Strip My Mind

I haven't missed writing, strangely enough. I've been doing fine without it. I haven't been communicating that much, so I haven't felt the need to straighten anything out. I haven't been thinking that much, so I haven't felt the need to express myself. I've just been satisfied, playing video games for hours on end—I even joined a squad—doing lots of math, which is just like drinking water pretty much. There's really not much to say. But I do miss writing; I miss the feeling it gives me, sort of the inverse of listening to music, except much more defined and structured and mathematical, like things should be. Furthermore, the music I've been listening to isn't the most complex, although I really enjoy it. The Red Hot Chili Peppers have a good sound, and some of their lyrics are amazing. I acquired the album Stadium Arcadium on the morning of Valentine's Day, and I've been listening to the best songs off of it since then ("Snow", "Charlie", "Especially in Michigan", "Tell Me Baby", "Hard to Concentrate", and "She Looks to Me" are the absolute best of the playlist of 18 songs I extracted from the double-album).

Valentine's Day—that's the reason to write. I admit, I sort of crawled back here as a last effort to escape from emotion, simply because it always works. Valentine's Day represents, to me, the Fall of Man, or rather my Fall. It reminds me of the Event that changed my perspective on life in general, that revealed to me the necessity of distancing myself from people. It doesn't remind me of my accomplishment in making the decision, though, or of my efforts; nay, it inspires me more because it brings up the pain, all of it, for the eight days preceding and including V-Day (February 7th to 14th). I'm not sure why I expect it to leave afterwards; maybe it will continue. I'm hoping that writing this, my last resort, will save me from my hopeless emotions.

There's no way to effectively deal with catastrophe of this magnitude after society's allotted grieving period, I suppose, because I'm sure I could've fixed myself had I known what to do back then. But the wound turned into a scar, and now it's there, and there's no room for something else, anything else. It's not like this sort of "emo" depression that sets in, either. No, I could deal with that by listening to some Rock and Roll and doing something athletic and doing lots of math. This is much worse. This is the point where my mind begins to idle, and instead of thinking about something that needs thinking about, I start to almost hallucinate, seeing this image, this horrible image over and over again, and it's happened before with something else but it was never that extreme, although the situation wasn't that extreme, or perhaps it was, but it was just passive, because that's what happened, it just sort of slipped out of existence, and I didn't even know because it was in Germany, and I got a phone call I was expecting for the three weeks or so they were over there, and it was just sort of the end of a road that I had seen coming for a long time. But this, nay, this was much worse this time, because I was contacted by the phone again, except this time it was something completely unexpected and therefore devastating because I had built no defenses, had made no preparations, and it was enough to make me come close to crying, so I went outside and took a walk and then people asked and I said nothing's wrong just leave me alone and they all went about their business like good people and poor friends do, all except a few. And on the same day the only trust I had in the world was failed, I knew I could trust a few more people, but could I really? Because now my reasons for trusting are gone; I don't need to trust either, because I've found other ways to deal with things. Why do I still long for it though? Because I've had a taste of it. Because I've tasted wine and been forced to revert to water. It doesn't make any sense; I should've forgotten by now the feeling, but i keep getting slight tastes of it, and sometimes, with a few people, only a few, a full sip. But I'm afraid to take a gulp, afraid of poison, because what if it happens again, or worse, what if I'm actively at fault, instead of passively, even if it doesn't involve death this time? What if I start making sense, since I am indeed publishing this in a public space?

So I have this issue where I'm always looking to find someone I can trust with everything, or almost everything, or right now, even a small portion of me, but I don't want to trust again, because of the potential for pain. But I've had it before, and I can't forget it, no matter how hard I try, and I remember how much better life is when you've got someone like that. And then to lose it, to have it stripped immediately by circumstances out of your control, well, that's enough to send you reeling for a few days, and then to find someone else. To discover that the circumstances out of your control were in fact preventable is enough to send you over the edge, and realize, in a blunt pummel to the sternum, that this sort of pain didn't have to happen, you were just stupid enough to fall for the emotional trap. But emotions return at inopportune moments and overwhelm you, causing anxiety attacks, hallucinations, and general discomfort, making you wish that a) you had never tried this "trust" business, b) you had someone else that you could really trust like that again, and c) you were never born. I'm not connecting all my thoughts as I usually do, and I'm not sure I can, because I'm avoiding certain parts of this discussion unintentionally: I've already had it so often with myself that some parts are intuitive to me, and the reader is oblivious and lost, but I hope, as always, that I convey my meaning, although it's hard to without naming people and events and the Event and making character profiles.