:: Searching for Puck... ::

:: Friday, January 25, 2002 ::

::sighs::

Well, in Boston at the moment.

I don't think it's gonna work, to be brutally honest. I hate to post this on here, as I'm afraid other involved parties may read it and be hurt...but I've no other outlet for my grievances.

It's my fault, really. I went out and pushed the limits, I got lost in the bass heartbeat of my first party, revved on stackers and bright-eyed at the new crowd of strange and wonderful gothique..and I tried to domenticate that excitement...and when that failed dismally, I tried to return to my roots, the beginning of my descent into the leather-tinged world of debauchery and wickedly haunting bass-infused muserotica...

And now, alienated from both worlds, I remain here...the little martyr of my own insistent and self-demoralizing whims. At times I wonder if I'm purposely destroying every reason to live as it surfaces, or just as ennui begins to set in, with regards to it. On one hand, I have someone I care *a lot* about, but just can't bring myself to feel passionate for anymore.

To go off on a tangent, then...I am reminded of Russell, my first and most likely most strong love, at the tender age of 15. After he broke my heart quite thoroughly, I swore I'd never love again...and even despite my high words, I knew that I never would, in truth...at least not as deeply. And I haven't.

And then came Marco. My robin-goodfellow look-alike, with his curly black hair and beautiful hispanic features. I cared for him on unearthly levels, and too much. I began to fear losing him so desperately, I have begun to believe it's part of what drove us apart, in the end. That and drugs. And a *far* too close female "friend". Okay, maybe it wasn't me after all. After him, I swore I'd never love as passionately. And I haven't.

And then there is Rog...who I loved like Russ, and desired like Marco...a bit of both, but not enough of either emotion. Through no fault of his own, of course. He tries so hard to see me happy, and I do the best I can to return the favor...but, the light is gone. My eyes have lost their wholesome tint, and taken on a different taint. I can't love with that selfsame blind adoration anymore. My mind longs to stretch my horizons...intellectual spueriority over me, but on my terms. It sounds so damned impossible.

And so here I am, 19, in Boston, in the house of a man who treasures me above many things...and we're both here, feeling awkward. I think he knows as well as I do that we're trying to revive something too long gone...but we're both completely reluctant to let go. We're the only stability in one another's life sometimes, especially in times of hardship.

I know his family, his life, his home. Taking information about someone else into you...it's a personal and private thing. Akin, I suppose, to being given a blank hard drive at the beginning of life. Part of the system *must* be set aside for basic functions, like breathing, self-matinence, etc. But the rest is a large and empty space to be filled with your games, your words, your desires. When you undertake a relationship, especially a long one, anything you may glean from the relationship is useful only until you try and terminate the program. Then the trojan viruses emerge, in the form of memories that resurface despite your best attempts to erase them. It's a hellish cycle, and eventually your entire system gets so cluttered it shuts down...literally.

Mine did, in September..when Marco kicked me out of his house. My entire body shut down. I was completely incoherent for over three days. I don't remember anything. I remember suddenly blacking out, and then finding myself in my mom's car, throwing up. And then flashes of screaming for Marco and trying to kick my way out of the car windows. And tears. Tears were my only sustenence for god knows how long. It was only after I gained snatches of logic back that I understood that I had just had a nervous breakdown. I only thank god it wasn't more severe. That wrenching pain...I couldn't have lived through it again. I felt like my soul was getting ripped out and replaced, only to repeat the process. A painful prometheus bound in sorrows.

And, for the sake of my own heart, my own sanity...I returned to try and tell Rog just what he meant to me..that he's the reason I am who I am today. That I do love him, and I always will...I just can't be with him. He's been the nicest guy I've ever known, and I don't know how I can live with myself afterward.

Gods. This is probably the worst place to be rambling, but it has to be done somewhere, I suppose. ::sighs:: So yeah, faithful readers. Such is my place in life at the moment. Got any ideas? Share em. God knows I got nothing. Literally.

Fox "Give me my god-damned zoloft" Mackenzie


:: Fox 1/25/2002 10:34:00 PM [Say what?] ::
...