Derealization

God, I feel so unsure.  It’s like I can’t take control of my life.  Maybe I don’t trust myself.  That’s it, I don’t trust myself!  I don’t trust my feelings.  I don’t trust my desires and my urges.  I feel that they were put there to mislead me.

My own feelings want to mislead me.  That’s horrible!  How about my mind?  I don’t even know what to think.  I want to drink.  Get drunk.  Pass out.  And die, yeah!

This afternoon I took a nap.  I fell asleep.  I dreamed that I was walking inside a warehouse.  Then I must have stepped on something because I was electrocuted.  I was being electrocuted and I couldn’t move and I thought:  “I’m overpowered and I’m going to die, finally!”  And I was happy.  Then I woke up.

I wasn’t dead.  I never seem to die.  Why does death always elude me?

Does my life have something to do with you, cloaked man?  I don’t think you can help me.  I doubt I can help you.  I’m not sure anymore.  I don’t trust anything.  I feel paralyzed.  I should make a move but all I want to do is make a no-move.  Just sit here and wait.  For someone to come.

But no one will come.  I even disconnected the phone.  I don’t want to hear it ring.  I’m not going to answer anyway.  I’m tired of these fake connections.  I need the real thing.  When I feel like this I don’t want to talk to anyone.  I couldn’t talk anyway.  My throat is numb.  My voice has been disactivated.  I’m not even sure I have a breath.

I am lost because the meaning of things was removed today.  Does this ever happen to you?  Nothing has meaning.  Maybe I’m dissociating again.  Or derealizating.  The environment, the thoughts and the feelings seem unreal.  Where’s my reality?

Maybe I’m just lonely.  If someone would knock on my door, it would surely bring me back to reality.  I need to be touched.  Maybe shaken.  Maybe slapped in the face or kicked in the stomach.

“What you need is a big strong hand to lift you to your higher ground.”

Now I’m channeling Madonna.

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The Casino Slut

I love my man
He is so naive
I know how to impress him
I’ve done it last eve
When I win he shines
When I win he nods
I have but one talent
It is to beat the odds

I know how to do this
I understand this machine
Put enough coins in it
Eventually it will sing
I have my own bank account
Does not matter how much I spend
Huge amounts are for big gamblers
I’m the mother of all winners

There goes a twenty
There goes another
If I keep inserting money
Jackpot will hit eventually
Just one more dollar
To keep the lights flashing
Keep the wheels spinning
They will stop in my favor

(Two hours later)

“Oh my god, I got it!
Two hundred and something
Honey, come and see this!
I won the bonus thing!”
– How much did you put in?
“Oh, only three tokens”
– Wow, you’re so lucky!
“How can you not love me…”

Evil Girlfriend

I will lie to him
To make him love me
If I seduce him
He will not leave me

I will rub him sweetly
To excite his body
I will control his mind
And make him marry me

Then I will be happy
Because the man I admire
The one my friends desire
Will be mine, he-he!

The passion within him
Will be given to me
I will feel extraordinary
All the time
Until eternity

Absolutely Fabulous

I’m a lucky man.  The neighbor envies me.  I see it in his eyes.  He wants her.  He wants my wife.  Because she’s absolutely fabulous.

My best friend is not my wife.  My best friend is the dictionary.  So, come here pal, I need you!  Open up.  Please show me.  I want to see the word Fabulous.  I need to know who I’m married to.

Fabulous:

1. Of or relating to fable, myth or legend.
2. Characteristic of fables; marvelous, extraordinary, incredible.
3. Fictional or not believable; made up.
4. Known for telling fables or falsehoods; unreliable.
5. Very good; outstanding, wonderful.
6. Gay or pertaining to gay people.
7. Camp, effeminate.
8. Fashionable, glamorous

Yep, she’s all of these things, except number 6.  She keeps saying that she’s not gay, that she loves men.  But then she’s always hanging out with her fabulous female friends.  And she treats me like crap.

Number 5 contradicts numbers 3 and 4.  How can an unbelievable, fake and unreliable person be good?  She appears wonderful, that’s for sure.

Everyone loves her.  Well that’s what she tells me.  So it must be true.  *wink*

I wonder how long she can keep up this show?

