Every time she left the house I felt like my chest was caving in. For the first few months after we got married I chalked it up to having drank too much coffee. I would try and read to calm down but every few sentences would send me hurtling into a daydream imagining all kinds betrayal and decadent sin. She became a different person in my dreams. My poor Susan turned into a careless party girl getting her kicks about town without a single thought or concern for her husband waiting at home. I tried convincing myself I was working myself up over nothing. I tried masturbating constantly to calm my nerves but degradation I saw on screen only heightened my worry of what she could be doing while away from me. The fucked up thing Doc, is that it wasn’t solely when she would be out late. These thoughts raced through my head when I knew she was working and probably couldn’t wait to get home to me. I also knew that my visions of her in my dreams were only a manifestation of my own fear. Probably created out of the desires I had for that very same decadent sin and debauchery. I want to feel pure Doc. I want to feel clean. I don’t ever want to look at pornography ever again. I want to look at my wife and feel safe and secure. Loving and loved.
I imagine sometimes what it will be like when I’m an old man and the weight of the world finally takes its toll and I have the nervous breakdown that will go down in history for the craziest outburst ever witnessed. I watch too much news. I read too many books on government conspiracy. I watch daytime talk shows that discuss secret affairs and drug abuse between couples that have been married 25 years, all the while, neither person being aware of the other’s horrific secret life. This is my secret life Doc. She doesn’t know how nuts I am. I ruined previous relationships with this same nonsensical worry and I told myself I wouldn’t do it again. Sure I ask her questions now and again about what time she will be home or what group of friends she will be going out with. Maybe sometimes I’ll slip up and ask if the guys are gay, or if she ever at one time dated any of them. For the most part, she has no idea would kind of mental state I am in when she isn’t right there on the couch with me watching a wholesome Disney movie.
When we first started dating, I knew she was the one for me. She needed me around constantly. I played it cool of course. I tried like all hell not to act like she was immediately my world, my number one priority. What kind of loser feels that for a girl after a couple of dates? But, there she was at my apartment every night. Most of the time we didn’t even have sex. We sat on the couch discussing books and watching movies. I thought, ‘This is the girl for me. No skeletons in the closet and needy enough not to question why I constantly need her around.’ I feel like I’m choking Doc. While I lay here on this couch, waiting to see if she noticed that I left without a note or voicemail, I am wondering what she is doing. Is that not sick? Is that not selfish, I ask you. The worst part, is that I am most worried that days will go by and she doesn’t even attempt to contact me because I hadn’t entered her mind yet. Could I be the only person in the world Doc that cares about people this much? Maybe she doesn’t need me as much as I thought she did. Maybe that is what normal couples are supposed to do. Attend to your own life, happy that this other person shows up every once and a while to say, “Hi, how has your day been?” Well, I can’t do it. I’ll just have to leave her behind to enjoy that casual embrace from some other well-adjusted hunk. Why won’t the aliens pick me up Doc? If all these abductions are truly taking place, why don’t they snatch me up and run tests on me? Perhaps their technology supersedes yours and they can actually do something for me. No offense. Maybe they can give me a shot of pure human apathy and then I’ll be cured. They can set me back down in bed one night, no harm-no foul. Maybe I am from another planet. That’s it. Maybe I have some kind of super-pathos gene that allows me to care for people more than humans are currently capable of at this time in our evolutionary history. Maybe my gene should be intravenously shot into the rest of the human population to get some real progress done around here.
Oh my God, I’m hopeless.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Saturday, April 11, 2009
bad dream [this one is old and kinda sucks but I found it and decided to hang on to it]
The two lovers opened their eyes simultaneously in an unfamiliar bed. Jordan, a confused young man, stared bewildered at the ceiling above him that appeared to be very far away from his face. The girl next to him, although familiar, he did not know. He sat up and struggled, like her, silently deciding whether or not to smile. The bed had no frame. The two cheap sheets had almost entirely been removed over night. They laid there, close to the floor, awkwardly for some unknown time before starting the days first conversation that would quickly become an argument.
"I want to drink. I'm tired of living this boring life. Everything is boring to me now. I never go out. Nothing seems fun anymore. We are dead We are zombies, who instead of searching for brains, stay at home to watch Wheel of Fortune."
She stared at him like a stranger on the train, fleeting and with disgust.
"Well, if you start drinking again, I don't see why I can't go out and do coke every once and a while. It's not like I had the problem with drinking that you did."
