My Isoude

As Isoude gave hope to Pheredin with a letter, so you gave hope to me with your words. Dreams could come true. It was always there, just over the horizon, just out of reach. Waiting for the right moment to manifest itself. Hope everlasting. But as Isoude cruelly decreed Pheredin should lay eyes on her no more, so, too, you charged me. Hopes dashed, dreams shattered, replaced by misery unimaginably profound. As Pheredin died from grief and love in a hermit’s cell, so I waste away each day. I hear and I see, but I do not feel. I eat, but I do not taste. I die in pieces.

Have you found your Tristram, my Isoude? Does your heart beat for him as mine beats for you? It is too much to wish he will see the black sails. If he exists. But I do exist. I am here. How much longer I cannot say. But I will not move from this place until Fate has done with me. Your happiness is my misery. But as I die, I wait. And I wait. And I wait.

Friday, January 30th, 2009 at 21:26

The Past Week

I don’t want to get angry or get in anyone’s face. I really don’t. But there are people out there who just don’t know when to stop. People who keep pushing and pushing until you hit your limit. I hit my limit and still kept my cool. If you ask me, it was a herculean feat of self control to hold my temper in check as long as I did. But that moron just kept on pushing. Then he got what he deserved. Yes, it was Jesus Freak again. He seems to have gotten it into his head that he can lead me to the Lord.

It started on Monday when I arrived at the office. There was a pamphlet placed prominently on my desk. Don’t Go To Hell relates the experience of a man who was in a car accident, spent a bit of time in hell, then got a second chance at life. It spends several paragraphs describing what the guy saw while he was downstairs. At the bottom, it closes with the prayer to accept Christ in your heart.

I confess, I only skimmed through it. There were a couple of silly bits in there, like one line that says how the guy’s story was published in a major newspaper, as if that gives it more credence, but fails to actually name the paper. It seems to me that if you want to try and convert someone to your religion with factual accounts, it would help to actually cite your sources. This sort of tomfoolery may work on dunces who can’t think for themselves, but people with even a minor ability to reason will write it off as tripe. I told Jesus Freak as much when I walked over to him and dropped the pamphlet in his lap. I also told him that if he did any more proselytizing I’d complain to the management.

On Tuesday I found several pages of biblical quotes in my inbox (the one on my desk, not my email). Again, I walked over to Jesus Freak and dropped them in his lap, this time without bothering to read them. I then typed up a formal complaint and emailed it to my manager, with a CC to his boss. My manager replied that he would have a chat with Jesus Freak and jokingly asked me not to throw coffee on the guy in the interim.

Wednesday morning I arrived to find no propaganda on my desk. The day passed and I headed home. I don’t drive. I normally take the subway, sometimes a couple of different buses. It’s a ten-minute walk to the nearest subway station from my office. As I made the walk Wednesday evening, I noticed that Jesus Freak was several yards behind me, heading in the same direction. I didn’t think much of it at first. I did get suspicious when he followed me down to the subway platform, but I still wrote it off as coincidence. He got on the train one car behind mine. I promptly forgot about him.

I left my house at 6:30 am on Thursday morning, as usual. The sky was still dark, so the motion-activated porch light came on as I headed out the door. I wasn’t at all pleased by the sight of my porch. Biblical quotes were scribbled all over the porch, the walls, and the door. On the walkway, there were lots of “God loves you” and “Jesus saves”. I was furious, but I kept it down. I considered going to the cops, but I figured I’d talk to the management instead. So I snapped some pics of the scene with my cell phone and headed off to the office. Jesus Freak was there when I arrived, but I ignored him. The first thing I did was fire off an email to my manager with the pics attached.

An hour or so later, I was called into the manager’s office. He asked me about what had been going on with Jesus Freak and I, if I was intending to press charges, and so on. He then promised that he would tell the guy to back off. I went back to my desk and finished my day.

Thursday evening I went home. I decided I didn’t feel like cooking and didn’t really want to order take-out. So I headed to Outback for dinner. I usually don’t turn off my lights if I go out in the evening. It’s an old habit that I picked up on the advice of a cop. I suppose Jesus Freak thought that I was home, because he was genuinely surprised to see me when I came home after dinner. He was in the act of taping printed biblical quotes to my porch. I demanded that he leave immediately. He responded with scripture. This exchange went on for a couple of minutes. Then I lost it.

