LaShawn is gone. Fundementally speaking. She's gone. She's left SG, she has her old man back in her life and she's gone. Another door closed. Another window shattered. But fuck, why does THIS one hurt this much?
She's gone and she has a lot of good valid reasons why. She has situations that would make a lot of us cringe in understanding. I know all of this but it's still hard to take. She wasn't the most there of people, she wasn't and isn't an internet troll and that was part of the appeal for me. I know my crushing on her was, if for nothing else, partly my own desire for someone of my own skin color to like me for me and my own weirdness. And she acknowledged that she liked me but she also knew full well that I scared her. I reminded her of men and days gone by. And she was already thinking about that a lot when my silly lovesick behind came along.
So on the one hand, I know and appreciate and completely approve of her going and on the other hand I'm just so fucking dissapointed and sad about her going that I cannot accept it. But I must. I HAVE to. This is part of my life as a real man. This is the lumpy shit that clogs your colon and makes you have cancer. This is the boss who fucks you over just to fill the hole in his or her own swiss cheese heart. This is what makes life that much more painful to live. I accepted this as a part of dating and mating in the modern era. I'm not a dumbass about this shit. I just wish I could feel it was right and is right to grieve about this. As shitty and juvenile and internetty as this all is, this is still my emotions being rent asunder for all the right reasons. This is someone I care about telling me she's leaving and going silent and going back to her ex. I SHOULD have the right to grieve.
But instead, I'm running. I should be asleep right now and I'm not. It's cold in my house and my flatmates are on the verge of divorce. I have money and nothing to spend it on, all my crushes and desires are far away, I can't shake the feeling that I'm blowing it and doors keep closing in front of me. It's hard to go on. I must but it's hard. Life is hard. I'm running from my feelings because I'm so scared that something like this will depress me and lock me up and keep me from being productive like I need to be. And how would that look to LaShawn to see a "progressive" male like me still crying like a bitch over this shit? This is life. I shouldn't have to run.
Numbness courses through my body. I woke up last night before work having to puke and didn't. That queasy, 'despair is imminent but you cannot stop it' feeling ran through me like a freight train. I didn't know why but then figured it out. My house is like Belfast again and I've been rejected by someone I care about a lot. I need to start trusting my body more again. It knew and it knows. It knows that another cold desparate Tennessee winter is about to hit me again like a suckerpunch. The question is, what can I do to stop it?
This too shall pass. I know this. In time, my bitterness and dissapointment will fade and the good feelings will fade as well. The words I write here will fade, my new crushes will take precedence and history will fade into something approaching a monochrome memory. I know this consciously and I also know that NOW is my time to grieve. Now is my time to be sad and be pity seeking because eventually my time will pass for this shit and it will be time for me to move the fuck on. But how can one do that without honesty about ones state of mind? There's no training manual for rejection. There's no training manual for acceptance, either.
I guess in the end this all still comes back to me wanting LaShawn to be my woman. And in the end, it's probably perfectly fine for me to be sad. I just have to remember what it's all truly about though. I must keep this in perspective. However hard it might be, I must keep proper perspective.
- To Do Great Acts To Hide One's Shame -
I'm reminded of the woman who became a murderer or social anarchist because of a slight by a man she loved as I wrote that previous paragraph. Sometimes in grieving we run from our pain by trying to take that energy and move it towards something constructive. But what happens when the social anarchy is over? When your girlfriend of years has dumped you in full view of everyone and you respond by forming the greatest anarchist, social reforming junta of all time, what happens when you have to slow down and stop and finally deal with the pain of your rejection?
Sinead O'Conner went on record during an interview and said that she buried her mother, had a drink and then started running and didn't stop for 12 years. I don't want to do that everytime I have a setback in my life. I want to be able to just go on. I want to not let this shit affect me like it does. But this is the penalty for passion, I think. This is why so many people just don't want to be passionate about anything anymore; the fear that this kind of backfire will happen cripples peoples ability to love and love like they were going to die, the way things have to be loved nowadays. Fear of failure cripples as does fear of success. I know all this and yet it STILL hurts.
I'd like to think that here I'm doing the best I can. I'm dealing with this without running. I'm not going to become Che Guvera just because someone has fractured my heart. But I'd like to be. And that bothers me a lot.
- End Notes -
1. By the end of the week, I'll have a clearer picture of whether or not I'll be moving to Nashville or not. I don't want to think that yet again my roots will be lifted from the rich loam of my life as of now but divorce has a funny way of fucking over well made plans. I'll know if I'll be on the road again soon and that scares me. I hate Amber so much for making this shit a reality.
2. God bless the Chattanooga indie rock scene, specifically the band Hoth. In a time of great personal issues, being able to listen to the angry music my body craves is something I take not a lck for granted. Hoth rules and Chattarock rules even more. Godd bless my angry jaded brethren.
3. I hate cold. I really, really hate cold. I should move to the back of an oven. A slack oven. 212 degrees. Slow broasting negro. With slaw.
4. I must give thanks as well to Cristin. She'll probably never see this entry unless I just tell her about it but she's been awesome. Again, another internet crush but one that might work out. She did the greatest thing for me, however: She offered to listen to me piss like a bitch on my pity pot. She offered to listen to me. Words cannot accurately describe how much that makes me want to cry with joy. I only hope that one day I can return the favor.
5. Doors close, doors open. Doors keep closing and opening. I wish I knew who runs the fucking doors so I can slap them in the mouth.
