"If you want to be a great writer you need to be able to live and relive your pain. You have to touch it, feel it and roll around in it. That isn't hyperbole, it is just how it works."I wrote those words and I believe wholeheartedly in them. Some of the best writing I have come up with has been when I have found a way to tap into the soft places that still retain the memories of failure and pain that hasn't ever dissipated.
Or maybe it has. Maybe the pain has gone but somehow I have found a way to go back in time and relive things that tore me up. Maybe they still do. Maybe it is because I feel like I found the person who completes me in every way and then I lost her.
Maybe it is because I feel like we were given something magical, majestic and mysterious and then it was taken away. A thief came in the night and stole it and when he did he took my heart along with it. Maybe that thief meant to wreak havoc upon my soul. Maybe the purpose was to create chaos and devastation.
Well, he did it. He tore me up something fierce and that fragile male ego I carry around hasn't been able to accept it. I didn't ask for this. You came when I wasn't looking and you showed me that I hadn't been living. I had only been pretending.
And I wasn't even aware of it. I was walking through life half asleep and then you found me. Or maybe it is more accurate to say that we found each other.
Today I stand here screaming at the heavens because the fucking universe isn't being straight with me. I don't know what kind of lesson this is supposed to teach me, because there is supposed to be some sort of lesson here right.
Be direct. Tell me what it is. Tell me what I did in a past life that was wrong or what I did in this one that provided me with the pleasure of this experience.
I try not to compare my situation to others because we all have our challenges. Well it is hard not to look around and ask who decided that it would be a good idea to take a barbed pole and shove it so far up my rear it bruised my tonsils.
Tell me why I am supposed to be the one who walks around spitting blood and feeding upon fire. That jackass I saw earlier isn't struggling to make ends meet. He has ridiculous amounts of money flowing through his fingers all because he was born into it.
WTF is that about.
I know, they say that G-d doesn't give you more than you can handle but just because you I walk through hell covered in gasoline is no reason to make me do it.
I keep looking at these words and wondering what I am doing with them. They barely make sense and have little to no feel or flow to them. And that makes me angry too.
Mostly I am angry because I know that she is out there and that she needs me. I know this because I feel it. And every time I write that down or say it out loud I look at myself and think that I sound like some weepy teenage boy.
I am not that guy. Maybe I once was but I am not him. So I keep going and I have these moments where it feels like people are screaming inside my head to call her and tell her to stop acting like a fool. They keep telling me that she is desperate to lean on me and to share her pain, ease her soul.
And it kills me because I know that she was never closer with any one else. I know that if she let down her guard she would let it all out and she would be safe in my arms because I was her hero and I would be again if she would only let me.
But the hero is so very angry that lightning shoots from his eyes and fire from his fingertips. He who is afraid of almost nothing is afraid she will reject him...again.
So he stands on the beach and watches the waves roll in. He swims out past the breakers and rides the waves back in. He stands alone and apart because that is safe. She doesn't want weakness but he is not weak. No one who dances in the fire like this is weak.
Mostly he is confused and unsure. Still the voices inside his head keep screaming at him to rescue her but he wonders if maybe that isn't just what he wants to hear.
Chaos and confusion work together in a confluence of cacophonous creation. It is a convoluted way of saying he doesn't know what the fuck to do so he hopes that by focusing on his own crap some things will become more clear.
Or maybe he'll just suffer from paralysis of analysis. Ah, sometimes life can be so bittersweet.