Mysterious Ways, REply

Re today's post: Maybe good things come in threes.

--Harry, one of my readers

Mysterious Ways

I doubt it seriously that the Universe will throw me another handsome, rich guy with an eight inch dick considering during my lifetime I've already had two (Mr. G-Force and Morpheus), but then again, it does work in mysterious ways.

Hold Down a Fucking JOb

In the beginning, I didn't deal with it because I was psychotic.

Now, I'm left with it, every day.

I don't know how people break up and hold down a fucking job.

Give

I promised myself that I would always forgive Morpheus for being the person he is.

That includes right now.

Not returning my email that is over a month old.

You can't make people be who they are not.

YOu can't make them give what they don't have inside.

Tears For Lies

I don't know why I've been feeling so alone lately. Nothing has changed.

Every now and again, I will conjure up the image of his smiling face in the kitchen of his home.

And I am reminded that I am being punished by God and his gods for being with a married man--not separated, not divorcing.

Just married.

And then I start to cry,

Good Grief

No one knows the pain. The people who do--they defy the statistics. They don't marry or they don't marry again.

They wander through life, closed off, cheated out of love, cheating others out of affection and closeness. Gifting cruelty.

I sense I'm about to enter a league of permanently fucked up people.

Maybe that was his present to me, a lesson of sorts, and now, I carry it on my back, this boulder of a burden.

Do you still love me?

No one gets it because I don't. Mourning isn't a practiced art usually. YOu don't walk into a room, wave your arms, and say, "Oh, pick me! Pick me!"

You, in the back, you're next.

No one knows when it's going to get better, when the pain will go away, and neither do I. We've never done this before.

It's the absolute alone-ness in the pain that drives in the insanity. No one can dig you out. Friends peer at you as you struggle down at the bottom. Some make comparisons to break up's that they've had, but no one has had voices of their ex-boyfriends, now have they?

Almost No ONe Cares, Part II

I've decided to pretend that I'm getting over him, at least to Morpheus himself.

That means, no more emails sent.

I will pretend until it's an actuality.

I'm trying to move forward with my life.

Almost No ONe Cares

Almost no one cares.

They've all heard it before--about Morpheus.

The fact that it's still living hell for you is no concern of anyone else. IT should be over by now.

I rarely talked about him with my therapist for a reason. She never understood.

I'm locked in a battle that I'm not sure I'm going to win half the time. Morpheus roams around my brain freely. He says what he wants to say, conning me, toying with me, teasing me.

"Love you, Lace," he just said.

The real person is conveniently absent for reasons that I pointed out in the email sent, called "On Cheating."

"I was, and I am low on your list of priorities..." I wrote to him.

ONly In Silence

You send out a letter baring your soul, you expect some reply.

"Fuck off."

"I love you more."

"I can't."

Instead, only silence.

IF I could learn to read silence, I would make millions in practice, books, TV shows and touring.

It's all very tragic, can't you tell?

In Saving You

All I ever wanted to do was to love you and to be loved by you. I was happy just being next to you. I had such high hopes for us.

Now I don't know how to even talk to you. I am blade you are healthy now. I wish I could be a part of that life I wanted you so much to get there.

I feel like I am left with nothing and it is hard to take, sometimes. In saving you I was hoping that you would breath life into me.

--Hades, in a comment

DEpression Crawling

Today, I feel the depression crawling back from whatever corner it was hiding in. Today, I feel it taking ahold.

I don't want to do anything, I don't want to move from this bed, even though I know I need to exercise, and ride Gizmo, and do some housework.

I try to think of positive things, but a part of me wants to die, and another part of me is afraid of death.

Time is precious, but the schizoaffective disorder is stealing it away from me.

On the Mirror, "No SEcond Troy"

WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn? 

--W.B. YEATS "No SEcond Troy"

Madness Until Death

Remember when I told you that you were the greatest guy in the world?

There was no other guy then, just like now.

I don't know how I'll replace you, what I'll do without you. Sure, the mechanics are easy (it's called a Magic Wand). The loneliness is bearable.

But the idea--of something better--the magic of life filled with passion.

I live a life without motivation. I want for nothing, and therefore have no direction. At least psychosis, in its madness, is a compass, if only pointed to the wrong star. Every day passes the same.

I wanted you. Could you blame me?

I barely remember your face, your smell, it is as if every day, you are dying, slowly, bit by bit in my diseased brain--what day will you finally disappear forever from me? Slip through my firing fingers?

Could I make love to you one more time and remember you until death? Would God grant me that? OR would I dive deep into madness like so many times before as punishment for loving you?

"I thought I was meant to be with you..."

(ON Cheating, an email sent to Morpheus)

Make Me Sick

The truth is, I wish I was married to a man who just won’t give up on me. So, I admire him for that. And in the same stroke, it makes me a little sick.

--May 162012 file from private journal

Short Conversation

It would be a short conversation.

“Hello. So, you don’t love me and you won’t leave your wife. Is there really anything we need to talk about?” Perhaps there’s something I’m missing. 

--May 162012 file from private journal

Some of My Happiest Moments

"Some of my happiest moments on this earth, I was with you."

--ON Married with Children, email meant for MOrpheus


"And I know they will never happen again..."

I would write him a letter every day if I thought it would change anything, if he would think of me more often, if he would consider my heart, if he would make a decision.

WAiting

Eventually, I will have to move on, instead of thinking every stray call is him or anxiously hoping every time my phone dings that it's an email from him, etc. Eventually, I will have to stop waiting.

What I want, what I'm looking for--doesn't exist.

I'm waiting for a reality that will never be.

No SEcond Troy

The only thing I've learned like the song "I Grieve" says, in all the mourning I've done, and bearing the sadness, life does carry on, whether you choose to participate or not.

EArly this morning, I sat in the truck outside the hospital, and just waited and waited--for nothing, but I couldn't force myself to move. I was struck by the gravity of grief. Locked inside the body of a prisoner, who gave up all rights to hope and happiness.

Every day the same, you get up, you brush your teeth, you look at yourself in the mirror and brush your hair, the voices talk to you, your reflection gives speech, wants to be heard, you deal with the fatigue, you might drop the coffee cup again on your way to the coffee pot, you grab a blanket from the chair so you're not cold, and you do this every morning, and your life is predictable, and boring on a level--

Today you didn't cry, just like yesterday, and every day you read on the bedroom mirror,

Yeats

No Mood Lift

"Nothing yet has really sunk in."

--Peter Gabriel, "I Grieve"

I have socially isolated myself. I only have one friend in the area, and he and I are not getting along too well at the moment.

Some of this has to do with the fact that my car is not in working order. Other explanations are I've never had a lot of friends even from the time I was growing up. I usually gain friends when I'm manic, but I haven't had a mood lift in years thanks to the lithium and the Topamax.

So much of my time is absorbed in mourning Morpheus. I hardly feel like I have the energy for other people, either sex. 

My psychiatrist wants me to change this, and gain a circle of friends--but I can't see this. For one thing, you can't just join a group of friends like you join a yoga class--it takes time, months or years. For another, I usually don't get along with a harem of women.