Both of their hearts collapsed at these revelations. They sank in this unwelcoming apartment that made them feel that both of them had over stayed their welcome. This feeling made it so that no other words or even sounds made any sense there after. Thoughts, whether expressed internally or externally all came out like water. A threatening ocean tide that wiped away children's sand castles and eroded away at mountains. The movement in the room was a dance that resembled panic. Mouths moved and arms flailed about but there was no sound other than the deep oscillations of the invisible tide inside the room. She had swung a knapsack around her shoulders faster than the air should have permitted. Somehow he knew that a phone call had been made behind his back.
Outside a car full of men Jordan did not know had parked a red SUV on the lawn he assumed to be his own. They angrily motioned for her to come out. Jordan began to lose grip on his emotions and all reality that was holding him together. The room had been washed over in pastels and water colors, making unclear what was going on or how he was supposed to feel. She turned at him with a cold and vengeful face, saying nothing. At that moment everything began to move in slow motion. The door had opened and the outside appeared flat like a landscape photograph in a magazine. He could almost touch the gray and glossy scene, afraid it might tear with too much pressure. Jordan saw the girl's body, faceless, entering the vehicle. Unsure of what this meant, he instinctively went after the anomaly on a skateboard he had not ridden since he was a child, down the unfamiliar street, in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
"I want to drink. I'm tired of living this boring life. Everything is boring to me now. I never go out. Nothing seems fun anymore. We are dead We are zombies, who instead of searching for brains, stay at home to watch Wheel of Fortune."
She stared at him like a stranger on the train, fleeting and with disgust.
"Well, if you start drinking again, I don't see why I can't go out and do coke every once and a while. It's not like I had the problem with drinking that you did."
Both of their hearts collapsed at these revelations. They sank in this unwelcoming apartment that made them feel that both of them had over stayed their welcome. This feeling made it so that no other words or even sounds made any sense there after. Thoughts, whether expressed internally or externally all came out like water. A threatening ocean tide that wiped away children's sand castles and eroded away at mountains. The movement in the room was a dance that resembled panic. Mouths moved and arms flailed about but there was no sound other than the deep oscillations of the invisible tide inside the room. She had swung a knapsack around her shoulders faster than the air should have permitted. Somehow he knew that a phone call had been made behind his back.
Outside a car full of men Jordan did not know had parked a red SUV on the lawn he assumed to be his own. They angrily motioned for her to come out. Jordan began to lose grip on his emotions and all reality that was holding him together. The room had been washed over in pastels and water colors, making unclear what was going on or how he was supposed to feel. She turned at him with a cold and vengeful face, saying nothing. At that moment everything began to move in slow motion. The door had opened and the outside appeared flat like a landscape photograph in a magazine. He could almost touch the gray and glossy scene, afraid it might tear with too much pressure. Jordan saw the girl's body, faceless, entering the vehicle. Unsure of what this meant, he instinctively went after the anomaly on a skateboard he had not ridden since he was a child, down the unfamiliar street, in an unfamiliar neighborhood.
Art Pillar: Case Study
I am incredibly sad. William Faulkner sad. Edgar Allan Poe sad. I really cannot tell you how deeply sorrowful I feel. A bit demented. A bit crazy. Just a hair shy of suicidal. It is all because of a girl. Hold on, before you judge, just remember that I too realize it’s all my fault. Perhaps it is my dependency, selfishness, and underdeveloped neediness that is to blame, but, I blame her. Let me also say that Susan did not do anything to me. She didn’t cheat on me. She didn’t blow all our money on designer clothing and rack up insurmountable credit card debit like the couples on Doctor Phil. She didn’t get hooked on drugs. She didn’t have an “emotional affair,” as Doctor Phil so eloquently puts it. She didn’t abuse me or our daughter. The sex was good and relatively frequent. So why do you ask am I leaving my wife of 15 years? Because I need her, that’s why. I need her and need her and need her. I do it to everybody. It’s a fear thing. No Doctor can help me. Yes, not even you. I already know what any doctor would say anyway. They will say “Art, you have to let go and allow these people to love you.” I’ll say, “No shit.” I fear they will leave. I fear that inevitability will take them away from me. Everyone is destined to lose interest. Picture this. Imagine you were staring at the coolest thing in the world. Imagine you were staring at a midget balancing an elephant on his pinky finger and you somehow knew it wasn’t a trick. It was real. Pretty amazing right? Now, imagine you were staring at it for hours, days, weeks, months, years. You have adequate food, shelter, you can get up and move around. It’s basically your job, to wake up, put on clothes, eat breakfast and come to work to sit and stare at the midget balancing the elephant and say, “Wow. Incredible.” repeatedly until the end of time. I’m not saying it’s a bad job, but the allure would wear off.
