In Honesty's Pocket

It's exactly 3:30am and I am wide-eyed awake. This is simply unacceptable.

It's outrageous how so quickly things can change. Laughable, almost.

Actually, it's outrageous how so quickly things can become the same. As though they never changed at all. We pick up as though we never left off. We laugh together as though we never hurt. I produce your smile as though you never cried, and I love you as though I never stopped.

I guess you never do.

It pisses me off how you've forgiven me before I even found the words to apologize. I want you to hate me, to distrust me, to despise me, so that I won't be the only one.

But, passing up no opportunity to boast, I SAID if we were meant to be together, we will be, no matter fucking what.

Now was I right, or was I right?

You just can never win with me..

Honour Marie

I am determined to do something grand with today. Considering yesterday was a blur of eating, sleeping, watching outrageously hilarious pornos with the guy down the hall (whose name I did not catch), and talking to Jae.

Who, prior to yesterday, I haven't talked to at length in months. In fact, the last time I can remember really talking to him was in March, when I finally told him I had a new boyfriend. I remember repeating to Brandon his exact words, "I wish I never met you, because I can't have you, but I don't want anyone else." That was the second time he ever made me cry.

The first time was when I tried to break up with him and he called me back ten minutes later promising things would be better. He just didn't understand why I had to let go. Honestly, I barely did either.

We were together for about a year and a half, with about an 8 month "talking" period, though I certainly wouldn't call it that. I was weird about relationships then. (Much of that weirdness has worn off now, much to my misfortune.)

Jae was by far my very best friend. I told him everything, and to this day there's no one living or dead who knows nearly as much about me. I never lied to him, and I lie to everyone. (Actually, I did try to lie once but my plot was quickly foiled.) He did almost all my research for me (and much of Brandon's, too), and I wrote one of his college essays. He did that stupid Transcendentalist Ms. Cox thing for me, I took his online college math quizzes. He called me Marietard. I called him Cherry. We spent the summers staying up all night writing songs for our band (which, as of yesterday, is called Honour Marie).

I remember the night I finally broke down and told him I had been cutting myself. He cried and yelled at me, I just kept apologizing. And finally he said, "Stop apologizing to me, I'm not the one bleeding!" I still don't know why, but I laughed hysterically. And for a moment, at least, forgot the razor in my hand.

He was absolutely sure that we'd be together forever, and a huge part of me believed it, too. Which is why, I told him, we needed to break up. I just felt like I couldn't go through life having only been with one guy. And if we're really destined to be together, it doesn't matter, right? He didn't get it. I still wanted to be friends, he couldn't handle it. But he promised he'd always be there whenever I was ready. I didn't believe that, but every time I talked to him, no matter how many months had elapsed since the last time we talked, he was always there, always open, like nothing ever changed. I told Brandon that every time I talked to him I felt like I needed him in my life.

But I cut him out. Because he's the only other person who ever knew the real me, the girl I used to be, and still partially am. He's the only person who ever witnessed my hurt and felt my pain and could recite my stories as if he had experienced all them himself. And I just want that girl to die. The girl who hates herself, and hates everything around her, and cannot find it in her to ever forgive them. The girl who went through so much, and endured so much, and feels so much, but says so little. I want her to die. And I knew if I cut him out I could at least pretend to be the person who I "am" today, without anyone being able to call my bluff.

And I thought I was doing the right thing. But maybe I wasn't. And I still find it hard to believe that I could hurt him so much, when he never hurt me. And to think that I could find it in myself to ever love anyone else, knowing fully well they'd never be able to love me the same, because who knows shit about me anyway?

I think I'm afraid to be loved for the person that I am, and not the person I pretend to be, because loving her would make it ok to be her, and I don't want that to be ok.

Fuck, why is this happening to me?

I was doing such a GOOD JOB at pretending. But I guess you can't run forever.

I just find it funny how it always comes back to him and I, up late at night, talking about our band.

Mágoa Desgosto

(For reasons unknown to me, I've been having random flashbacks not so infrequently lately. They come in my dreams, they come while I am eating lunch, and they come, as did this one, when I am on the bus. I actually intended to blog about this when it happened, so here we are.)

The night my heart broke.

It was dark, raining and for an August night, cold, I was sitting on a bus past midnight, in route back to Detroit from Birmingham. I remember attempting to dust the dried tears away. I remember having cried that night over something that would soon seem so trivial.

The bus came to stop just inside the city. The doors open, and first a lady with a single crutch hobbled unto the bus. She slowly and painfully made her way to the back, while her male companion entered the bus and searched desperately through the pockets of his tattered jeans for a way to pay. When he did not find the two or so dollars that he knew he did not have, he tried to plead with the bus driver that he just needed to get her to the next stop; the bus driver asserted that she did not give free rides.

