I look at life this way now. Perhaps this is because my choices are less attractive, and, so, I have to change my perception to improve my connection.
If you want to grow, then you have to grow.
Nothing changes if nothing changes.
Am I right?
At the same time, I look at our basic hang-ups and I regard our personal delusions and the thinking errors that keep us in a repetitive loop.
I think about the way we are as grownups and as people and yet, at the same time, a part of us is spoiled like brats who never got their way.
And so, we whine and we cry or we bitch and we moan. At least, I do.
We complain and throw our tantrums and we move around and meander though our passive/aggressive ways, which is unfair to everyone.
But to what avail?
How does this help?
Who does this help and what does this honor?
How does this help me get from where I am to where I want to be?
one could argue that the negative mental masturbation does nothing else but causes us to “go fuck ourselves’ for lack of better terms.
And I beg your pardon for the crassness of my terms.
But hey, who is this for anyway?
Me?
Or you?
Or maybe this is for both of us because despite our differences, our similarities are far more compelling to a greater connection that can lead us to an ultimate sense of healing
(and freedom)
Trust me when I tell you. This is not where I want to be.
Yet, here I am.
trust me when I say that this is not what I want for myself.
But this is what I have.
This is not where I want to be.
This is not the life I hoped for and nor is this the life that I signed up for.
But this is the life I have and this is where I am.
For now.
I go back to the wonder and find it curious to see how we romanticize something or someone to be different from they were.
We sensationalize and catastrophize our thinking in ways that degrade our greater good.
For example, take the people we used to love and sleep with.
Think about the hardest split that we ever had to endure.
Think about the details that split us apart for one reason or another.
Or consider the romantic breakups and the painful aches that kept us awake at night.
Do you have these nightmares?
I do.
Consider our connection to some inaccurate greatness in the past that was not real or honest to begin with.
What is this?
What are these aside from thinking errors that glorify a broken connection, which is what feel from an emotional perspective, and which tallies the loss, and amplified demons which scream about how we lost it all.
Do you understand what I mean?
Does this make any sense?
Maybe it does.
Or maybe my logic has been tricked and defied by insecure thinking and emotional fears.
Why do we go over the past the way we do?
Why do we sensationalize people, places, or things?
Why do we allow this to put us down or make us less-worthy or hold the blame for all that went wrong?
Does someone have to be wrong?
Do we always need accountability or someone to blame?
Above all, why do we place honor on thoughts, ideas, or feelings and emotions that come back to us with a greater deficit than a possible reward?
Is it our connection to rejection?
Is it that we cannot accept this?
Is this what makes us worry the most?
IS it that we are afraid to be so flawed and unlovable?
Is it the fear of loss?
I have this.
I am afraid I will lose more and at the same time; I’m afraid that I’ve already lost everything.
So why bother?
Why try?
Is it the worry that something is wrong, and so, the next concern is will I ever be happy again?
But was I really happy to begin with?
Will I ever find what I’m looking for?
This is a real question.
Or will I ever have the love that everyone talks about? And love like this is elusive and evasive and rare, and still; the heart wants what the heart wants.
But the fears that we cannot have this are what puts us into tailspins.
And down the spiral we go.
These are the gritty and murky sands that suffocate us in the drowning pools of emotional quicksand.
You can die alive like this.
I know . . .
And you ask yourself –
Am I that bad?
Am I ugly?
Am I too crazy?
Am I pitiful?
Am I so fucked up that I will always be alone and unlovable?
Are my teeth that bad?
Is my rhythm so out of whack?
Will anyone ever look at me and see me as I am and be like, “HIM!”
He is the one I want.
No one can beat him.
No one can replace him.
And I will love no one else in the world . . .
. . . like the way I love “HIM!”
Is this wrong for me to wonder?
Is this too abusive to my own soul?
Or is this what gets me up another day and makes me go around the globe for another spin?
I say all of this truthfull to defy the inner and the alter ego which looks to pretend or “act as if.”
Acting is acting and “acting as if” will always be acting at best.
And so I say to hell with my false bravado.
I don’t want to act anymore.
I know what beauty is now and I will never be afraid to point this out and own what I can; that is, of course, if beauty will ever be mine to own again.
To hell with the fragile, weak, and breakable substance called the male ego.
Fuck it!
The ego is breakable.
And no, there is nothing more weak than and porcelain figure with chips and cracks, hoping to God that no one sees this.
My ego pleases that no one sees my weakness and no one knows that in the end – I’m really nothing more than a scared boy (still) even after all these years.
To hell with this.
To hell with the male ego and the transparent facade.
This does nothing more than push me further from my truth and farther from the achievement, which I pray are the things that come with the beautiful vulnerabilities of true love.
To hell with this and to hell with the devils in my system.
I say this as a man or as a person and yet; I am convinced that I am not alone and nor is this limited to me or my masculinity and manhood as a kind.
No . . .
I listened to a woman tell me about the life she had prior to motherhood. I listened to her explain the pains and the fights and the wars that went on between her and the father of her child.
She used the term “father” in name only because fatherhood means more than the simple donation of sperm, to which I agree.
