Restless

March 21^st 2017

Restless

As is always the case, it’s been a while since I’ve written last. It’s been just as long since I read what I have written. For future me, this post will be jumping around from place to place to place. Your head at the moment is a little jumbled but you really wanted to write. So here you are at 2:15am just dying to let some words flow from the fingertips listening to sad music.

You’re about to turn 25. I’m about to be 25. I remember when I turned 24, I started making videos. Just a dumb vlog. I told myself I would try to make one every day. For a good long time, I did just that. I quickly dropped off, but I’m curious about what I’ll have. I remember I talked about girls in it a lot. I remember talking about how I was quickly growing enamored with Megan but how I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Yet, here we are, in an odd, yet intimate place in both of our lives.

It’ll be an interesting thing to watch. I wonder if I’ll hate my past me or if I’ll hate my current me (more) for not having grown more.

One thing I’ve been meaning to write about is not only about Megan, but Megan’s apartment. I should have written this down earlier when the feeling was fresh, but I can still grasp onto it from time to time.

Close to a year ago, I began to talk to the wonderful force in my life that’s named Megan.

An inspiration.

A motivation.

A temptation.

As much as I don’t believe in love at first sight, I was instantly taken with her from the start. I grew really close to her. I’ve come to fall in love with her. Her apartment soon became a bit of a sanctuary for me. I fell in love with her inside of those walls. Between the restless nights and sleepless days I fell harder. Away from the world, and admittedly often in a drunken haze, she grew like vines around my soul and squeezed.

There, I did not have to worry about the passage of time. I could truly do nothing and so long as it was with her, I was okay. I could sit and be with my own thoughts and for once, not feel like shit. I love her and her apartment, the isolation with someone I loved that I so dearly desired became a a place of solace.

Megan moved back to Clarkston, and it was all for the best. But as the apartment emptied, as I took a look at the place emptying, I grew an increasing sadness. Even as I type this out, remembering it, brings a couple of tears to my eyes. I fell in love with this wonderful woman who to this day continues to inspire and motivate me on a balcony with a tragically beautiful view. The nights we spent holding each other in bed are times I could never replace.

I don’t well believe in fate, but I had been on a job during the night shift and Megan had so happened to also be on the night shift. She had asked on a random night if anyone was still alive and I answered the call. My job placed me in a convenient location to meet her. I was there for her when she was on the tipping point of mental instability and possibly suicide.

Even if we never end up together, I know I will always care for her. I truly think that me entering her life when I did was one of the best things to happen for both of us. I shudder to think what would have happened had I not said anything that night. If I had pushed it off. I very well could have lost my chance to become enraptured with this beautiful human being.

I’m slowly devolving into alcoholism. Again.

Shutocon just happened. Cozy, I have bad news if you’ve somehow forgotten. You blacked out drunk twice over the weekend. You can’t remember the nights you’ve had. You fucked up hard. You drunk dialed and texted the fuck out of Megan. While Megan doesn’t care, you do. While Stephanie and Kendra say I didn’t get out of hand, I shouldn’t have ever gotten to a point where I could question it.

I was always afraid of drinking before I started drinking. I had seen what people could do to others when under the influence and I was afraid of doing that same thing. I was always afraid of what I might do to others while inebriated. It’s only today that I came to the realization that once I realized that I won’t hurt others in my drunken state, I will drink to destroy myself. The hate I feel for myself is real.

As I’ve gotten a better job, I don’t find my hate subside.

As my body has gotten physically better, I don’t feel my loathing disappear.

Despite doing more with and for people, it doesn’t feel like this weight is getting any lighter.

Day by day, I feel like everything I’ve done is just a bigger distraction from this oppressive force. Most days I want to die, but the pride in me prevents me from doing anything about it. I can’t call it quits. I refuse. Even now, I will not let myself passively commit suicide because that’s the same thing as doing nothing. That’s essentially quitting. But it just feels like I’ve resigned to a life of complacency which in its own way is quitting.

It just feels like in this game of life, there’s no way to win.

I might move to Las Vegas soon. I think I’m going to, because it feels like the best thing I can do. I’m obsessed with doing the best I can and this seems like the best thing I can do. Job opportunity, living opportunity, and a fresh start.  My cowardice prevents me from being resolute about it and I hate myself even more.

I guess first thing’s first though. Get my drinking under control. With most of my writing prompts, I’m always at least slightly buzzed off of something. This is my first sober entry in a long time.

I think I’m going to end this entry here. It’s been about a half hour. I’m tired. Tired both physically and mentally. I can only hope things get better. I can only hope that I can fill this emptiness I feel.