A Fish in the Sea

How can I make it happen
If I don’t know what I need
If this planet was an ocean
I’d probably be a seaweed

I ran away from a 17-year relationship
As big and as beautiful as the Titanic
But we hit something as cold as the Arctic
And my world went down like a sinking ship

Now I’m broken and lonely
I can’t swallow my spaghetti

I sit in my apartment like an old jerk
Feeling as worthless as an office clerk
Wishing I could connect with someone new
A man, a woman, maybe even you

I feel ugly, I feel sad
My mind is empty and mad

I’m wondering about this dating site
Maybe this is how I can take flight
But what would I write in my profile
“I’m no pervert and no pedophile”

I want to turn around
Bury myself underground

I want to project something real
Find someone who will help me heal
But who wants to date a damaged man
All I need is a patient helping hand

Fuck I don’t even know what I want
I feel more lost than a teenage debutante

There’s a site called Plenty of Fish
Perhaps it can fulfill my wish
Might not be as hot as Florida
But it’s free and popular in Canada

 

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Dying to Feel Alive

Dad I’m struggling
Just to survive

Mom I’m eating
To have the drive

Bro I’m willing
To take the dive

Sis I’m walking
But don’t arrive

I’m hard working
I really strive

I keep failing
And never thrive

I’ve been praying
Since I was five

God I’m dying
To feel alive

Cherophobia

No, it’s not the fear of cherries, but the fear of happiness.

I think I might be suffering from this a little bit.

After coming out, feeling ready, willing and able and tumbling, I realized that there is a deep-rooted uneasiness within me when it comes to potential pleasure or happiness.

I think I know exactly where it comes from.

Whenever I experienced great happiness in the past, it always seemed to be followed by great despair.  So I have developed this strange belief that in order to avoid heartbreak, I must avoid being happy.

The result is depression.  A self-inflicted condition due to a state of mind.

I am just becoming aware of this now.  It’s quite disturbing.  I’m not sure what to do.

Whenever I realize something, I write it down.  This is how I give it a form and shape.  I find it easier to tackle after it becomes visible, observable and describable.

Cherophobia:  aversion to happiness.  There is some of it within me.

I’m sure the universe will take care of it.  If this is something that should be kicked out of my belief system, then let the butt-kicker step forward.  I welcome him.  Or her…

Are You Happy

Stupid question.

She asked me if I was happy.

My lovely wife asked me if I was happy.

– What was your answer?

I said:  “I didn’t get married to end up divorced.”

We’re not officially divorced.  This is why I didn’t write “ex-” in front of the word “wife.”  She’s my wife.  But it’s just like if we were divorced.  I know how it feels to be divorced because I used to be.  Before I met her.  Now my second marriage has gone down the drain also.

Tabarnak <—  This is a swear word.  In the culture I was born into, this is what one says when one is pissed.  It’s the word I never dared to say when I was young because my parents would have killed me.  Good little Catholic boys NEVER say that word.

Tabarnak.  Now I say it.  I am pissed.  But I don’t know who to blame.  Me?  Her?  Life?  God?  The Universe?  Nobody.  No one.  This is just how life goes.  Life sucks.  You build, you build, you hope, you hope, you believe, you trust, then everything crumbles.

Bravo, Life!  Clap-clap, I applaud.  “Trust the Lord,” they say.  Yeah…  Right…  Sure…  I trusted.  “Love conquers all!”  Bullshit.  Caca.  Love is a deception.  Love is the sneakiest Deceptress of all time.  Love has screwed up more people than mass media and the Catholic Church combined.

And now she asks me if I’m happy.
I thought she was joking.
I looked at her.
She was serious.
She is nuts.

Yes, I am happy that I have left you.  Now if you could just disappear and stop reminding me of my past, maybe I could concentrate on my future.  And guess what?  I hope to fall in love again.  Because I’m crazy.  Just like this life and you.

