Wednesday, October 19, 2011

I Don't Need You, Or Anyone Else

This is a painful post. Because I'm in a lot of pain, and I'm trying to write it out. Last night I wondered why I haven't slept in days, and of course it's the same as usual-my head is full of spinning thoughts, all rushing through my brain and demanding some sort of answer from someone who really has none.

What started as a simple infection in July has grown into some monster trying to take over my entire body. I've been to several doctors, endured many appointments and still see many more in the upcoming days. That's discouraging to me. In fact, it's probably causing a little depression.

What's worse is what's inside. I've adapted a longing for escape. Every day I find some way out of my life. There aren't a lot of healthy ways to do that. And there isn't a good excuse for why I need to hide from reality so badly. It could be the 9 months straight I've been mind fucked, by every single evolution that has taken place in my booming career. While everyone else joyfully takes off to see their family and loved ones, I'm still stuck here... not by any fault of my own, either.

Also once again I'm reminded of the importance of solitude. People reeeealllly don't cut it for me. I am astonished at how many times I've gotten this lesson slammed into my gut, and I'm still discovering it. Slow learner, right here. It's almost like I crave the pain of being shredded into heartbroken remnants. The intensity and horror of the experience only grows with time, so each new case drives me completely to the ground, while memories of a younger me remained standing against the attacks. I guess I'm finally wearing down, realizing the impact of the blows I've been embracing.

But solitude is such a hard lifestyle to adapt. Being completely alone, in a world where humans are everywhere, is overwhelming. I love the fact that my roommates are both late shift for school. Evenings are the only time I can unleash the raw emotions that kind of take over and would kill me if I didn't let them out. With music turned up loud enough, I can have a complete meltdown and be ready to mask my hurts again by bedtime. It's a harsh reality check, remembering that in the end, alone is the only thing I'll ever really be.

Maybe that's the reason people turn to God, and Jesus. Because we are so afraid of these solitary moments and the pain they bring, that we create something to be with us always. Even when humanity lets us down, we can turn to that bright place we've invented in our minds and convince ourselves that we aren't really alone. It almost seems like a crippling technique, to me. I guess if it really works, more power to the ones with the endless imagination. I simply see myself as what is objectively true; alone in all senses of the word, with no one but myself to turn to.

It may be a growing phase kind of thing. The moment I step out of my barracks, I interact. Every other person on this base knows me and seems to love me; they call my name, wave, and smile, and I return the motions. The front desk ladies greet me and try to shove candy down my throat, and I am happy to give them this pleasure. My choir cats all invite me to events and eagerly welcome my presence when I go. The boy-men on this base, hungry for adventure, follow me with their hidden thoughts and motives, hoping for a night with me. Perhaps they, too, are incredibly lonely. More likely though, they are just boot camp material, focused on satisfying their lust-hungry dicks, and I appeal to them. I smile politely, and usually I dance my way around them and return to my solitude.

So it's not a lack of human interaction. But the entire time I'm surrounded by people, I'm aware of the fact that I'm not really taking part in any of it. The actions are there, but in reality I'm standing back, watching everyone shower affections and personality all over each other, and I'm just a physical participant. These people who should matter, slip through my life like meaningless static on a sideband. Here one day and gone the next, with no real impact except to make my social life look pretty. And that's a very sad fact.

But it's all a lesson. Somewhere in the universe, something is controlling how the moon affects the tide, and how the hungry cougar is controlling the antelope population, and how many children need to starve in order to save the other 3 billion. And that same something is training my heart for some Spartan experience. At least that's what I'm assuming, because only extremely harsh conditions require bitterly painful training. Only the most remote of life adventures demands total isolation. Only a vigilant experience needs constant lack of sleep. And a mission of death is the only one that demands your complete sacrifice to it's lessons.

It would be nice to use the excuse that my heart is a beating thing, I have needs, I need love. But those are hopeless needs, as I've learned, against this cruel taunting life. According to the powers that be, I need only myself. If I fall, rather than someone beside me to help me up, I need the strength to pull myself to my feet. Instead of a lover to remind me of my worth, I need to find within me something worth loving and put all I have into that, so I can give myself the love I need. And why on earth would I need a compassionate listener? I have these fingers and hands and this gift of writing. I can sort out everything on my own.

When the world fails, I should be able to take it. If a human turns out to be a faithless friend, it won't affect me. Nothing can hold me back except myself. If I try to maintain faith in this reckless swarm of humanity, I'll simply continue to be beaten down. Life is about my own path and getting to the end of it, and if I'm lucky, finding some happiness along the way.

Tough me just dominated.