My problem Doc, is that I realize this and flip out that it might happen when I least expect it. I like to be well prepared for disappointment, if such a thing were possible. I’ve always been a giver. This is why it kills me to know that Susan is devastated at my leaving her. I hate to see people upset. It kills me. In fact, it’s some kind of weird disease I have where I feel other’s pain. Not like the Corsican Brothers movie but in a very real emotional way. Like twins but with everyone. My point is I didn’t know how to relax around Susan, so I left. Alright, I’m a dick. What else could I do? Did she want me around her whole life asking her, “Where were you? Who was that on the phone? Who are you texting? What are you writing? I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love,” every waking moment? The fucked up thing, is that I actually would love for someone to do that to me. Don’t laugh asshole, I’m serious. I need that mother figure. I need someone to ask me where I’ve been, who I was talking to, what my fucking intentions are. Sorry for cursing. If their need for me was that great it would allow me to relax knowing that they loved me and that someone else out there actually gave a shit as much as I give a shit. It’s never happened though. I have never met anyone that puts as much into a relationship of any kind as much as I do. Like I said I’m a giver. Friendships, family ties, girlfriends. They all have been privileged to my giving. I rub feet, I work on yards, help people move, fix air conditioners, give people rides at four in the morning, lend money, act polite in front of former boyfriends, let former boyfriends stay on my couch when they are in town and they “haven’t dated in years, so it’s cool.” Shit, Doctor, I once took care of a cat for a professor that gave me a D, for an entire summer while she and her boyfriend went to Cancun. Doctor, I’m allergic to cats! What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I be selfish like everybody else? Right now, you must be sitting there with your paper and your pen thinking, “This guy is fucked up. What a loser. I’m gunna give him some pills and maybe then he will shut the fuck up.” If I were you, I’d be thinking “This poor man. I better drive him home and offer my friendship.” That or I would run out of the building. Ok, I see I’m getting off topic. Susan. Me. Susan. Ok. Gosh it’s only been 5 hours since I told her I was never coming home again. Listen, I know it looks bad, but consider how we met. You don’t know this story? I could have sworn… Well, consider these circumstances.
We met at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. I was a big talker in those meetings. I would have run the whole damn thing if they had let me but I hadn’t been going very long and they seemed to be pretty annoyed by me. Susan began going after about a month and a half into my sobriety. I was all over that. Despite my constant horniness and confident and casual demeanor with the young, beautiful and vulnerable girls that came through there, I never could find it in me to hit on any of them. I was too nice. Always thinking of them, never wanting to take advantage of their fragile state. Truth be told, everybody knows that what they wanted was to feel wanted. That’s probably why they drank in the first place. Maybe a good fucking would have cured us all. Sorry, I keep digressing. So, Susan comes in there and stays quiet, never sharing her story even 3 months into attending the daily program. Me being me, I decided to take it upon myself to cure this girl and spend as much time with her outside of the program as possible. I wasn’t her sponsor by the way. They wouldn’t allow me to be anyone’s sponsor because I was, “creepy.” Anyway, she said that she had problems sleeping if she didn’t drink and that all she needed was a little company. So, I would go over to her apartment and watch TV with her, watch movies, eat popcorn, until she fell asleep at which point I would sit there on the couch and watch her sleep with one arm on her leg until I decided to go home. My insomnia allowed me to do this for hours but you already know about all that. By the way I stopped taking the Ambian again.
So after months of this TV, movie deal, I actually feel asleep in her lap one night and she woke up and walked me to her bedroom. A year later, we were married. I realize this is a very condensed version of the whole courting process but shit, you do charge by the hour. My point in bringing this up is, she was needy. Just like me. We were two people that both really needed to be needed. The problem is she’s healed. She’s better in every possible way Doc. She can go out with friends,-- men even, man friends, male card carrying pussy hunters with large elephant gun dicks (don’t think I don’t realize that I already said elephant twice and no it’s not some kind of weird obsession I have. It doesn’t mean anything so just drop it) in their pants staring at my girl’s amazing tits--and not drink, and come home never really giving fuck what the poor schmuck at home is doing. AND I KNOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY BEHAVIOR. Sorry for yelling. The thing is, I don’t really think I have a problem. I truly believe that the problem is everyone else. Everyone else has a “caring deficiency” and I’m the only Godly creature reaching my heart out to the world. Don’t you dare assume that I don’t know how stupid that sounds. But I do believe it.
I have to leave her Doc, I have to. If I don’t I’m gunna turn Cloey into a neurotic lunatic like her father. I mean what other alternative do I have. Tell me God dammit. I really do want an alternative. Doc! Are you listening asshole. Oh sorry, right. You’re not supposed to talk during the session. The whole transference thing. Well, that’s stupid.