The Mystic

Today I’m wondering if too much spirituality can cause a balance disorder.

Ok, I hear an imaginary crowd of people yelling a resounding, unanimous answer:  “YES!”

Thank you, imaginary unanimous crowd of answering people.  But what if I told you that you are all a bunch of misled materialistic slaves?

Now they are all silent and staring at me.  One of them steps forward and says politely:  “Maybe we are, but you are the one with the balance disorder.”

Bam!

When I think of a guy who clings to spirituality above everything else, I think of an idiot who is trying to fly with man-made wings.  I think of Wile E. Coyote.  Is this what I have become?  What will happen next?

Never mind.

Maybe I should concentrate on being a man instead of trying to be a bird.  But what about my aspirations?

I’m not very good at being human.  I’ve tried it.  I keep failing.

Where are you, italicized dude?  You’re not answering me today?

– I’m here.

So what do you say, am I too spiritual?

– Maybe you want to be a mystic.

A Mystic:  Someone who practices mysticism.

Mysticism:  Becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning.  It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices or experiences.

Yes, I think I want to be a mystic.  But what about my balance disorder?

– What about it?

If I would stop aspiring to become a great mystic, would I be miraculously cured of my balance disorder?

– I don’t know.  You would have to try it.

Hmm…  I did stop being one with You at one point.  Remember what happened?  I became extremely depressed and ended up in a psychiatric hospital.  So perhaps I was meant to be a mystic.

– Then you must accept the balance disorder.

Thank you.

Thickheaded Control-Freak

A wrongdoer manipulated my life, like an abuser experimenting with a youngster.  He turned me into a wild animal.  I’m the product of someone’s playful mischief.  Aren’t we all?

My body is a defective vessel — a vehicle which will expire.  Something or hopefully someone will come out of it alive.  A different dummy shall step out of it and face a new reality.

But right now, what am I to do?  Be gloomy?  How can I not be.  I’m this weird creature, controlled by even weirder ones.  There is no way out.  Or is there?  I must wait for the metamorphosis to occur.  I wish the process would accelerate.  Is suicide the answer?

Is killing my body unnatural?  So many do it.  Has it become the norm yet?  We all do it gradually.  Life does it naturally.  I can make myself sick physically.  It’s easy.  But I stubbornly keep my body healthy.  Why?  Maybe because it hurts when I don’t.

But now my soul hurts.  Is it better to have a hurting spirit?  Having to drag this body along is painful.  And when it dies, what kind of body will I be given?  Who will decide?  Maybe I will be able to choose.  My angel said he could shapeshift.  Wow!

I can’t wait to have a shapeshifting body.

My dominant plays god.  That’s what he does.  My evolution would happen naturally if only he would let it be.  But he wants to play divinity.  Prick.  And I’m stuck under his authority for a while.  Like I have a say in what I let my children do.  But kids grow, and sooner or later we lose our authority over them.  It’s a liberation process.  How long will this go on regarding this Daemon?  Does it depend on me or on him?

I am enduring but not so patient.  Let go of me, bitch!

So I ended up here, in this environment.  But still, he has a hold on me.

Let go already, thickheaded control-freak!

Deadlocked

I lost my liberty
Who will rescue me
I wonder what will happen
If any door will open

This day is going to be
The same as yesterday
Unbearable melancholy
Unless I find a key

There’s a reason why I’m here
“It’s your fault” he told me
I wanted to be free
So he locked me in here

At first I had no idea
What was going on
I thought something
Had gone wrong

Now he’s watching me
Wondering what I’ll do
I can’t even see him
He blindfolded me

I know he’s near me
I hear him inhaling
I hear him exhaling
He won’t talk to me

It excites him to watch me
I feel naked and empty
I think my vulnerability
Is what he wants to see

He enjoys it
He delights in it
He touches it
I don’t get it

He won’t whip me
He protects me
He comes closer
Then he kisses me

I shiver and wonder
Does he heal or make me suffer
He could hurt me badly
But he seems to know better

I wish he would slay me
But it is very unlikely
I need to figure out
What love is all about

Dying in Your Sleep

Some people go to bed at night and thank God for all the wonderful things that happened to them during the day.

