Well, I know why they do it. Remember the headlines, "suicide, with so much to live for". I'm one of those. Not really, I mean, I'm still alive, but I understand. It's that knowledge that right now, this instant, I am completely alone. It might not even be true, there may be hundreds of people out there who love me immensely, but right now, I can't feel that love. Right now, I don't know that anyone even remembers my name. Sure, if I left now, there might be some heartache for a day or two. But what about in a month, or a year from now? Would I be just another lonely headstone? Would anyone remember then? I once heard that the way to tell about how a person lived is to look at how he died. I don't know if I've left a lasting impression on anyone. I'm afraid that 25 years from now, if I were to go to a reunion, people would pull out a yearbook and say, "Nate Young, who was he?" How can that be a life well lived?
But yet isn't that a agood reason to continue on - to give someone, somewhere something to remember me by? So that I don't have to remain just a name on a rock forever after.
And anyway, I do have every reason to live. The hard part is convincing myself of that. I really don't want to be stuck like this for the rest of my life. I want - no need - someone to share this life with.
So - you won't see my name on that article, because rather than use all this as an excuse to die, I am choosing to use it as a reason to live. Is that good, well, years down the road, you can come to my funeral and find out for yourself.
I love the rain. Because it reminds me of that deep, dark, Deeply hidden spot, that no one has really seen. So very few people have any idea what is there; Hiding behind the half-closed doors, Like a skeleton in the closet. I think I am somehow connected to the rain. When it's sunny outside, the rain moves inside, Leaving, if anything, only the rainbow for the outside world to see. Only those on the inside really know of the dampness, The true dreariness the sun brings. And then the sun disappears behind my clouds, As they roll out of that closet, Letting it fill with some internal sunshine. Lighting up with a fiery glow; And radiating a true warmth, So that people are drawn to me, Like a campfire on a cold night. But in a dry world, With sunny skies every day, I stand alone. People seeing the clouds and Knowing. Knowing it's only an illusion. Knowing there is no pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. Knowing there are others, Others who have a light on all the time. Not Knowing that that other light is just a lamp. A cold, cruel, impersonal lamp. Like in a hospital. It offers no comfort, Only lighting the way, Leaving you to comforrt yourself. Not Knowing that all the curtains are closed, Shutting out the sunshine; the true light. So which is worse? The light of the sun, Dimmed by the clouds, Or the fake light from a lamp? I say let it rain.
Alcoholics Anonymous is a completely flawed system. Where else would you hear someone tell you to run from something that is hard for you. The way I've always been taught was to get right back in the saddle. According to AA, you should admit that you are an alcoholic, and then never touch a drop of alcohol again in your life. If you do "give in" and drink some, no matter how long in the future, you are considered a failure. I guess this is just a marketing ploy; tell them they are losers, that way they will keep coming back for support.
What I would do is this - yes, admit that I had a problem with alcohol, but then rather than run from it, I would attack it by continuing to drink, only not letting the alcohol control me, but controlling it. Only when you can drink while remaining in complete control would I consider alcoholism defeated.
Bear in mind, this whole scheme comes from someone who's never even been drunk, so this is from the outside looking in. Flame me softly if you see the need to do so. :0)
Well, here's the deal. I have this idea that my mind works in completely novel and unique way. I mean that I like to try to figure out why people do the things they do, and in general I have no problem doing so. The difference lies in the fact that all these people's mind work in ways that are completely different from mine. (I can't really pin down the difference, although I have this theory that most people do thing based on some super deeply ingrained sense of self-preservation and even more than that, an urge to raise their stature in life, which isn't necessarily bad, but in the quantity that I find it, it tends to bring about outright selfishness. I don't seem to have that nearly as much as other people, but for some reason, I refuse to accept this as the only difference and also refuse to accept the fact that I also don't have that the reason for that being one that makes me sound stupid is that I don't believe that I am so different in such a good way.)
What this difference tends to lead to is a complete lack of passion for anything. That is, I have no zeal to do anything, and even more disturbing, I have no strong feelings about anything that happens. Sure there may be the initial hot flash of feelings, but mere minutes afterwords, all is forgotten, and my cold calculating mind is analyzing my reaction to situation, or even worse, I am already thinking about something completely unrelated to the situation.
So I guess my appeal is this; if any of you psychologists out there know whats going on, please tell me. I don't even necessarily want to change, since it seems to treat me quite well, but I would like to accept this difference on some grounds other than psychosis.
As my level of unrequited love rises steadily over the years, I begin to wonder what the limit is. I mean, first obviously there is the crush. That doesn't hurt too much when it falls to the dust. But some of the later levels are supposed to have killed me. Is this just a flaw in my loving part? Is it another sign of that psychosis spoken of previously? What's up?
The other question is this; are all these failures going to come back and haunt me? Are these all just bricks in the Fortress of Anti-love that I have inside me? What if someday I find the right someone (at least peripherally I still believe that she exists), will I start to attempt love for real only to find that my lover has given in to the fortress and walled itself in for good?
And the really strange part about all this is that it doesn't really disturb me. No, in fact the only part about it that I don't like about it is that eventually if I do find some girl to love, and fail to, then I think it would be horrible for her. How could I possibly expect her to understand; "I'm sorry, my lover is broken." I'm sorry that I may eventually have to break her heart like that. But as for my own personal loss in the situation, I don't really care. It's almost like I have been basically loveless for so long, that I have come to accept the idea as my permanent state. Not that I wouldn't prefer anything else, but "Que sera, sera." you know.
I have decided that I have a definite problem with e-mail as a mode of communication and there are a few reasons for this. Number one, too much is lost in the medium for any in depth communication to take place. In e-mail, there is nothing but monotone, there is no tone, no inflection, no anything. Just black letters and blank spaces. At least in a snail-mail letter there is handwriting differences. And so, with all these problems, you can only SHOUT! or talk. You can't be conspiratorial, or crazy, or anything other than monotone. So with someone like myself, who is not particularly wordy, things get lost in translation as they say.
The second reason is more of a personal one. I have this strange habit of treating e-mail like a telephone conversation. By that I mean that some things I put in an e-message would never make it in a regular letter. Things that would be laughed at over the phone, but would cause problems without the aforementioned tones or inflections stay in, because - well I don't know, I just neglect to take it out. I am a rather sarcastic/ironic thinker, but these are the types of things that are particularly dangerous in e-mail, since they are consistently taken wrong.
And so, if you don't hear from me on an important issue, then call me. Likely I don't feel calm enough to write a coherent letter, but was too lazy to write a letter.
...every color, every class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike - all snored in the same language. - El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz (AKA Malcom X)
'Always in the past, it was acceptable to blame magical or miraculous happenings on God. Now that doesn't fit with out world view, so we've begun to blame it on aliens.' - The X-Files
And if he get's lucky, he might find a girl to help him get over the pain that's in this world. - Tom Petty
Nate Young
P.O. Box 13051
Prescott, Az 86304-3051