I don't know what to say. Most of the time, I don't even give a rat's ass if I don't have anything to say. That's the beauty of being in a rut. The longer you stay, the more comfortable you become. The more comfortable you become, the more impervious you are to what the rest of the world hurls at you.

I know full well that I'm the only one who can save myself before I'm left numb. Having this knowledge and refusing to do what's needed is a sad, sad predicament to be in.

But what really scares me is the moment I finally leave this sorry state, because that means I'd have to start caring again. And once one starts to care, the emotional scars also start to show. One allows oneself to be vulnerable. AGAIN. I have no desire to allow myself to be vulnerable just yet.

I'd have to snap out of this stupor soon enough, I know, but I want to wallow in the banal and the mediocre for a little longer. After that, I shall do great things, save the world, then rule it from my living room.

Here we go again

I was happy with the status quo. I stay huddled in my little corner, wander off to visit their world once in awhile, and then retreat. Since I have trouble "compartmentalizing", keeping this distance makes things a lot less complicated.

But today the status quo was broken.

I have my shortcomings, I know. That I don't deny. But I wish they'd cut me some slack. I wish they knew what I'm up against. Wanting to change things, but not having the power to --- it's frustrating. And feeling that I've let them down, that I've failed them? God, it's depressing.

I keep telling myself that it's just a job, but it's not. It never was. Not when the people involved are those you care about. And while I may not show it, I do care about them. It might sound a little too dramatic, but it hurts me more than I let on when I see them affected by all the craziness of that god-forsaken place.

I'll be better next time, I promise.


Seriously?

Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize? And what exactly has he done?

Just to be clear: Giving the world hope is not the same as "making" peace.

I am alone/ But adored/ By a hundred thousand more/ Then I said when you were the last (high)/ And I have known love/ Like a whore/ From at least ten thousand more/ Then I swore when you were the last

Dear Patricia,

Sometimes we need to be lied to, and right now I want to lie to you so badly, to sugarcoat my words, just to make you feel better. I want to tell you in a conspiratorial whisper that the heart is really nothing more than an organ, that it is what it is - a heart and nothing more. But that would be complete bullshit. The last thing we need are more lies, and I think we have enough to last us a lifetime.

I cannot claim that we are on the same boat; you have your options and I have mine. But I know that you are feeling the exact same way as I. We both have loved. We both have been forgiving. And we both have had our hearts ripped out of our chests and trampled on by those whom we love the most. How do you heal such wounds?

It's been three weeks since Mark and I broke up and there isn't a day that I don't wish I were back in his arms. There isn't a day when I don't think about the warmth of his touch, the urgency of his kisses, the steady beating of his heart. Yes, the days are unkind, but the nights, the nights are even worse. Some nights, while forcing myself to sleep, I wonder, does he think of me, too?

A lot of people have told me to let it go. But how? How do I let him go, when just two months ago I wrote with such finality that he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with? How do you let go of a man who has been your entire universe?

Questions, questions.

I envy you, though, because deep in your heart you know that your husband still loves you. When I asked Mark if he had ever loved me, he looked me in the eye and said simply yet ruthlessly, "Yes, for awhile, I did." To him, I was the spare, the one who would always be there for him when no one else wanted him. But now he has no use for me anymore, because I know the truth. The thing is, Patricia, I don't care about the truth, heck, I would gladly twist it if he had asked me to. I would ignore the truth, pretend nothing happened, and resume our lives. I love him that much.

I know you love your husband just as much as I love Mark. And I know the questions you've been asking yourself over and over again. Why do some people hurt the ones who love them most? And how come, despite all the pain they've caused, we continue to love them, we continue to long for them, we continue to reach out for them, our arms wide open, our hands trying to grab hold of what's never really there?

That's how we love, I guess. When we love, we give until we have nothing left to give. When we love, we take the leap without a moment's hesitation...We love like there's no tomorrow. And that is our greatest fault. But that's okay, because it ain't love if you don't give your all.

Where to, heart? Do we move forward now? The future seems very bleak now that I've lost the other half of my soul, but I'm pretty sure I'll survive; you will, too. And you know what else? Soon, we will wake up from this nightmare and discover that our hearts have been whole all this time. Now ain't that groovy?

Love,
M.


"You always hurt the one you love/ The one you shouldn't hurt at all./ You always take the sweetest rose/ And crush it till the petals fall./ You always break the kindest heart with a hasty word you can't recall/ So If I broke your heart last night/ it's because I love you most of all." - Spike Jones and His City Slickers, You Always Hurt the One You Love

I looked at him and I saw a man I didn't know at all, one I didn't love.

And now that things are becoming quite clear, I realize that I am in love with a special memory of him. I am in love with the idea of him.

But god, that idea of him sure was wonderful.



*Thanks, KC!

Don't you sometimes wish you were somebody else? Well, not somebody else entirely, but living somebody else's awesome life?

Yeah, my life's shitty for a reason, some divine purpose, perhaps. And there's also that crap about everyone fighting their own battles (thanks, Bob Dylan). But man, I'd love to live somebody else's life today -- somebody cool. Somebody pretty. Somebody grand. Somebody not me.


Look what I found!



My sister was loved by many. We only heard about this fund-raising on its last day, so we weren't able to drop by, but the gesture alone is touching.

We miss you more each day, Ate.

Who am I kidding?

The loss, his absence -- they're finally sinking in.

I can fool myself all I want. I can laugh my heart out. I can trash him in every conversation I have with friends who are more than willing to listen and take part in the trashing. But at the end of the day, I still miss him.

At the end of the day, I still love him. The heart never lies.

===

God, enough is enough. I don't want to be teetering on the verge of depression anymore. I have got to move on. I have no choice but to move on.