Not me.

I go to bed at night feeling disgusted, and also relieved that the day is finally over and then I ask God to please let me die in my sleep.

I have a friend who died in his sleep.  His life situation was similar to mine.  He was married, in his forties, had four kids and was healthy.  He died in 2011.

I had not been in touch with him for quite a while, so one day I decided to do an Internet search using his name to see if I could find any information concerning his whereabouts.

I found his obituary!  So then I searched for his sister on facebook and found her.  I sent her a message immediately to get some info about the cause of his death.  She said he had “heart arrhythmia” and died in his sleep.

I thought how lucky he was.  I can’t think of a more pleasant way to die.  I wondered if he had actually wanted to die in his sleep or if it just happened unexpectedly.

Ever since that day, I think of him every night before falling asleep and I wish that the same thing would happen to me.

Depressed people will understand.  There is nothing negative about death.  It is the ultimate metamorphosis of the human being.  Of course I believe in an afterlife, so basically I visualize death as some kind of release, where the real me (the soul) detaches from its eggshell (the physical body) and starts a new life.  To me, death is a birth.

Every morning I wake up, open my eyes, look around the room and think:  “Shit, I’m still here.”

I Suck at Friendship

I ask myself:  Do I have any friends?  Aside from family members and excluding blog followers or followees, do I have any real friends?

The answer is no.

A real friend to me is someone whose presence I value to the point of feeling sad and torn at the thought of their death.  There is no one in my life at the moment who fits this category.  Therefore I must conclude that I have no friends.

I feel ashamed.

How did it come to this?

I know:  marriage.

I spent the last 17 years of my life trying to maintain the friendship I had with my wife, and in the end it failed.  Or maybe it didn’t.  We still talk to each other.  But our relationship doesn’t meet my above definition of “a real friend.”  I don’t feel sad or torn at the thought of her death.

Maybe there’s something wrong with my definition.  Is it too extreme?  Is it normal to have become so unattached to people?  Maybe it comes with age.  I don’t know, I’ve never been this old before.  I am older than I have ever been and my life came with no instructions manual.  So I’m not sure of anything.

I wonder if there is a point in life where it becomes impossible to make real new friends.  It seemed easier when I was young.  But as I get older, it’s even difficult to imagine.  I have so much baggage.  The people my age have so much baggage too.  How could I start a fresh new friendship while carrying so much baggage?

The fact that I’m an introvert does not make the prospect look any brighter either.  Having online friends is probably the best I can hope for.  Who could tolerate my presence face to face?  It would take quite a special person.  I wonder if anyone would really enjoy being close to me.

I’m like the guy in the photo above.  My face is a computer monitor that has been switched off.  It reveals nothing of what is inside.  No data is visible.  It’s just a blank screen.  And I’m so sensitive, it’s like my body is covered with buttons.  Who knows what would happen inside my central processing unit if someone would push one of my buttons.

If I had a plug I would pull it out of the socket.

To Bitch or Not to Bitch

I feel like bitching but I don’t know what to bitch about.

To Bitch:
To criticize spitefully, often for the sake of complaining
rather than in order to have the problem corrected.

There are too many things to bitch about, I don’t know where to start.

I could bitch about this proverb.  No, let’s just focus on the first word.

Life.

What’s the problem with life?  Let’s talk about human life because it’s the only one I’ve experienced so far.  The problem is that it doesn’t come with an instructions manual.

I was given something that seems pretty awesome on the onset, but then after a while, everything starts to fail.  You spend your time repairing things that keep breaking.  Everything breaks down eventually, everything!

And at the end you die.

What a bitch!