blue sky. We all decided to go swimming. One of the friends, a model or actress of some kind, asked my mom if it was okay if she could swim topless. My mom said, “Sure”, and the woman did, and took a swim in the same pool I was in. It was the first time I had ever seen a pair of boobs (that I had known about of course). I just remember the feeling more than anything, like a rocket shot out of my pants. I wanted to get near them, squeeze them… It was like opening up a whole new world for me. I was 9.
I don’t know why it’s stuck with me for so long, that story. Maybe it’s because my fascination with the female figure developed from that moment. My lust permeating from that moment in time, trying to recapture that statuesque woman, baring her bosoms with pride, and my adolescent mind in awe of the sight.
Of course, I’ve seen plenty of women topless since, some close to me (but still at some distance), and some on my computer screen, but I’ve never really been able to get out any of my urges on someone else. It’s like a voice at the back of my head, my sexual being eating me alive from the inside out, wanting to get out, wanting to get out, wanting to get out from my body. It’s a virus, eating away at my cells, grinding me down into a mass of hormones and primal instinct. This might all sound a bit disturbing, but honestly, I’ve been repressing this so long that if I didn’t just say anything, my head would have exploded.
My 25th birthday is coming up in less than 1 month, and I want to get laid. That’s my goal, and I’m gonna make it my goal, childish as it is. Hopefully with someone that I like. Even though I want a relationship as much as anything, I am down for sexual conquest in the mean time.
Sand in the Vaseline
Why do I feel so out of place? So tortured by my own self? Angry to the point of exploding bouts of rage? Upset that I can’t find love?…
It’s a constant struggle. Same shit, different day. Half of it is bullshit, and the other half is just shit.
I never thought I’d be here, like this, in this place. I thought by now, I’d be a success, with lots of money, women, and all the happiness I could ever want. But its not to be. I sit in my apartment, alone, isolated, and unchanged. Sure, I’m going to school, and I have friends, but I don’t let anyone get close enough to really make them see what lies beneath. I put on a superficial front of happiness, while I rip myself to shreds on the inside. I can’t even talk to women all that well, as friends yes, but as something more, never. I’m an unbalanced, awkward fool that hates himself, but only wants to be himself. A walking contradiction. A callous abscess. A beast of burden, but only to myself.
I wish it weren’t this way. I wish I didn’t hide myself away from it all, living in fear. I change with the world, but that change never gives me the closure I seek. All the medication, therapy, and talking can’t change the fact that, though I’m not alone, I FEEL alone. My struggles are my own, and no one gives a fuck. I know that’s the truth, and I’m okay with that, but it still hurts. The pain is just too much, and I’m getting tired of it. It’s an old habit, a routine, one that will destroy me if I let it.
I’m falling once again into darkness, a pit that I’ve crawled out of more times than I can count on my hands, but I don’t know if I can make it out alone this time.
I just want to feel some kind of satisfaction for once, to know that I mean something to myself, not just to other people. I know a lot of people care about me, but the lack of caring for myself is what makes it a problem. But the other issue is that I’m being told to do so many different things, sending me off in different directions… I can’t follow them all, but I get the overwhelming feeling that they won’t help me, nor cure my mental ailment. I genuinely appreciate all the help, but it does nothing to ease my pain. It masks it.
And that’s what I’m always doing. Wearing different masks. Just like my fuck up of a father before me. I’m trying to break the pattern, but the pattern is creeping up on me. I hurt on the inside. External pain is nothing.
At this point, I feel that this will pass, as everything does, but what if it doesn’t? What if I keep complaining about the same things? Never finding a solution? What if I am stuck in a tormented haze for the rest of my life, unwilling to find a proper way to cope?
I’ve been sober over a month. I thought it would help, and it has, but its also made things worse in the process. It’s made me look at myself more deeply than I wished, and just recognize my flaws that much more. How much time I’ve wasted, how I’m not so young as I once was, and that my life means nothing to my family.
I’ve tried to be a good man, but even with all that good karma, my life has been filled with sadness, loss, hatred, betrayal, and darkness. I just wish it could all be over, not at the end of a noose, but at the end of a sentence.
The Human Condition.
This week is the clusterfuck of all clusterfucks. Everything good, everything bad… It’s pretty much happened.
I started the week with a BANG, producing a short film on Tuesday morning from 2am to 11am. It was hellish, but went well overall. I don’t think I can complain too much about it since I have yet to see any of the footage, and I was more concerned about getting to bed. I slept 14 hours after that, so I’d say it went pretty well.
Yesterday was horseshit. One of my classmates didn’t have a single fucking person on his crew, and it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen performed. I had to do 5 different things at once, plus he didn’t have a fucking clue what he wanted going in. I know I might be a little harsh, but a project like this, you can’t fuck around. It’s how it goes. I take this shit seriously. I wish other people did, but I guess that’s how it goes.
