There are times I miss getting wasted. Acid, mescalin, thc, coke, pills, booze, whatever I could put my hands on. To look at life, at things, at people, as colors and movements and temperatures and smells. Lobotomized reality. There are times, I wish emotions did not take over and hurt so bad.
That’s a lame statement, “hurt so bad”. It doesn’t really translate the actual hurt, because we hear and say it so much. When I say hurt, I mean physically hurting, scathing, scorching, mutilating. It’s ripping my insides, it’s choking me.
I feel totally lost, totally alone in my hurt. I feel pushed away, when in fact I was pulled in.
I’m sad, sad, sad so fucking sad. I will do what I do every day. I will say what I say every day. But I will go to bed sad. And I will wake up sad. And only one word could turn this around. Not two, not three. Just like only one drove me here.
Hours will pass. Days will pass. The sadness will recede, like a wave. Will return, like the tide. But to where the word came from, to where the word could come from, I will go back. I will ask again. I take full responsability. The fear of rejection is lesser than the desire of acceptance.
I want to beg, I want to plea, I want to kneel in front of you and cry. I want everything to stop. Everything to be right.
I still hope to hear the word. Because to think that it will not come is unbearable. I was there not too long ago. Thought I was through, thought I was done. Then one word. Like boiling water over everything I’ve said. Like when you stroke a match. Me. Instant combustion. Scorched remains, ashes.
Sweep me off the floor. Blow me away. I’m done.
Just the other day, while circling the fire and watching all the doors being shut, being swallowed by this big black hole of SUCK, I thought, maybe I should pick up a drug habit or something just so I could zone completly out and forget all this shit. I said it half-jokingly also. But then I thought of you, who went through hell and back. You had to stop or self-destruct. And right now, you’d like to go back so as to not self destruct from being clean. I guess being clean can be as painful as being stoned.
You are waiting for something, you are attaching expectations on someone. Expectations are a sure path to suffering. It’s simple, it just ain’t easy.
“life is a bridge, cross it but do not build a house on it” (Old Tibetan saying)