The fear that I had when I wrote the first part of this came to light. The journey that would set off a chain reaction, now I’m wondering why? Why is it that lightning strikes, and the euphoria causes us to be blinded by something that isn’t there? I thought it was there. I thought there was a new light, a new hope, there were moments when time stood still for me. I needed this, I wanted this, I chased it, remember?
Then the rug got pulled.
Too bad, you’re not the one. What if I came at a different time? What if I wasn’t me? “Even if you were, it wouldn’t even matter, I don’t feel the same”, and alas, the glass shatters and here I am sitting in it. Sackcloth fashion, ashes coming down, and my blood coming out in a free flow. At least I know I’m clean right? At least I got to have a few good times, but what are good times? What are dreams but loose teeth, and why am I sitting here yet again with the angst that consumed me before?
Lonely isn’t the word for it.
“A new cavity moved into my heart today. I’m through, with the new you…” the statements of Chino Moreno continue to move through my mind. Once again, I am the one left standing. Love is an interesting word, one that gets thrown out fast, and when you hold onto it, it can be taken back and rips out your guts. My guts were left open, and I had to put them back into my body, and sew my skin up yet again. Friends? Yeah, that’s cool, but once you cross the line into the territories of monogamy, and you change who you think you are, what next?
This year has been one that has knocked me down, and has really caused a great deal of turmoil. I’m getting a divorce. I thought I had found a new love, and I got on new medications. I was deeply depressed last night.
“Stuck with yourself like the rest of us, dirt gets done and then we back to dust, runnin in place, sun in my face, let me fly ‘way, heaven won’t wait….” Yeah, I know, we all go through the depressions of life, and we all have our heart broken, but this, so soon from the collapse and new beginning of my entry point into a world that is supposed to be full of love. “You’re worthy of love, I want to be your only, I want you, I love you,” all statements that were thrown around in vulnerable states, only to say that they were lies. Great, just great, and now what? “Ya gotta let people be hypocrites, count your blessin’s and mind yo business”.
Another part of the city I don’t want to go to. Back to the race of standing still? Back to trying to buy drinks for people that don’t want them, back to trying to be social, back to trying to make friendships, and back to the reality that I am not what this world wants. I am in the middle of a city that is lacking in the diversity channel, and I refuse to become just another brown face with the other brown faces.
To make matters worse, my own coworkers are now fair game too? What the hell?
I was told, “you’re not ready, you shouldn’t rebound, you should just be”, all fair advice. However, this weekend I learned that life is not going to get fixed if I just sit around and wait for it. I’m in my late 30s, I have no children, and no prospects of love, marriage, or anything like that. So alas, I’m back on the proverbial market. But hell, why so sad?
Because someone told me that they loved me, and then told me they lied about it. I’m supposed to just run with it?
“In the shadows of darkness I stand in the light
Ya see it’s our style to keep it true
I had a bad year, a lot I’ve gone through
I’ve been knocked out, beat down, black and blue
She’s not the one coming back for you”
So true. There’s always another guy, and I’m not him. You treat them nice, and they latch on, then realize you’re not “love”, you’re not them, and therefore you get pushed away again. I thought I learned my lesson at age 17, and 19. I thought being grown up was better, more mature, and nope. The same hang ups that people had from the past are alive today, and it’s hard not to think that it’s because I’m Mexican, it’s because I’m ugly, it’s because I’m not worth a damn. All lies, right? Well, it certainly feels that way when someone tells you that it wouldn’t matter if you met them at a different time, that they think of someone else, not you. “It was fun at first”, is not a great way to start the conversation of ending matters. An invitation to talk, a closed door, steps away from the bedroom, and a bed is not the way to introduce the end, and yet….
That was the end. I’m back to asking, “why so sad”, only this time, it doesn’t have anything to do with finding a light in the darkness. She turned off her light, and I’m back at sea, floating away from the lighthouse I thought invited me.