Retarded Dystopian movies starring dead bitches don’t help my mood either.
And finally, last night, I wrote 4 1/2 pages of my first feature script. I didn’t feel the need to write more, even though I should have. I thought they were great. My teacher thought they were shit, but he and my classmates tried to help me. I was hurt because it was what I imagined in my head, but I guess that my vision isn’t always the best version of it. It still doesn’t feel too good.
Now? I’m reminiscing about not having a girlfriend, being a bit of a pervert, and accepting that I intentionally isolate myself in order to not get hurt because I’ve been hurt so many times. I’m also preparing for my first directing project in almost a year, which happens on this coming Wednesday.
I’m not stretching myself too thin anymore, but I’m still healing from stretching far beyond what I thought I could. It seems to me that for every good thing I do for someone else, a bad thing occurs to me personally. Why is this? Does the universe hate me so? I know I haven’t been great lately, but I try so damn hard…
I just wish that my efforts were rewarded with something more tangible, something less toxic, and something exciting to wrap around. I feel like I’m losing part of that spark that makes me me.
Maybe I’m just all balled up inside. Twisted, feeling under-appreciated, majorly hurt. Doesn’t matter how good things are going, I truly feel this way. What appears fine on the surface, isn’t necessarily what’s true deep within.
With my birthday around the corner, I have nothing planned, nothing to do, and everything I want to happen. I wish I didn’t feel like I was so alienated from my friends.
It all boils down to the question I always ask myself; Why is it I can save everyone else, but I can’t save myself?
My Dad wants to talk to me from inside the slammer. I don’t want to talk to him just yet.
He contacted my poor mother having read that most recent NY Times article about Asperger’s Syndrome. Therein lies the problem. He’s focusing on the negative, something I’m not necessarily trying to hide, but something I deal with on a regular basis, and choose to accept.
I have overcome my so-called “disability” due to willpower, though I still have a tremendous amount of trouble with it sometimes. I will always be first to admit that, but this is a-typical behavior for him. He always used to use my “illness” as an excuse for everything, telling everyone I met that I had it beforehand. He crippled me before I could even show people who I truly was, before they had an understanding of the man in the iron mask.
Point is, there is still unfinished business between he and I, but I am not thinking about it. I’m just trying to comprehend my existence, my talents and abilities, and my mental stature.
That’s all I want to do.
Grinding the Gears
I am sick, and I’m tired, and I’m pissed, and it’s the holidays. This is all relatively normal.
I suppose that I have a lot of reasons for feeling why I do, as well as just plain bad luck and circumstance. Everyone tells me I don’t give myself enough credit, and I really don’t. Why? Well, it’s because I don’t feel like I’ve fixed enough yet.
Sure, I’m well on my way to working things out to a stable level and feeling reasonably satisfied, but I also don’t feel complete. Shit, I’ll probably never feel that way, but I need to at least feel like I’ve done enough, and in my mind, I haven’t.
This probably sounds like the same bullshit I usually say. “I’m gonna live better”, “I’m gonna go do this”, “I’m gonna just be me”…
Thing is, I’m insecure beyond a shadow of a doubt. No matter what I do, I’m never going to feel entirely comfortable with it. It sucks, but it’s part of what makes me who I am. By recognizing my failures, I work towards making them stronger, but it takes time, lots of time.
I’ve only JUST started really moving on from all the insanity that the last decade dropped upon me. I could spout off a few key things and it still wouldn’t be enough. People say, “everyone goes through shit.” Well, you didn’t go through the shit I did, I guarantee it. You didn’t move 24 fuckin’ times in less than 10 years, get evicted before you were even 20, have your credit score ruined because of poor economic choices by the time you were 21, have your father ask you to take out a LOAN for $20k when you’re 19 years old, not once but TWICE, and be treated like a marionette to a puppet master for years, wondering if it will ever end…
This is not even 10% of it mind you. You think you have problems? I’m sure you do, but I always have 99 more. I’m not saying that makes me any better or worse, but it certainly paints a clearer picture of my personality. It takes time to heal the kind of damage I have. I am scarred, and I have emotional baggage that I hide in order to not place the burden on others. I work with a Therapist every week trying to navigate the strange, dark places that reside within my shattered mind.
No, I’m not proud of myself, even if I have reason to be. I’m pissed, I’m broken, and I’m sad.
You really think you know me? You don’t. I don’t even know myself.
Stop looking at me funny!
Oh hectic, strange beast of life. How you torment, how you love, and how you show us things we must see…
This week was a fucking madhouse of crazy bullshit, but I made it through. The last 2 days I spent sleeping in until 2 o’clock in the afternoon, which was totally deserved, and totally fucking worth it.
My tweets, status updates, etc. were erratic beyond all measure. I tend to become a bi-polar cartoon character when I’m having trouble handling shit. I go through a lot of it, I’ve GOTTEN through a lot of it, so I guess the occasional stress isn’t so bad. It was pissing me off more than anything.