Jesus Freak now has a broken nose. One of his teeth is somewhere in my front yard. His face will be swollen and bruised for a while. My boss asked me to go home Friday morning after I showed up at work. He told me that Jesus Freak wouldn’t be pressing charges. I found that rather humorous, considering that he had been trespassing and vandalizing my property (well, my landlord’s property). I don’t quite see how I could be charged with assault in that situation. But, then again, I’m no expert with legal matters.

I’m a bit miffed, though, by the fact that Jesus Freak will not be losing his job. It seems to me that this sort of behavior is counterproductive in a work environment. Someone who is so disruptive shouldn’t be allowed to continue. Then again, it goes back to the Christian thing. I’m starting to believe that my coworkers are more than just tolerant of Jesus Freak’s extreme behavior. It appears that they actually, to one degree or another, support him. Since I made my first complaint, I’ve noticed that they’ve been looking at me differently. They’ve been talking about me behind my back. And worse, they’ve been giving more attention to Jesus Freak in the break room and during lunch. Some of them went so far as to give me dirty looks as I was leaving Friday morning.

Yes, I’m quite certain that there is an undercurrent of religiosity in my workplace. They still have no idea what my belief system is, but apparently they are beginning to see me as some sort of heathen. Well, they can all kiss my ass. I won’t let any of them fuck with me. Any of them who do will get what Jesus Freak got. I have a feeling work is going to become very interesting from Monday.

Sunday, January 25th, 2009 at 12:29

The Latest From Psychobabbler

So I am not living up to my end of the bargain, according to Psychobabbler. The last time she bitched at me about the blog, she said I wasn’t getting in touch with my emotions. Now, because of the low frequency of updates, she accuses me of lacking an interest in moving forward. She threatened to terminate our sessions.

My first instinct was to tell her to fuck off. So I did. Then I stormed out of her office and didn’t look back. After standing outside in the cold for a few minutes, I came to my senses and went back upstairs and apologized. I also promised to write more to the blog and to make more of the getting-in-touch posts.

I think she has come around to actually liking the idea of the blog. She reads it, because I asked her to. She would never have seen my journal entries had I gone that route. The blog posts give us great material for our sessions. I admit that it has made me more forthcoming. I was so focused on Whore Bitch in these sessions that I talked very little of any one else impacting my life. Now, I can’t shut up about them. Particularly Angel Eyes. It’s quite theraputic. I’ve had no one with whom I felt comfortable enough to discuss my feelings about her, so opening up about her in therapy, and I suppose at her on the blog, has been a huge release.

Psychobabbler says I have opened a new door on my journey, one that I was able to discover myself. That, in her eyes, is a major step forward. It also has prompted her to discuss the value of theraputic blogging, as opposed to private journals, with her colleagues. It’s not a new concept and, apparently, some therapists have encouraged their clients to maintain public blogs. There are different approaches in encouraging them what to blog about (some encourage what I do–posting whatever is on my mind– while others encourage restricting it to a certain topic) but the general idea is the same.

Anyway, I feel much better about my sessions now and actually look forward to them. So much so that we are now doing an additional hour each week.

Oh, and Psychobabbler doesn’t mind her nickname.

Wednesday, January 14th, 2009 at 22:05

Delusional Much?

Sometimes I forget that I’m the one in therapy. Whore Bitch is now convinced that the posts in the Angel Eyes category are directed to her.

I know we didn’t meet on a subway, but I also know you’re trying to make it seem like you’re writing about someone else. Please, believe me when I tell you that I never meant to hurt you. But I did hurt you, [Zach]. I did. And that means that you shouldn’t waste your time or your love on me anymore. Let me go, [Zach]. Go live your life and find someone new. Move on.

That comes from an email she sent me.

Hey, Whore Bitch, here’s some news for you. Your eyes are the opposite of angelic. When I think of your eyes and everything else on you I want to puke. You’re a slimy, sleazy, backstabbing, whore with satanic eyes. If my heart has any feeling at all left for you, it’s pure hatred. By the way, what part of “Don’t write, don’t call” do you not understand?