At that, I go now. Sleep needs to happen...but probably won't. Good evening.
She's gone and she has a lot of good valid reasons why. She has situations that would make a lot of us cringe in understanding. I know all of this but it's still hard to take. She wasn't the most there of people, she wasn't and isn't an internet troll and that was part of the appeal for me. I know my crushing on her was, if for nothing else, partly my own desire for someone of my own skin color to like me for me and my own weirdness. And she acknowledged that she liked me but she also knew full well that I scared her. I reminded her of men and days gone by. And she was already thinking about that a lot when my silly lovesick behind came along.
So on the one hand, I know and appreciate and completely approve of her going and on the other hand I'm just so fucking dissapointed and sad about her going that I cannot accept it. But I must. I HAVE to. This is part of my life as a real man. This is the lumpy shit that clogs your colon and makes you have cancer. This is the boss who fucks you over just to fill the hole in his or her own swiss cheese heart. This is what makes life that much more painful to live. I accepted this as a part of dating and mating in the modern era. I'm not a dumbass about this shit. I just wish I could feel it was right and is right to grieve about this. As shitty and juvenile and internetty as this all is, this is still my emotions being rent asunder for all the right reasons. This is someone I care about telling me she's leaving and going silent and going back to her ex. I SHOULD have the right to grieve.
But instead, I'm running. I should be asleep right now and I'm not. It's cold in my house and my flatmates are on the verge of divorce. I have money and nothing to spend it on, all my crushes and desires are far away, I can't shake the feeling that I'm blowing it and doors keep closing in front of me. It's hard to go on. I must but it's hard. Life is hard. I'm running from my feelings because I'm so scared that something like this will depress me and lock me up and keep me from being productive like I need to be. And how would that look to LaShawn to see a "progressive" male like me still crying like a bitch over this shit? This is life. I shouldn't have to run.
Numbness courses through my body. I woke up last night before work having to puke and didn't. That queasy, 'despair is imminent but you cannot stop it' feeling ran through me like a freight train. I didn't know why but then figured it out. My house is like Belfast again and I've been rejected by someone I care about a lot. I need to start trusting my body more again. It knew and it knows. It knows that another cold desparate Tennessee winter is about to hit me again like a suckerpunch. The question is, what can I do to stop it?
This too shall pass. I know this. In time, my bitterness and dissapointment will fade and the good feelings will fade as well. The words I write here will fade, my new crushes will take precedence and history will fade into something approaching a monochrome memory. I know this consciously and I also know that NOW is my time to grieve. Now is my time to be sad and be pity seeking because eventually my time will pass for this shit and it will be time for me to move the fuck on. But how can one do that without honesty about ones state of mind? There's no training manual for rejection. There's no training manual for acceptance, either.
I guess in the end this all still comes back to me wanting LaShawn to be my woman. And in the end, it's probably perfectly fine for me to be sad. I just have to remember what it's all truly about though. I must keep this in perspective. However hard it might be, I must keep proper perspective.
- To Do Great Acts To Hide One's Shame -
I'm reminded of the woman who became a murderer or social anarchist because of a slight by a man she loved as I wrote that previous paragraph. Sometimes in grieving we run from our pain by trying to take that energy and move it towards something constructive. But what happens when the social anarchy is over? When your girlfriend of years has dumped you in full view of everyone and you respond by forming the greatest anarchist, social reforming junta of all time, what happens when you have to slow down and stop and finally deal with the pain of your rejection?
Sinead O'Conner went on record during an interview and said that she buried her mother, had a drink and then started running and didn't stop for 12 years. I don't want to do that everytime I have a setback in my life. I want to be able to just go on. I want to not let this shit affect me like it does. But this is the penalty for passion, I think. This is why so many people just don't want to be passionate about anything anymore; the fear that this kind of backfire will happen cripples peoples ability to love and love like they were going to die, the way things have to be loved nowadays. Fear of failure cripples as does fear of success. I know all this and yet it STILL hurts.
I'd like to think that here I'm doing the best I can. I'm dealing with this without running. I'm not going to become Che Guvera just because someone has fractured my heart. But I'd like to be. And that bothers me a lot.
- End Notes -
1. By the end of the week, I'll have a clearer picture of whether or not I'll be moving to Nashville or not. I don't want to think that yet again my roots will be lifted from the rich loam of my life as of now but divorce has a funny way of fucking over well made plans. I'll know if I'll be on the road again soon and that scares me. I hate Amber so much for making this shit a reality.
2. God bless the Chattanooga indie rock scene, specifically the band Hoth. In a time of great personal issues, being able to listen to the angry music my body craves is something I take not a lck for granted. Hoth rules and Chattarock rules even more. Godd bless my angry jaded brethren.
3. I hate cold. I really, really hate cold. I should move to the back of an oven. A slack oven. 212 degrees. Slow broasting negro. With slaw.
4. I must give thanks as well to Cristin. She'll probably never see this entry unless I just tell her about it but she's been awesome. Again, another internet crush but one that might work out. She did the greatest thing for me, however: She offered to listen to me piss like a bitch on my pity pot. She offered to listen to me. Words cannot accurately describe how much that makes me want to cry with joy. I only hope that one day I can return the favor.
5. Doors close, doors open. Doors keep closing and opening. I wish I knew who runs the fucking doors so I can slap them in the mouth.
At that, I go now. Sleep needs to happen...but probably won't. Good evening.
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Hopefully in time all will be well again.