Speaking of which…  there used to be a television sitcom by this title.  I think this is where the photo comes from.  I don’t know, I just used Google Images and typed the word fabulous and this one came up.  I thought it looked a lot like my wife.

Being absolutely fabulous is not such a bad thing.  It’s better than being an asshole who posts degrading comments about his wife on WordPress.

But I use my blog to make myself feel better.  And for some reason, I feel better now that I have expressed myself.  Isn’t blogging absolutely fabulous?

Last Toast

Sweet love of mine
I leave you behind
I’m not unkind
Just a bit blind

Yes I remember
The black wedding
The bloody ring
But… whatever

It’s too late now
You broke the vow
Look what you’ve done
I want to run

Before I go
You need to know
If you can’t grow
End of the show

I turn around
You hit the ground
Why do you bite
Aim for the light

Your love is dark
You hunt and bark
I try to fly
You scream and cry

End of the road
Go kiss a toad
I’d rather die
Than hear you lie

When Love Lies

My last true love almost obliterated me.

“True” love?
It could not have been true if it almost obliterated you.

Right. But I was convinced that it was true love. I married this love. I gave my life to this love. I gave my time, my efforts, my money, my body and my soul to this love. I gave my everything to this love. I never doubted that this love was not my true love. The result was near-annihilation.

You survived.

Thanks to you.

No, thanks to you!

I was near-dead, there was nothing I could do.

That is not exactly true.

What did I do?

You turned to you.

What do mean you?

Instead of turning to self-destruction, you turned to self-love.

Hmm…

Not everyone accepts self-love.

It took me many years though. Many years of agony. And even with this “self-love,” I am still hurt. I’m damaged. I’m unrecognizable. I’m socially extinguished. I’m dysfunctional. I’m disabled. I’m handicapped. I’m useless. I’m no good. I’m incapable of loving another human being again.

It’s perhaps not as bad as it seems.

Has this “self-love” made me a more loving person? Look at me now. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t trust humans. I almost hate them. And when I look into the mirror, I see one again. I almost hate myself. This self-love is a paradox. It doesn’t seem real. Sure, I did not kill myself, but there must be more to self-love than subsisting… and waiting… to die, so I can be with you.

You’re writing aren’t you?

All the time.

Then you’re doing something valuable. Everything you write is being recorded. You have no idea the impact that you are having on the universe.

Indeed, I have no idea. Thanks. Your words are encouraging. As always.

The Liar

He lies to his wife, lies to his children, lies to his followers, lies to his friends.  No, sorry.  Not to his friends because he doesn’t have any.  The liar doesn’t have friends, he has… figurines, or pawns, or deluded admirers.

That’s right.  And he doesn’t live, he subsists within his own exquisitely well decorated prison.  He walks around, alone among others, smiling and waving, buying and selling.  He drugs his one-track mind to sleep, drugs his trimmed body to work, drugs his flaccid organ to night clubs, and the next day goes to church.  He has sex with himself while screwing the other.

The liar is popular, rich, famous and funny.  He loves his life and is afraid to die.  He can’t stand sickness, can’t tolerate unhappiness, can’t understand meditation.  He watches tv, follows the news and dresses fashionably.

The liar cheats his partner, cheats his employer and cheats himself.  He’s an expert with words, he knows exactly what to say and when to say it.  He knows when to play the hero and when to play the victim.  The liar is a player.

He succeeds in everything he does, he hardly ever gets criticised because he’s wise, slick and sly, politically correct, healthy and he supports the army.  He suffers from headaches but doesn’t tell anyone.  He goes to the dentist regularly and makes sure his teeth are white.

The liar doesn’t last forever

Because he can’t enter eternity

The liar might be your neighbour

He might be you or he might be me

What a disgusting blogpost

I feel like regurgitating my dinner

Please excuse me

Looks Good

“Good morning, good afternoon, good evening.  How are you?  Good!  That’s good to hear.  You look good.  Did you have a good time?  It’s a good day isn’t it?  Well it was good to see you.  Goodbye!”

Why does everything have to be good all the time?  How boring.  It makes me sick.  It’s so one-sided and unbalanced.

We hide everything that doesn’t look good and pretend it doesn’t exist:  our weaknesses, our garbage and our shit.  And then we say:  All is good.  But is it?