I really thought she was finally out of my system. No more emotions left for her, I was sure. But now she has to go and sully the most wonderful thing that ever touched my life by trying to associate it with herself. She’s like a poison that seeps into every crevice and ruins everything it touches. And she has reawakened the dragon.

Angel Eyes has nothing to do with you, Whore. That’s a part of me that, until now, was free from your vileness. It’s the one part of myself where I could retreat and be happy. I feel extreme sadness sometimes because of her, yes. Sadness that she’s no longer in my life. But every moment I spent with her was one of pure happiness. I refuse to let you take that away from me.

So, Whore Bitch, from here on out you are banished from my consciousness. I will not give the slightest acknowledgment to any of our history. Nor will I let you sucker my thoughts into tangents of hate directed at you. When I think of Angel Eyes, or dream of her, you will cease to exist. And when my mind is idle and I’ve nothing to do, my thoughts are always on her.

You aren’t going to win this time.

Monday, January 5th, 2009 at 15:21

A Futile Happy New Year

Every year adds more distance to those who have lost touch. Memories grow more dim. Feelings lose clarity. Yet for me, the memory of you is strong. Will this new year be the one when you forget me completely?

I send you my best, though you cannot know. I wish you luck and happiness, though these typed words will never touch your eyes, nor your ears when I whisper them. These are all futile gestures though I make them every year. My hopes, at least, are not in vain. And these I keep to myself.

Wednesday, December 31st, 2008 at 19:57

Christmas Eve

The drunk college student thought we were together. Remember that? He said we made a good couple. We just laughed. And the ice cream freezer. I jokingly asked if you wanted some ice cream. You thought I was serious and said it was too cold for that. I didn’t bother telling you I was joking. I just smiled and agreed with you. It was a moment.

We had a lot of moments. For me, anyway. That night there were so many that linger on. So fast it goes.

Wednesday, December 24th, 2008 at 15:18

Unexpected Vacation

This has not been the best week. On Wednesday I found myself sitting in my manager’s office at work, being told that I ought to take some time off.

It started shortly after I arrived in the morning. I went straight to the break room as I always do and poured myself a cup of coffee. One of my coworkers, Jesus Freak, was reading a newspaper at one of the tables. As I was heading out of the room he called me over.

Jesus Freak and I don’t speak often. Almost never, really. As the name I’ve given him implies, he’s one of those loony evangelicals. You know the kind, the ones who think that all of the world’s troubles can be blamed on the homosexuals and atheists. It seems the guy can’t help but to bring God into any conversation he has, like some sort of religious Tourette syndrome. He’s been asked by the management not to proselytize during office hours, but most of the employees are practicing Christians anyway, so no one really gets upset when he does rattle off his godspeak.

I don’t openly discuss my religious beliefs with anyone. And I was under the impression that my coworkers either assume I’m Christian or they just don’t care. What’s not a secret, though, is the fact that I’m in therapy. I’ve been let go from two jobs because of my issues, but here I made sure to let them know in the first interview that I was seeing a therapist. I felt that they ought to know what they’re getting into. I’d rather them not hire me than to lose another job if I unexpectedly snap one day. At least now they know it’s a possibility. Next month I will have been here a year and it’s been smooth sailing until this week.

I’ve also mentioned the therapy in passing to a couple of coworkers. Gave some advice to one when he was going through a bitter divorce under similar circumstances to mine. I’m not trying to hide it, but neither am I advertising it. So when Jesus Freak called me over to his table, it didn’t bother me a bit when the first thing out of his mouth was, “So you’re seeing a therapist?” I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

According to this nutter, the troubles in my life stem from my not being close to God. I must be an atheist, or perhaps I practice some sort of idolater’s religion like Buddhism. Jesus Freak has never seen me at his church and, having asked around, knows that I haven’t been seen at any of the other local churches. I don’t attend the weekly prayer meetings he has organized for the employees, nor do I pray over my lunch. Yes, the evidence that I am some sort of godless heathen seems quite strong in his opinion.

His face was so serious as all of this crap came out of his mouth. The more he said, the angrier I got. On the one hand, all of his talk about “evidence” was bordering on hilarity. But something about the way he kept talking about my personal issues, about which he knows nothing, really riled me up. Then he suggested I was a sexual deviant, perhaps a homosexual or a pedophile, and that God was punishing me for my sins. I don’t mind being called gay, as I see nothing insulting about it. But a pedophile?

