It wasn't always this callous, sexless union it had become. In the beginning, I was exciting, even excited about the prospect of a new love and a new hope for a brighter future. Though, these veins tend to pump sour blood and dour delusions and all the time I spend killing myself with hateful words and misery only adds to the infinite amount of dread I heap upon my already brittle, damaged frame. There was never a chance of this working out. I should have known it from the start.
It can't be easy. I am the only one to blame.
She has remained so strong throughout this calamity. It can't be easy to continually deal with the sort of hell I must put her through on a day to day basis. I can understand why she would want to flee. To find the good parts elsewhere. Her happiness means the world to me, and, as I sit here crying in the morning, again, in the morning... Beating my fists against my skull, I can't help but be reminded of the last time these feelings became the only catalyst I had in this ever-expanding universe that has become shit-life.
Yes, I have ruined things. I am the only one to blame.
All those years ago, we stole away to Vegas under the blanket of darkness to destroy our lives with wine and that cursed, overpriced piece of paper that sat on the shelf when we got home, taunting us, tearing us apart. She gave the wine away and I took up the pipe She left for months on end and I sullied our marital bed. Yes, I have ruined things. My lips, my mind, became so blistered, so chapped with those ever-encroaching visions, demons lurking in the shadows, chasing me through my own foreign city streets. I still can't escape them. Will I ever be able to escape them?
It has become all I know. I am the only one to blame.
Sure, my friends, you can talk about your positive affirmations and your mantras and your stupid fucking book club "secrets." Believe me, I have tried it all before. I just have to get used to the very real fact that my entire life is bound by sadness and self-loathing. There is nothing left for me in this world but anguish, desolation and the very real fear that I have to live with every day. It has become all I know.
That was the old me...
Three months to the day, since you walked out that door for the last time. Your pillow still smells like you. I don't think I will ever be able to bring myself to wash away that scent. If that is the only thing I have left to remember you by, so be it. I am sure it's been hard on you too. I can't imagine what you must be going through. I treated you like, so much shit for, so many years. You were right to flee.
Now, these are just snippets of a much larger story. My memory has failed over the years due to too much drink, too many spiked veins and not nearly enough quality time with good friends. If I could remember my youth, I would most certainly write about that... Though, it might be better that I have little to no recollection of the earliest years of my life. The most I can muster are a few scattered flashes of embarrassing family gatherings where the "adults" took their boozing failures to new extremes and mommy got caught making out with Uncle and Grandpa slapped Grandma right in front of the grand kids and Sweet ol' auntie kept her derision tucked away in the darkest corners of her closet. If I had the means, this fucked last name would be gone today. It holds no sway over my being. My blood by no means harnesses power from this tainted family shame.
The phone doesn't ring anymore. I still keep it close to me heart though. In hopes you may just muster the courage to call again... One more time... Anything...? I know you won't call. Lying to myself is the only way I can gather the strength to leave the house most days. With your lack of courage, and my lack of fortitude, there was little we could accomplish, and little we did... Aside from the last call of the night, just to let you know I was thinking about you... In my dreams.
We all make mistakes. I have made a few today. Last night was one of the big ones. I really wish I could remember why she kissed me in the rain. Why she took that leap that was more than a mistake.
We suffered through the decade with the threat of total destitution constantly looming overhead. You were the host of many great parties, even if they did routinely devolve into uncomfortably erotic wrestling matches on our living room floor. She left blood stains across Shane's memory. He will never again love as deeply as he had that summer. Remember the morning when the cops kicked in our door, waking us up with the news that Shelley had died? It was a direct hit. All my drugs were down the drain. All your recipes, up in smoke. To quote your father, "Why can't you be more like Marshall?" To which I could only reply with another round of hushed bathroom tomfoolery. You see, I was never much of a man until I finally learned to live without that rig. My skin is scarred. My heart, even more so. Years wasted on the romantic notion of author as junkie... Though, I can safely say, I was creating some of my best work at the time. Too bad it is all lost to the ages. Great fires of rage are slowly growing just below the surface. The changes that needed to happen have yet to show themselves in any positive light. Where has all the money gone? Why can't we save like our parents did? Am I ever going to put down the bottle? My liver is pickled and my kidneys gave up years ago. Death would be a welcome change.
Something needs to change...
I have spent too many years feeling sick, sad and sorry for myself. What kind of life is this? Too afraid to move forward due to the fear of failure and rejection. I am not a man.
Don't forget your friends. New and old, they all love you.