(no subject)
I finally made him say, "No," with finality, "I am not interested in you," back on the first of February. I freaked out and pestered the shit out of him for about a week, wished him a happy valentines day and have pretty much left him alone since. He offered me a job a few weeks ago and I declined, mainly because I already comitted to helping the Halls, wonderful people who first introduced me to racing and have done more for me than I can ever repay simply out of genuine kindness, but also because I still feel weak for him and I thought it would be disastrous to expose myself to him further until this last moronic bit of hope I'm harboring is good n squashed.
I thought after the fact of when Schad asked me to go to Kentucky to work with him and how I leapt at the opportunity, just what I'd been waiting to hear, and what a wreck it became, and wondered if making the opposite decision this time is an indication of growth and maturity and improving judgement on my part. I wondered if making a different choice might lead to a different outcome down the road, and then I kicked myself for feeding that stupid little hope-monster. And kicked myself again for even thinking the two situations or the two people are even comparable.
Schad, may he burn in hell, that filthy sadistic egomaniacal insecure little boy in a little man's body, part of me still practically boils at the memories and the sickening waste of my time and spirit and seeths that I can't take back the fact that I loved him once. Or at least did a lot of what I thought was love at the time. And I have this fear. Not the fear of running into him again that still makes my stomach come up a little every time I see a truck that looks like the one he drove. Not the fear that history is going to repeat itself with man after man. But this other fear, that maybe descending into total hatred is the only way I'm capable of getting over love.
Cuz now I'm just kinda high-centered on this more recent man. It was all of, like, a month and a half, that ended nine months ago, and my dumb ass is still stuck. And I don't want it to have to come down to making him make me hate him but my stupid heart won't let go. I just hurt.
"Why is it that people don't hang on to happiness the same way we hang on to hurt? Of course we always wish it could go on forever, but we don't just get lost in it like we do in pain. Are we all just masochists?" That was the text I almost sent him two nights ago. And not sending it was the first thing that's made me feel strong in months. Or to nail it right down, a decade. I'm lonely. I'm so lonely I can hardly stand up sometimes, but this steely thing at my core feels like maybe all this suffering is just a process of stripping away all the extraneous shit I've been burdened with in the last ten years. Ever since I started feeling like I had real friends. Ever since I found out what I'd been missing and got further and further away from myself, away from my steely core, trying to get it. A primary principle of Buddhism is that all suffering comes from desire, and in that moment when I made up my mind to not send that text, in the very center of all that hurt, a little piece of me felt hard again. Like I don't need nobody.
I have felt, a large part of the time, like my soul is just running on empty. Like I'm an inch away from giving up, burning out, out of gas. Like it's just gonna wear me down until I'm gone. But what it's really doing is wearing away the fluff and barnacles, getting me back down to just the parts that are necessary. The steely parts. Me. I think maybe it's just that you have to exist on one side or the other. On the side of self-sufficiency, or on the side or surplus, and ever since I've started needing the company of people, I've been on the latter, and suddenly enough of that goo and sediment has been scraped painfully away that I'm nearly back down to being myself. That best version of myself, all lithe and impatient and laser-tuned, that bitter hateful cynic whose productivity always ran somewhere around 1,183 per cent. I've been feeling washed up and disinterested for so long I thought I didn't have it in me to be that person ever again. I never thought I would want to be that person again. But she never suffered from lonliness, and that is highly preferrable to what I've been doing lately, where apathy is the closest I ever get to peace. I feel like I have been wasting my life, but I also feel like I am on my way back. The pendulum is approaching center right now, preparing to swing back that other way, and I bide my time with much anticipation. It has hurt and felt for a long time like it would just make me go away, and then on the other side of all that, when you get down to nothingness and pass though it's back wall, turn it inside-out, you find yourself. Your real self and what you're made of without all the cushion of company and all the silly intiricate frivolous pretentious politics that accompany company. Cut away everything that exists only for diplomacy.
I can't make my heart let go, but I can take myself away from that part of myself. A neat and deliberate extraction. Pack it up carefully and store it someplace safe and out of the way and forget about it until such time as is suitable to stumble across it and let it back into my life.
I do rave like a lunatic sometimes. But really, isn't the only thing any individual can be sure of their own perception? Maybe the world at large is just a fabrication. Stay close to yourself, cuz everything outside of that might be just a hallucination contrived by some conceptual "brain", which, if that matter doesn't exist either, then it's all just static. An electro-magnetic or electro-chemical blip between some dust particles in space, which themselves also, may or may not exist. Do we exist in the world at large or in our own minds? Nihilism at it's finest.