I don’t remember actually thinking that I was going to do it, it just happened. One second the coffee was in my cup, the next it was all over Jesus Freak’s face. His chair fell over as he jumped to his feet, screaming and yelping, hands over his face. How melodramatic. The coffee in that break room is never more than lukewarm. I wish it had been hot.

So I wound up in the manager’s office. Jesus Freak was uninjured (of course) and he wasn’t going to press charges (as if he could), but maybe I ought to take some time off. The holiday season must be a difficult time for me, considering my circumstances. So just take a few days, come back after Christmas or, even better, after New Year’s Day. You know, cool off. Unwind. Let off some steam. Fine. Now I’m using vacation time that I didn’t want to use.

I don’t drink very often. I’ve seen first hand what it can do to people. Then with the depression, the meds, and everything I’ve gone through the past few years, alcohol could have led somewhere I didn’t want to go. But I’m not on meds anymore and the depression has been behind me for a while. So I decided to get drunk Wednesday night. Then again Thursday and Friday. Not today, though. A three day drinking binge is enough.

So this weekend I’m going out of town. Hiking, I think.

Saturday, December 20th, 2008 at 10:41

Gone Public

Just the other day I casually mentioned how nobody was reading this blog. Using the statistics tracker that TechDude installed, I noticed that I’ve suddenly gotten several visitors from a place called StumbleUpon. I had never heard of this before, but reading about it I see that it’s something to facilitate web browsing. Since I’m spending more time surfing these days, I might give it a go. I’ll have to ask TechDude for more details.

Also, my statistics show that I was linked to by a blog called The One With Aldacron. This guy (I assume it’s a dude, because what sort of woman would pick a nickname like “Aldacron”?) says he finds my blog “strangely fascinating.” I find his choice of words annoying. I guess it’s the “strangely” bit. I said before I don’t care what people think, but it bothered me more than I expected it to.

I wondered before if my attitude about this blog would change if more people started reading. I guess it has. The fact that dozens of people suddenly showed up out of nowhere makes me a bit nervous. I feel like people are watching me or something. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get over it.

Maybe a step in that direction would be a nice, friendly message for people visiting for the first time: Welcome to Hell!

Monday, December 15th, 2008 at 11:49

My Version of The Holidays

I remember Christmas and Thanksgiving as a kid. They were never particularly great. Dad was always wasted on Jim Beam and Mom on Tanqueray (or Beefeater) & tonics. The place reeked of smoke from Dad’s Camels, Mom’s Virginia Slims and the grass my two uncles (Uncle Jimmy from Mom’s side and Uncle Joe from Dad’s) always brought with them. The two uncles would get drunk, too, with their dates. Usually on Dad’s Jim if they didn’t bring a bottle of Cuervo gold. They were only a dozen or so years older than me, though they seemed like men of the world when I was really young (before I caught on to the fact that they were a couple of young punks).

The food wasn’t bad. It was all precooked stuff. Mom would pick up a roasted turkey from the Winn Dixie deli and would usually order a HoneyBaked Ham. There would be pumpkin and pecan pies from one bakery or another. And lots of canned vegetables. I’d always be full on the holidays, no doubt.

There were presents at Christmas, but usually nothing I ever wanted or needed. One year Dad gave me a hammer and a box of nails. Seriously. Mom occasionally made an effort. When I was really young she’d buy clothes — a pair of pants, a sweater, some Spiderman pajamas, or some such. I always told her beforehand that I wanted toys, though the PJs were cool. Once, when I was a teenager and really wanted some brandname clothes to fit in at school, she actually gave me some He-Man figurines. She was drunk every day by that point, so it was no surprise that she didn’t realize I had outgrown that sort of thing.

My uncles could have been cool with the presents, but they were always too stoned or too drunk. I don’t remember them ever giving me anything. Sometimes they’d even get into a fight. One Christmas they got into it on the back porch. Jimmy flipped Joe over the railing. That caused Dad to fly into a drunken fit. Jimmy flipped him over the railing, too. Dad walked away uninjured, but Joe had some bruised ribs. Of course, they all shot some Jim afterwards and were good buddies again.

