You really wanted to me mess up, you should have got to me earlier. ~High Fidelity (2000)
Lately I sit here in this myriad of movie marathons that seems themed with fucked up relationships. Whether it's watching High Fidelity for the tenth time in a week, or Prozac Nation, or Wirey Spindell (or for that matter any Eric Shaeffer movie); I can't help but wonder where I really fucked up in my own life. Perhaps it's this unwaivering desire to actually work on my own life, so I tune into the fucked up relationships that everyone else has seemed to have to work through. Honeslty I start to wonder exactly what love is, and if there really is any hope, or am I doomed to this solitude I find myself in. Sometimes I have this desire and wish that I could be an atypical man, that just has this desire to fuck without any real emotion and dump before there is any connection. Guess I'm too weak in the heart for that sort of pain though, I mean sure I've had my drunken nights, found a vulnerable girl online and after the deed was met before she could really know who I am, more or less even a last name I bolted through the door without ever looking back. Hell, I know guys that live their entire lives doing this sort of thing, yet I just felt dirty and sleazy. Though a life without emotions would be easier, wouldn't it? I mean never having to look someone straight in the eye, have that momentary lapse of reality, and realizing that you could fall so deep into this person that you never want to come back up and breathe. I mean that's love... a suffocated feeling of emotion that wraps her arms around you and gives you comfort that you only thought was only written in story book fantasies. Then again, eight months of being alone is starting to draw pretty thin. Sitting here watching High Fidelity for the tenth time, watching John Cusak recant his top five list of fucked up heartache, makes me realize that even though I was with my last girlfriend for five years, she really didn't make the top five, definate contender for the top ten, but not my top five. It's that top five that really shapes who you become, and how you deal with relationships in your life. If you jump in with a whole heart or stray away from any true commitment like marriage. I envy those that found their true one in high school or college, I can't image at 31 anyone having their ten year anniversary, sorta boggles my mind to think that I could spend that length of time with anyone person; mind you it's not that wouldn't give anything to have that feeling, it's just I know my own reality, and it just was never possible. I mean seriously if I had stayed married to my first wife, I'd be looking at the big ten next year. Though that never happened. Think she seems to fit every my wife joke that Rodney Dangerfield ever threw to the mic. It was probably my poor choice in relationships though. I think I was so fucked in the love department, that I looked for women far more fucked than me thinking I could somehow fix their pain and create the perfect love story. Instead it was more like a horror movie mirrored with a tragic love affair. Now I sit alone in this house wishing I had what others had, the poor choices of my reality. Probably why I spend hours watching themed movie marathons, writing far too many poems, and worse yet... now blogging. Oh the tragedy of reality. Okay so in proper prospective I'm sure things could be far worse, think of this as alone time to set new goals and find the one that would truly enjoy your company and do their best to understand you. But honestly there was a reason I was with my exgirlfriend for five years and never got married. I guess it's a culmination of my top five that led me away from wanting to get completely tied to someone that I knew that would stop their love for me. Besides after the first year I was laying awake one morning staring at her wondering why I had pushed so fast in the realationship and how did I stick myself in the position. I knew she was here more for my kids than for me. She even admitted it after our tragic end. She loved them, and her love for them, kept her here in a mother figure rather than the wife counterpart that I desperately needed. Though at this point it doesn't really matter, I think it's the alone time that gets my mind wandering too much, and makes me wish I had someone to keep me level and bring my head out of the clouds and keep me grounded. I sit here watching the heartache on the screen revisiting my top five wondering if things had been different what sort of person would I be today. I guess it's bad to sit here with the 'what ifs' when you really are not doing anything to change your present. There is no need for names to the top five, I'd do anything to erase them, but it's better that they are engrained, at least to some degree. But it also makes me fearful. To have your first true love, (though at this point of my life I call it puppy love, though with a manic depressive person such as myself it seemed the world at the time), to have that person slide their moist thighs around your best-friend when you rejected them knowing all they wanted was to give the relationship a 'true end'. Yeah that started it all really. My downward descent, my lack of trust for the female species that I am still drawn and addicted to. A weaker man may have become gay in fear that the same would happen again. Losing your virginity to someone that was reluctant because she was still obsessed over her last love. Instead sex became an addiciction. You know like that first line of coke, you snort it in a bathroom with some buddies and as your pupils dialate and your blood runs thin, everything becomes numb. That was sex to me, an other drug, and even though my dealer was a sultry vixen, and I'd give anything for one more hit of her moist thighs; I knew it was killing me inside. I knew it was wrong, I knew she was just toying with me. Yet you always go back for one more line, I went back for just one more fuck. Before you know it instead of rehab, your sitting idle in a mental hospital after trying to off yourself because the guilt had finally gotten to her, and she knew she could never love you after hurting you so much. You try to move on, find a new dealer of love, usually in the wrong places. You become numb in the fixation and in moments
of vulnerability you prey on those that are in the disposition as yourself. You slide into them, with a single orgasm you feel your fears leap from you for a single moment. Until reality hits. You see the dialation in their eyes, their yearning for more, and you quickly pull your pants up running for their door. Glad you never said your last name, and never bothered to get close enough to know anything else about them. Knowing if you took ten more minutes you might be drawn into their web. That was life, feeding a sensation rather dealing with the purity of the heart that you knew you desperatly wanted and feared. When you finally meet someone that makes your heart leap, when you suddenly lay next to someone for more than a moment, thinking you feel complete. You fool yourself with marriage. Though more than anything they just were as fucked as you and eventually leave you, after heartache, and drama that would get banned from a UFC pay-per-view. It's funny but everytime my exwife and I fought I could here mexican commentators in my mind calling the shots as if we were the friday fight night on telemundo. Fucked up thing, I hardly know spanish. Yeah thought that would be a good laugh. At one point I wanted love so much that I fell for someoene I hardly knew, met online nonetheless. Thought to myself hey this is how those cheesy eharmony commercials started out, 'we met online, had so much in common, now we're sooo in love'... I have to laugh out-loud, I seriously wonder what the statistics really are of those relationship actually lasting past a year. I mean I fell in love online, fell in love in reality, spent far too much getting engaged and in the matter of six months shelled out money I couldn't afford for an elaborate wedding to get dumped a month before we took our vows. I remember the look in her eyes. No emotions whatsoever. As if I was nothing. She had a better offer, and ran for dollar signs, rather than what I thought was pure. So people wonder now at this point of my life why I've become
bitter. You know it's not so much bitter, we all have our own stories, we've all been stood up, left, at least in some capacity. But I can't help but want more. Yes I realize at 31 I'm not so old, I still have the opportunity to meet the 'right one'. For all I know she could be reading this now and not even realize she is 'the one', yet. But I'm drawn to this pain. More so I guess lately it's nice watching a movie, and laughing saying, hell yeah i've been there. Now I know there will be those that come and go from my life, I'm just longing for the one that wants to stay around at least one lifetime you know. I say eight months I've been sitting here alone. I still try to escape and try to have hope. But meaningless sex is quite bothersome at this point, finding women that want no attachment, I'm probably the worse person to slam to your bed to fuck. Because now I'm the one being run out on. Damn karma. I guess I can end this rant with a reference back to the original quote above. It's not that I didn't completely love her for the five years, and though we grew apart, it's just you can't fuck up someone that's already been fucked up. Though who knows I may be proven wrong with the next woman that finds an interest in me. So with that thought, even though I'm broken, it doesn't mean I'm defeated. I shall persevere, and have some hope that the next moist thighs that wrap around my torso, are the last and only drug I'll ever need.
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