My problem Doc, is that I realize this and flip out that it might happen when I least expect it. I like to be well prepared for disappointment, if such a thing were possible. I’ve always been a giver. This is why it kills me to know that Susan is devastated at my leaving her. I hate to see people upset. It kills me. In fact, it’s some kind of weird disease I have where I feel other’s pain. Not like the Corsican Brothers movie but in a very real emotional way. Like twins but with everyone. My point is I didn’t know how to relax around Susan, so I left. Alright, I’m a dick. What else could I do? Did she want me around her whole life asking her, “Where were you? Who was that on the phone? Who are you texting? What are you writing? I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love,” every waking moment? The fucked up thing, is that I actually would love for someone to do that to me. Don’t laugh asshole, I’m serious. I need that mother figure. I need someone to ask me where I’ve been, who I was talking to, what my fucking intentions are. Sorry for cursing. If their need for me was that great it would allow me to relax knowing that they loved me and that someone else out there actually gave a shit as much as I give a shit. It’s never happened though. I have never met anyone that puts as much into a relationship of any kind as much as I do. Like I said I’m a giver. Friendships, family ties, girlfriends. They all have been privileged to my giving. I rub feet, I work on yards, help people move, fix air conditioners, give people rides at four in the morning, lend money, act polite in front of former boyfriends, let former boyfriends stay on my couch when they are in town and they “haven’t dated in years, so it’s cool.” Shit, Doctor, I once took care of a cat for a professor that gave me a D, for an entire summer while she and her boyfriend went to Cancun. Doctor, I’m allergic to cats! What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I be selfish like everybody else? Right now, you must be sitting there with your paper and your pen thinking, “This guy is fucked up. What a loser. I’m gunna give him some pills and maybe then he will shut the fuck up.” If I were you, I’d be thinking “This poor man. I better drive him home and offer my friendship.” That or I would run out of the building. Ok, I see I’m getting off topic. Susan. Me. Susan. Ok. Gosh it’s only been 5 hours since I told her I was never coming home again. Listen, I know it looks bad, but consider how we met. You don’t know this story? I could have sworn… Well, consider these circumstances.
We met at an alcoholics anonymous meeting. I was a big talker in those meetings. I would have run the whole damn thing if they had let me but I hadn’t been going very long and they seemed to be pretty annoyed by me. Susan began going after about a month and a half into my sobriety. I was all over that. Despite my constant horniness and confident and casual demeanor with the young, beautiful and vulnerable girls that came through there, I never could find it in me to hit on any of them. I was too nice. Always thinking of them, never wanting to take advantage of their fragile state. Truth be told, everybody knows that what they wanted was to feel wanted. That’s probably why they drank in the first place. Maybe a good fucking would have cured us all. Sorry, I keep digressing. So, Susan comes in there and stays quiet, never sharing her story even 3 months into attending the daily program. Me being me, I decided to take it upon myself to cure this girl and spend as much time with her outside of the program as possible. I wasn’t her sponsor by the way. They wouldn’t allow me to be anyone’s sponsor because I was, “creepy.” Anyway, she said that she had problems sleeping if she didn’t drink and that all she needed was a little company. So, I would go over to her apartment and watch TV with her, watch movies, eat popcorn, until she fell asleep at which point I would sit there on the couch and watch her sleep with one arm on her leg until I decided to go home. My insomnia allowed me to do this for hours but you already know about all that. By the way I stopped taking the Ambian again.
So after months of this TV, movie deal, I actually feel asleep in her lap one night and she woke up and walked me to her bedroom. A year later, we were married. I realize this is a very condensed version of the whole courting process but shit, you do charge by the hour. My point in bringing this up is, she was needy. Just like me. We were two people that both really needed to be needed. The problem is she’s healed. She’s better in every possible way Doc. She can go out with friends,-- men even, man friends, male card carrying pussy hunters with large elephant gun dicks (don’t think I don’t realize that I already said elephant twice and no it’s not some kind of weird obsession I have. It doesn’t mean anything so just drop it) in their pants staring at my girl’s amazing tits--and not drink, and come home never really giving fuck what the poor schmuck at home is doing. AND I KNOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE HEALTHY BEHAVIOR. Sorry for yelling. The thing is, I don’t really think I have a problem. I truly believe that the problem is everyone else. Everyone else has a “caring deficiency” and I’m the only Godly creature reaching my heart out to the world. Don’t you dare assume that I don’t know how stupid that sounds. But I do believe it.
I have to leave her Doc, I have to. If I don’t I’m gunna turn Cloey into a neurotic lunatic like her father. I mean what other alternative do I have. Tell me God dammit. I really do want an alternative. Doc! Are you listening asshole. Oh sorry, right. You’re not supposed to talk during the session. The whole transference thing. Well, that’s stupid.
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