I agree that it takes more to be a man than to spread himself or be sexually active.
I understand the variables of “being tough,” and how toughness is relative and then again, perhaps the terms of manhood are relative as well.
Fatherhood is a term that comes with a great strand of complexities and responsibilities. It takes more than sexual ability to be a father.
This consists of a special dedication that is far more important than the act of intimacy and insemination.
I know this.
I know this painfully well too.
Therefore, I am not one who holds a fair position to judge anyone on this matter. My honesty and my humiliation and my past mistakes speak volumes for themselves.
But this is not the point.
I listened to a woman speak about a man in one regard. However, I listened to a different version of her truths after the father of her child died tragically.
This is when the version changed. This took place when she began to sensationalize a person who never dared to sensationalize or glorify her, by any means.
I listened to a more glorified and version of what their relationship was like. I listened as she somehow pardoned this man for acts that hurt her as a mother and her child who grew up without a father.
Why do we do things like this?
Is this guilt?
Is this some kind of mental warfare from within?
Is this a loyalty issue?
Or what?
I was thinking about my past lives and my past attempts at love. I thought about the relationships I was part of and how my addiction to my traumas and fears and how my flaws ruined my chances of happiness.
However, there were wrongs and lies and dishonesties that hurt me. Of course, and in some cases; there were discoveries and betrayals that ruined me to my core.
But I owned these things as if they were mine.
All mine.
I began to think fondly about certain ideas, perhaps to settle the lonesome thoughts that come when sleeping alone at night.
I wanted to find accountability.
But again, mental masturbation like this is degrading.
I thought about the “would’ve, could’ve,” and “should’ve” scenarios and that perhaps my life would be different from what it is.
Then I thought about the terms of maturity.
I thought about the ability of growth and the disabling thoughts that prevent us from moving forward and growing or moving ahead.
I thought about the growth it takes to be honest with oneself, which is both huge and helpful.
This is crucial and critical, let alone necessary to make the needed improvements to get us to where we want to be.
I thought about what it takes to add the accounts from our past with an honest declaration.
I considered the value of honest assessment, which I call growth,
I thought about doing this, rather than holding inaccurate ideas and allowing them to blind me and keep me in an emotional deficit.
This is not something that only applies to love or intimacy.
But more, I can see how it took years of growth for me to own the honest accounts of what took place between my parents while I was young.
It takes growth to recognize that above all we never assume that parents are only human, which equips them with all the thinking errors, human flaws, biases, and challenges that plagues us all.
We are all flawed
I remember walking into a basement, alone, somewhat homeless and defeated.
I was alone in every sense of the word. The love I had did not love me back.
The life I left was painful and resentful and still, I wished and I prayed and romanticized and fantasized that in the end, my dream will come true.
And so it will . . .
Perhaps . . .
One day, I suppose.
Or so I hope.
Our degree of honesty must be free to improve. Therefore, our ability to grow and move beyond the errors in our thinking are essential to a better future.
I cannot say an unkind word about anyone in my past.
I have no right to judge or persecute.
I have no reason to connect to a dishonest version of anyone at all, especially those who are gone in name, or in body, or gone in spirit as well.
I have no right to live in the past.
Also, I have to remember the pretty lies we tell ourselves are only degrading us at best.
This does nothing but prevent our future growth.
Sensationalizing someone or something and clinging to inaccurate thoughts is the dagger that keeps the pain alive.
This drags us through an old swamp that never clears.
And more, these are the dangers of emotional quicksand that drowns us in thin air.
It’s okay to be honest about the past.
It’s not disloyal to you or to anyone else to have an honest account of what happened. And it’s okay to love someone who is gone and never coming back.
But we have to move on. And we have to find that branch to pull us up from the emotional swamps because quite honestly, I don’t want to drown anymore.
Fate is always going to be there
Destiny too.
I promise to let them do their job from now on, and I will do this without my entaglments.
I was thinking of a song this morning.
And I assume this came to me because the sunrise was beautiful, despite my energy or the emotional content or the resentment of where I am.
The song is simple and old and a classic as well.
What a Wonderful World . . .
I don’t know why.
The song always brings a tear to my eye.
I cry.
And I cry for different reasons.
One reason is because the song reminds me of sad and hard times. Another reason is the song is sung with such innocence and purity. Another reason is I connect this to the kindred spirits and those who I love so dearly and yet; they are gone and far away, despite my love, or despite my desire, or how deeply I miss them.
What a Wonderful World
I know the world is a beautiful place. I know me and I know my wrongs, my sins, and I am fully aware of my debts which have compiled and become far greater than I ever imagined.
Perhaps, the sun shows that a new day can bring me a new promise.
And for now, I find myself in an office and working an extra shift to make ends meet.
I find myself missing and broken and missing things that will never return.
At the same time, I agree with Louis Armstrong
It is a wonderful world.
“I see babies cry, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll ever know –
and I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Oh yeah . . . .”
Blessed Father,
Forgive me
I’m just a man
A silly, scared, fragile little man.
But I’m trying
I promise.
The Written Addiction 