Watching the lady use the crutch to force her way to the front of the bus, I looked at the several other faces on the bus. None of them seemed to have been watching, hearing the same thing as me. None of them seemed to have cared that it was raining, dark and cold, and he was without a jacket, and she was obviously injured. None of them interjected, pleading with the bus driver to show mercy, or offering them the two, or so, dollars they needed.

Not even me. I sat there with anger in my mind, sadness in my heart, and 74 dollars in my purse. And as much I as wanted to shove the small green wad into the man's fist, some cowardice in me left me frozen, and shivering, in my seat.

I am the girl who dreams of saving the world, who dreams of being a champion and a voice for those who are otherwise defeated and silent. And I sat there, and did nothing.

Philophobia Philophilic

She again crept into my dreams. Her eyes that way, her voice that low..

And per usual, I woke up with tears puddling into the fibers of my pillow, burning mascara into my eyes, a thick coating of sweat heavy on my brow, and an audible scream for help, though I know, like the first time, no one is there.

It's almost 1:30 am, and I do not want to go back to sleep like this. I am alone in a dark room, in a strange place, and I am admittedly scared. I reach for the phone, knowing that the three people I'd normally call in this situation I cannot. Because I have a new phone, and thus a short list of contacts, his number is first in my address book. I press talk, expecting him not to answer.

But after two rings, I hear, "It's about time." "What?" "That you called.." "I told you I wasn't talking to you today." (Something that I previously decided in order to safeguard myself from plummeting for him.) "Right, I remember you saying that.. But I guess I stayed up late in case your mind changed." "Bull. You always stay up this late. Nice try, though." And we laugh.

He asked me why I decided to call; I told him I had a bad dream and just wanted to hear someone's voice. He asked had I been crying, and I, thankful that finally someone could hear dried tears in my voice, almost shouted yes. He asked what the dream was about, and here begins a problem I foolishly did not foresee. I had already decided in my mind that I would not unload unto him my private history, as that is sharing too much, and getting too close, and just clearing the cliff for plummeting. But as I pressed talk, I forgot that I would have to tell him what the dream was about. I'd lie.. Duh.

"Just your run of the mill boogie man." "Ok well, for the sake of you getting back to sleep, I guess I'll just believe this lie." "Not a lie.." "I know enough about you to know that a run of the mill boogie man dream would not frighten you into swallowing your pride and calling me after you swore and swore all morning that we couldn't talk." "...Technically, it's a new day." (Pride saver, y'know.) "Ok Constance-Marie. So, what was your dream about?" (Time for a new lie.) "Eh, it's complicated, and it's too late for me to try to explain. You wouldn't get it." "I hope you know that this is not the way to build a relationship. With all your lies, and whatnot." "I'M NOT LYING!" "Ok. But if you were, it's probably because your dream was about something that happened in reality, that you don't want to tell me about, because you don't want me knowing all your business. Which is cool, y'know, if you just say that. But you're not lying anyway, right, so it doesn't matter." Blink. Blank stare. "I... hate you."

And thus began the dismantling of my tears. I somehow found it in me to spill forth everything, every detail that made my body shudder, or my voice crack. He asked me when these dreams seemed to surface, and for the very first time, I was able to make the connection between them, and certain transitions in my life. I asked him what I should do to make them stop, and he decided the only sure remedy was to call him every night. I laughed, and he changed the subject to lighter things. We talked for some time, and I finally relaxed, and started dozing off to sleep. I remember hearing him say, "I'll call you in the morning."

I'll think about answering.

Proprioception

It's odd how things resurface. Memories, emotions, fears.. Disturbing, even.

Haunting. Staring me in the face when I glance into a mirror. Creeping into my dreams when I close my eyes. Hiding, even, behind every smile I still manage to muster. And believe.

Where does the line between belief and reality blur? Where do the two overlap, and where does one trump the other? I believe I am happy. So why does reality keep making this so hard for me?

I wish I could transcend what reality believes is appropriate for me. Ok, maybe I shouldn't be happy, hell, perhaps I don't even deserve happiness, but for once, I AM.

Let me fucking have that, please. I shall deal with reality some other time.

Don't Stop Dancing

My gripes with atheism.

(It is important to note that this is not an argument for theism, deism, agnosticism, or any other personal belief system. Nor is this an attack against any individuals, or groups. Refrain from taking offense, but feel free to defend your personal beliefs as you deem necessary.)

If the history of this universe was made into a calendar year, January 1 being the day of the origin of the universe, life on earth would have appeared on September 25. The first humans (meaning the first members of the homo genus, not necessarily anatomically modern humans) would have appeared on December 31 at approximately 10:30pm.