Anger. Now that’s a subject I’m familiar with. I was REALLY pissed this week, I mean Ghost Chili steamed. My Mom was the catalyst, but she wasn’t the main cause. It really began after I saw how fucked up my car really was. I was letting it go, but she just said something that set me off, and for the next 3 days, I was a powder keg. I had to apologize to my therapist because my aggression was so obvious.
I think that lately, it’s because I’ve been feeling like the world has handed me what I wanted, but with a bag of shit on top of it, and I have to dig through the shit to get to the thing I want. But on top of that, when I find the thing I want, I realize it’s Fool’s Gold! A fabrication! So I dug through all that shit for nothing. It’s fuckin’ aggravating.
I can’t complain too much since I now have a little over 4 weeks to recoup before the next semester. I hate the holidays usually, but considering I’m not really going to have any holiday bullshit this year, I can’t complain. My finals went reasonably well too. I don’t expect I got my finest grades yet, but I tried very hard to accomplish my goals, and got lucky a few times.
Pushing myself to the limit seems to be a normal thing for me, and something I should learn to forget. I found myself in a lot of tight spots that I busted out of, but with more damage than I had anticipated, yet I still cannot let my guard down. It’s tough for me because I’ve been through so much, and yet still no one really knows. I don’t really want them to though because all they have to do is ask and after 5 minutes, they don’t want to hear the rest.
I’m a weird guy, but I’m really genuine, and that’s what sets me apart. If people only saw that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so shitty about myself sometimes. If they just told me they liked me for who I was, not try to change me as so often the case. People can’t handle me, but I think it goes both ways.
I thought I would share these thoughts with you on this solemn, lonely eve. Rest easy, internet.
I need to get this all out of my system somehow… I seriously want to throw my computer out of the window and then stomp on it profusely until nothing is left but dust and computer parts.
You are all depraved monkeys
People fucking annoy the fuck out of me.
It’s most likely because I’ve never thought in normal terms, not because of the drugs, but because of something else.
I have Asperger’s Syndrome which is a form of Autism. I was diagnosed right after 9/11, after my 13th birthday. Granted, I knew I was different, but once I knew I was an Aspie, things changed a lot.
It’s taken me years to forget the foolish, strange things I did back in my youth because back then, I couldn’t talk to anyone. I used to blurt out whatever conversation I was having with myself in my head. I didn’t think it was weird because it felt natural, but I soon felt alone, and in a small school, I had a lot of trouble making friends.
I have finally reached a place of peace between my social skills and my complacency. I often have my stranger periods, but I believe that my personality can overcome any weakness I may have at certain moments.
The only thing I wish is that I knew how to date women. I’ve had tons of female friends, and I love a lot of them, but I wish that someone could prove to be special enough for me to care. Alas, my hopeless romanticism is not something that most would admire, lest I tell the truth the way I see it.
So I am forever locked in a cycle of the chaos within my mind, and the perceived madness in being. I only wish someone could show me the way.
Son of a Bitch…
I keep hearing people making LOUD banging noises upstairs, It’s cold outside, I have no videogames, I’m technically homeless, all of my personal items are locked up in storage, the internet here sucks harder than a $20 whore, and to top it ALL OFF, It’s a Monday…
This is just a great fucking time in my life right now.
Can I get accepted so I can get the fuck out of here? PLEASE? God? Buddha? Jesus? ANYONE?
For Fuck’s Sake.
The Final Lament
So I’m moving tomorrow. It’s official.
I feel fucked up about so much stuff going on in my life in such a short span of time. I didn’t want all of this, nor did I deserve it, but I have to live with it.
Living with pain has become natural to me. It’s a sad fact. It’s almost comfortable because it’s been sitting for so long. But I have to let it go. I have to let my Dad go, and I, I have to let go.
I had an intense conversation about life with my mom when we were taking a break from packing, one about how I felt about everything, how I need my space, about my Dad, and she kept telling me, “Don’t let him ruin your future.” I wish I could just let go of all that anger, but even after writing that letter, I still feel a lot of pain and anguish. She even told me more things that he did… Things that made me want to kill him. It was not an easy conversation to have.
I’m sitting here, the last afternoon in this room, lamenting about what was, and how things will be different. I will be homeless as of Noon tomorrow. I will be living in a hotel with my Mom and my pets, instead of a house, or another apartment, and I am not entirely comfortable with this fact.
I was left with no other alternatives, but accept it, and I will keep going. I can’t stop, I won’t stop.
I feel like shit right now. I’m tired, I’m frustrated, I’m mentally fucked up… I could go on. That’s focusing on the negative, but I suppose I will allow it for the moment.
Fear is what drives us. Fear that things will not go our way. Fear that we aren’t living up to our potential. Fear that we could die at any given moment.
What I really want right now? A moment without Fear. It is coming.