No, I don’t miss any of that. They can all go fuck themselves for all I care. I really miss my friends though. We were tight. Five of us. Once everyone was too drunk or too stoned to notice (usually by mid-afternoon), I’d climb out through my bedroom window and meet my friends. My parents generally didn’t care where I went or what I did, but on Thanksgiving and Christmas I was expected to stay home and be with the family. I suppose it was one way for them to keep up the pretense that we actually were a family.

So I’d wind up spending a couple of hours playing ball or something, until my friends all had to go home for dinner or head off to their grandparents’ houses. Those precious hours actually seemed to go by slowly. Things we enjoy usually fly right by before we realize it, but I remember feeling like each hour was a whole day. They were great. But once the friends were gone, it was back home for me.

Dad was usually passed out by the time I’d get back. Mom would be flirting with Joe. They thought I was too young to notice. I don’t remember when I did first pick up on it, but I recall it happening everytime Dad was out of the house or passed out. I’m sure they knocked boots, but they were discreet about that at least. Jimmy would usually be off in a bedroom with his girlfriend. Sometimes with Joe’s girlfriend, too, if she hadn’t been sent home by then.

I saw them once. It was Thanksgiving and Joe was dating this really hot brunette. I was a teenager then, so, yeah, I knew about hotness. Jimmy had a blonde with him. She was pretty, too, nice and tanned. But the brunette was just on fire. Dad was passed out on the sofa, Mom was on the back porch with Joe. I was coming back from meeting my friends. To climb into my window, I had to go past the window to my parents’ room. As I went by, I glanced in and froze. Jimmy was in the middle of it with the blonde and the brunette. That was the first time I had ever witnessed any action outside of a porn video.

I told myself to keep going, but isn’t it every teenage boy’s fantasy to see that sort of thing (next to actually getting that sort of thing)? I’ll never forget seeing those two girls kiss. I don’t know how long I watched, but eventually Jimmy looked up and saw me. Before I scrambled away, I saw him grinning. He came to me later and said he could hook me up if I ever wanted to learn about sex. He said he knew a few girls who would love the idea of showing me the ropes. I was too scared to ever take him up on it, if he was even serious. He died a couple of years later. Shot himself in the mouth.

Yeah, they’re all dead now. Mom, Dad, Jimmy and Joe. They were the only family I ever knew. Jimmy was the first to go, three days before Thanksgiving. Then Dad crashed his truck into a Monte Carlo almost a year to the day later. Four teenagers in the Monte were on their way to a party. Dad was drunk. He ran a red light and slammed into them. He flew through the windshield and died the next day. The teenagers lived, thankfully. After the accident, Mom and Joe spent a lot of time together. Then on Christmas Eve the following year Joe convinced Mom to do some coke. To my knowledge, she’d never done it before. I found them dead the next day, lying naked on the living room floor in a puddle of vomit, piss and shit.

And no, Jimmy and Joe were not their real names.

Saturday, December 13th, 2008 at 03:14

Getting In Touch

If I’m going to be talking about my therapist frequently on this blog, and I suspect I will be, then I need a name for her. Psychobabbler sounds perfect.

So Psychobabbler isn’t too happy with the way I’m going about this blog thing. She reiterated how the purpose behind the journal project she suggested was to get in touch with my feelings, to understand my emotions. She feels that going about it this way, in the blog format, is causing me to miss the point. She says I’m speaking to an audience and not exploring my emotions. She said that the post Our Corner is an example of how I should be writing every post.

I let her know what I thought about that, of course. Does she think I’m doing this because it’s fun to let the world know I’m a kook? Does she think the posts I’m writing are an expression of artistic creativity? I’m writing what I write because it’s what’s on my mind when I write. Sorry if what I’m doing doesn’t conform to her idea of emotional exploration.

I can admit to a certain enjoyment of posting. I thought it would be an excruciating experience, laying myself bare for the world to see. I suppose it’s been easy so far because I have no visitors other than a few people I know to some degree. I’m not actively promoting this. Nor will I. Tech Dude gave me some tips on how to do that, but I told him to stuff it. I wonder, if people do manage to find my little piece of the internet, will I still be OK with doing this?

Thursday, December 11th, 2008 at 20:04