I thus find it shocking that we, arguably one of the most recent additions to the universe, find it within our ability to draw sound conclusions about it, particularly conclusions based on unavailable evidence, or the absence of evidence (depending on who you ask, of course). Turn in a 6th grade science project in which you create a hypothesis, are completely unable to test it and thus unable to prove or disprove it, yet you somehow conclude that your hypothesis must be true, especially because of the fact that there is no Earthly way to prove or disprove it. You'd likely get an F.

This is one of my biggest gripes with atheism. For most atheists to be so scientifically-motivated, their evident breech of the scientific method astounds me. Science simply does not work that way. You cannot argue that because if there was any evidence of God, it is not available to us, so He, She, They or It must not exist. You cannot similarly argue that because there is no evidence of God, He, She, They or It must not exist. Science disapproves of these hasty conclusions, atheists, you should know better!

For other atheists, their biggest issue with God ties deeply to religion. Some argue, for example, that the Bible and other religion doctrines define God as being benevolent, ominous and omnipotent. They then asses the condition of the world, and conclude that if there is a God, HSTI (He, She, They or It) has either allowed billions to suffer in the history of our Earth, and is allowing still millions more to suffer today, which would make HSTI malevolent, or HSTI simply does not have the power to change the conditions of our reality, which would make HSTI powerless. Therefore God, at least as defined by the religious doctrines of those who follow HSTI, does not exist.

One initial rebuttal to this argument is that the condition of the world is due entirely to human causes, and HSTI does not have to get us out of this mess, especially when we're making no collective efforts to get ourselves out of it, which can be reasonably argued. But an atheist can easily reply to that, and commences the ongoing, never-ending typical argument.

There's instead a much better, far less contentious argument that can be made, and only minimally debated. Atheists, all of whom oppose religion, all of whom inherently must believe religion is man-made, use the principals of religious beliefs to disprove God, which is not only cyclical, but entirely illogical. "If men decided that God must be "benevolent, ominous and omnipotent" and HSTI is not, God must not exist." Doesn't make much sense, does it? You see, most atheists in making their arguments for atheism, or against any other belief system fail to fully separate the concept of God from religion, such as in the argument given previously. Inability to separate the pure possibility of God from the religious conception of HSTI leads to automatic failure of your argument.

For me, it's simple. We live in a world, a universe of most unknowns. Though we have discovered a lot in our brief lifetime as anatomically modern humans, it is more than fair to say what we do not know more than trumps what we do know. To make an assertion as strong as saying, "I know this cannot possibly exist," with no evidence available for either side, is egotistical, and counterintuitive.

Long before Darwin came along, there were several who hypothesized macroevolution, but there was no evidence supporting it, yet no evidence opposing it. That, obviously, didn't make evolution any less possible, or real.

Plight of the Unharmed

I have been ever so unfortunate to never have experienced serious heartbreak, as it pertain to guys. A nick, once, perhaps a scrape. But no cry-myself-into-dehydration-while-eating-Chunky-Monkey-ice-cream-and-replaying-Mary-J.-
Blige's-I'm-Going- Down heartbreak. No RL-and- Deborah-Cox-We-Can't-Be-Friends
-Because-I'm-Still-In-Love-With-You heartbreak. No Waiting-to-Exhale-burn-any-
reminder-of-you-because-how-could-you-do-this-to-me-after-so-long heartbreak.

And it is because of this, that I have no deterrence from getting reinvolved with guys. See, much unlike the lucky girls who have once had their hearts shoved through a meatgrinder and then served to them raw on stale bread, I have no man-guards up. Besides my usual inability to fully open up, there is no all-men-are-dogs bitterness stored in me, there are no stay-away-because-I-refuse-to-be-hurt-again bars around me.

And it is because of this flaw in my life that I am traveling again down the path towards having a.. dare I say it.. boyfriend. Why does this keep happening to me?!

You see, I have always been pretty apathetic towards guys. I've never been boy crazy. I've never seen the major appeal in having a boyfriend. I find most guys in general to just not be of my caliber, and therefore, I remain unimpressed with the entire gender.

But somehow, some opportunist snake (first Jae, then Taqee, and now him) slithers through my shell of disinterest, and before you know it, much to my resistance, I am boyfriended.

I wish he would just leave me alone.

I'm bullshitting you. I actually like this kid a lot. Because:

• He's 6'4", a little darker than me, and has dimples. (See Fiest.)
• He has goals, and is actively pursuing them.
• He challenges me, often.
• He's not close, and is not mutual friends with anyone in my circle. (Thus the ability to do my own thing, and have immense privacy.)
• He's been celibate for 2 years.
• He recognizes me as being the shit for reasons beyond the obvious. :)

Life sucks.