Nothing in this world is THAT good.  Get over it, people.

“Bad morning!  How are you?  Bad, and you?  Oh, just awful.  You look bad by the way.  Well, fuck you!  I thought the same thing when I saw you.  It’s a bad day isn’t it?  Oh, absolutely!  How are the kids?  Terrible!  That’s too bad.  Oh well, it was depressing to see you!  Badbye!”

The Blind Man

This is what she wrote to me last week:

“After everything we went through, I still love you, and I still have admiration for you in all sorts of ways.  Too bad that you can’t see it and that you don’t feel for me what I feel for you.”

It is true that I can’t see it.  How can a man see what is in the heart of a woman?  Love and admiration cannot be seen.  I am blind when it comes to these kinds of things.  And how can I be sure that what she says is true?  She has lied to me so many times before.

I read her words but I don’t believe them.  If she really has love and admiration for me, it would show, wouldn’t it?  But then, not necessarily.  A woman can love and admire a man without showing it.

Should I be able to see it in her eyes?  I have looked into her eyes a thousand times, and I’m afraid to say that I can’t see anything.  But I have noticed something interesting though.  My feelings are based on my beliefs, not on anything visual.

As long as I believed that she loved and admired me, I felt it.  As soon as I stopped believing it, I stopped feeling it.

Belief is so powerful!

Marriage

Acute Pain.

Do I want to go there?  No, but I’m going anyway.  Call me sadomasochist.  How can I heal if I refuse to look at the pain?  I choose to look at it today.  I know it’s going to hurt.

It all started the day I found a document.  You had left it on the kitchen table for me to find.  We were married already.  We had promised to be true and honest to each other.  Perhaps this was your attempt at being truthful.

I saw the folded document on the table, picked it up and looked at it.  I started reading and as my eyes moved down across the page, my heart sank.  I could hardly believe it.  My thoughts were transported back in time to the previous months, the previous years.  You had been playing me all this time!

I walked to you and handed you the document.  You were pale and frightened.  I looked you in the eyes and asked you:  “Why did you do it?”  You said you were sorry, tried to explain and started crying.  I just stood there and listened to you.  I don’t know what my exact thoughts were at that moment.  I was confused.

It took me several days to pick up the pieces of my heart from the floor, reassemble them, find my brain and reconnect it, attempt to start thinking straight again and find a solution.  Eventually I did find one.  It cost me a lot, but you were my wife after all and my job was to forgive you and help you, not condemn you.  I was a good Christian boy.  It took three and a half years to repair the damage that you had caused.  I was confident that you had learned something from this experience, that it would never happen again, and that our relationship would be strengthened in the process.

You promised to never do it again, I remember.  But you did it again, the exact same thing at the exact same place.  I was baffled.  I couldn’t believe it.  But I was patient, I sat with you and asked you to explain.  Your eyes became watery and you said it was because of the place:  “When I go there, I don’t know what happens but I lose my mind.”  I understood, and we agreed to never to go to that place again.

I thought the matter was resolved.  But then, you did it again in secret.  We were not at that place and I was not with you and you did it deliberately and tried to hide it, but I found out.  I questioned you and this time you were a bit more defensive and said that you were not perfect, that you could not control yourself, that we needed to put in place some kind of strategy to help you.  So I worked up a plan.  It took me many hours of work.  I showed it to you and you agreed to go with that plan.

I thought the matter was finally settled but as the months and years went by, I noticed that you were not following the plan.  You were twisting it every way you could in order to gain hidden benefits, all the while pretending that the plan was brilliant and working.  It was not working.  You were cheating.  I decided to check everything you had done in the previous two years and realized, to my horror, that you had found a way to fool me using the plan.

At that point I cried.  I realized that this was no weakness of yours, it was intentional manipulation.  You had this secret agenda to trick me since the beginning and your crying and apologizing were part of it.  I was devastated.  I started questioning my own sanity.  I started hating myself for being so naïve and forgiving.  I should have left you the first time, before we had children.  Now I was more stuck than ever.  There was no way you would ever change and there was no way that I could ever trust you again.

There is a name for what you are doing.  I learned it this week.  It’s called Domestic Theft.  My soulmate is a thief and nothing can be proven since we are in a financial partnership called marriage.