lostepoch

I feel I've not used this site's blogging/journaling ability to its full potential. This particular post is going to be very serious and I'm going to let many of my guards down. I'll be displaying a stage full of dressed up emotions and stark naked secrets.

First off, let me state this: Throughout my entire life I have felt alone. I have a loving, supporting family, and have always had friends wherever I have lived. But for one simple reason I have ever felt the need for someone else. Not just anyone. A person I can completely sychronize with. Someone who fully understands the person that I am (which is funny because lately I'm starting to not understand that myself). A woman. One who thinks the world of me because I think the universe of her. One perfect being. Perfection being my own standards of course. Just like everything else in life, perfection is relative.

Because of the sincerety of this interminable need, I tend to fall (quite easily and very hard) for women who come very near to being that person. First case in point, my high school girlfriend, Catie. I absolutely loved this girl to death. Intelligent, sarcastic, perfectly beautiful. It was the first connection I had ever felt with of that magnitude with a woman. She was my first sexual encounter. The visceral experience that she was can never be explained in written word. I loved every moment I spent near her. Regardless, Catie was unable to reciprocate those emotions. She had been treated so badly by men before that the emotional walls she had built around her ability to love were absolutely steadfast. I tried everything in my power to shake those walls, to crumble them upon the ground. But it was, unfortunately, in vain.

I have had girlfriends since. In fact I was in a 2 year relationship afterwards. One I stayed in for fear of being alone, convincing myself that I was satisfied. I was happy, but not satisfied. When I meet a woman I know whether I will be able to sync with her. It's easy to tell. I've met a few here and there that have come close, but not close enough.

Almost 2 years ago I met a girl named Nickey, as she played my girlfriend in a film I was in. I instantly noticed her. The connection was almost tangible. I knew her all of 2 days, and felt something within me crush and sink when she left to go back to Santa Barbera. Why? How should I know? How am I supposed to explain love, and it's infinitely incomprehensible reasons? All I know is that when she spoke to me my blood boiled. When she looked at me, she looked through me. Her eyes penetrated so deep within me it felt as if she was looking at my very soul, past all of the bullshit that I front in order to portray the person everyone thinks that I am.

I didn't speak to her for a year and a half. I thought about her sparsely, but never too much. Pointless, she was somewhere else, doing what she needed to do in life. I went on for a year and a half, simply not caring, because what would be the point? She found me on MySpace. We exchanged stupid online flirts. She told me and my friend John to come down to see her play this weekend. I thought to myself, "she wants me to come see her?" It was right, it was going to happen. I was going to spend time with her, to relate my feelings of the inescapable connection that was so obvious to me. It had to be obvious to her.

Nickey is an actress. I am unabashedly drawn to actresses. Her energy is so unbearably attractive. She's petite, with a head full of hair and two of the darkest, most mysterious eyes hidden behind the longest eyelshes I've ever seen. What a perfect dream she is.

We arrived friday night. She had just finished her show for the night, so we relaxed, had some drinks and watched movies. We fell asleep, her head nestled in my chest, my arms engulfing her while I played with her hair. That hair. So soft, smelling like the sun. I didn't kiss her. We didn't have sex. We layed in each other's embrace throughout the night.

Perfect, right? We went to her show the next day, the final performance. She's acting beautifully. I can't help but feel jealous of the guy playing her fiance. But of course it's acting, so I'm not taking it seriously. But in the end, her dance seen with him. The way she looked into his eyes. The same way she had looked into mine. The way she lightly grazed his cheek with her hand. When we get back to her place she nonchalantly mentions that she is "kinda dating" that guy to my friend John, while I'm sitting no more than 4, maybe 5, feet away. A dreadful burning within me. My skin was on fire. Why was this happening? I barely knew her. It was the connection - she had just hacked at it. At the cast party we went to, she talked to him, flirted with him. I couldn't do anything but drink. I drank myself blind. I was short with anyone who tried to speak to me. We ended up back at her place, and who drove us there? Non other than Alex, her scene partner. They spent a good half hour in the car. She came inside, complained about some stuff she was going through, then picked up a blanket and pillow and told us she'd be back, just not to wait up for her. The door slammed shut and the betrayal was complete. I couldn't think. Nothing but blind, utter rage at love. Why, in the name of anything good in this horrible, terrible world, would love betray me like that? I walked to the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror, just looking at myself. Who was this person? This is not me. How is it possible that love, the absolutely BEST thing in this world, can fuck me over time and time again? I pleaded with God. Why, damnit? I am not that bad of a person. I am a hypocrite, and I'm lazy. But damnit why should that condemn me to such a patheticly lonely existence?

I looked down to the counter, and saw a small mirror she probably used to apply makeup. I picked it up and threw into the sink, shattering it. I picked up one of the shards and carved an F in my left arm, tossing the bloody piece of glass back into the sink. The F was symbolic of my hatred towards women. It stood for all the stupid pain I have endured trying to cope with love. "Fuck everyone." I stood there, blood dripping down my arm, and stared at the abomination of a human being that I was. It's not fair. It's never fair. Absolute bullshit.

It makes me hate life. It makes me wonder at the point. I have never considered suicide. It's just not an option for me. For me, suicide is a weak way out.

I left the next day, being as cold to her as I could. Was I wrong to do so? Who are you to judge? Who am I to judge, for that matter. In one of my former posts I quoted a line from a Postal Service song, saying, "I want so badly to believe that there is truth, that love is real." I do, so, so terribly. I have so much of it to give, but I can't let it out until I know that she is the right person. Nickey led me on. Love lied to me. I am so desperately alone. But that's how it's always been. That's how it will always be. Perpetual solitude, an existence deprived companionship, bereft of that which could complete it. An unsolvable enigma.

What a load of crap.