It's been too long. I'm no good when it's been too long. I have a hard time saying what needs to be said, feeling what needs to be felt, touching on those things that have, for so long, gone without an embrace. I am no good when it's been so long, because I am no good at rekindling, no good at reconnecting. After a time, things--people, memories, song lyrics and melodies--seem to give a sickening feeling. Nostalgia for me is no fun. It's dark, in my memory. When I look back at something I rarely feel comfort or hope or love; I rarely feel anything you are supposed to feel when remembering things meant to be warm and welcome. At the time they might of been, but that's the bit I can't remember, isn't it? I don't get the warm. When I remember, look back at my childhood, think about things long since resolved, I only feel sadness. I only feel a knot in my stomach and an ache in my heart. For the things that never could be, maybe; but, I think it is for the things that never were. It was never a happy childhood, but certainly it was naive. Not the bliss, the white halo of youth; just stupid. And depressed. And too adult. Even when I look at the things that are meant to remind me of good times--mostly the things that have happened recently--I am still plagued with the sensation of loss, of a deep depression beyond my comprehension, of a desire beyond my reach. I have no happy memories, because even those that initially made me smile, now remind me of all I lost.
The other day as I was driving into Tulsa, about to take my exit from the interstate and prepare myself for work, I was overcome with the mad desire to stay on I-44, to keep heading west, to run as fast as I could. I am always running, and I don't know why. I always want to start over, but I never can.
I wish that I could take what I had and run away, but I am too sensible to move without knowing what I have waiting, too afraid to just jump the way I've always imagined. Recently, it's been worse. I don't know what's come over me, but I want to leave forever, never see any of this again.
I think it's because I can't remember a single time when I was happy. Truly happy with my surroundings, not always thinking of what will be, content with my life-as-is. I am always looking for the missing pieces, always dreaming of a future I never put my foot into; I never dig in. I think this is where I need to begin.
Yesterday, I was running, and as I did I knew there is truly more to me than there is to me, as silly as that sounds. I haven't found it; I haven't been looking. I think it's time. I need to dig deep, I need to believe, I need to do better. All of those stupid little things we always say, those motivational bullshit buzzwords we throw around, I need to bury myself in them and come to terms with their cliches. They're cliches for a reason, people always say. People always say things that make sense, and listeners are always never listening.
I know that I can be this and do that and all sorts of things I've never really given myself the chance to prove. I complain about things in my life that I have put there, things that I have allowed to happen. I ignore the things that were done to me and have yet to come around to forgiving the perpetrators. And when I look back at my life, I am overcome with sadness at the lifelessness of it all. I haven't been living, I haven't been seeing, I haven't been doing my best.
So, it starts here, the beginning. This is where the show really starts to roll. When I am fifty, I want to know that when I look back, I won't cry. That when I remember, I won't beg to forget.
Eddie Izzard says to do it you have to believe. The book The Secret says you have to see it to believe it. Truthfully, it isn't so hard. Overcoming the negativity, the skepticism that is consistent with my line of work, that's the difficulty. But, the hard work, I find, is usually worth it--unless you work retail.
I'm going to start from the beginning.
And it begins by turning my frown upside down--or, at least, slanting it to one side. I am going to start living, because all I've been doing until now is waiting to die. I'm going to start making memories. Good memories; memories I want to remember. I am going to do what I have always desired but been too ashamed, too embarrassed, too chicken. I am going to do what I must so that the future isn't just an idea anymore.
I guess what I am going to do is believe in something bigger than myself, but really, what it is, is me. I'm going to believe in me.
Curious, how this turned into what it turned into, but it's all true. Well, except for the lies.
I want to remember good times without missing them because all that is in my life is sad. It isn't. It is, though, time to be honest. Time to live. My life is mundane but my dreams are anything but. So, let's start making dreams reality, and reality a memory, something I can smile at and recall all those good times.
But, Only on the Inside
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