Lies and Liars

I’m going to give up this time. I think I found the…answer, or closure, or whatever I was waiting for. But every time I found it before, I wanted to pretend that it wasn’t what it was and wanted to pretend that I could somehow bargain my way to what I wanted: that love, that truth. The Truth might have been a really nihilistic one. Misery is all that is Real. Misery is life. Fuck you and your misery is life, life misery. Fuck you and all the times you said you loved me. All the words you SAY but fail to really ACT. Fucking lies. Lies, lies, lies. It’s all just a bunch of fucking lies. How do I let go of lies?
I started to believe them, the words.
I keep going back and forth, in my mind. Between trying to hold on and trying to let go.
I started to believe they were really coming from him when he was trying to tell me all along (through a lack of action) but I didn’t want to know and even now I don’t want to know, but this time I HAVE to know.
And the whole goddamn mess could have been avoided, but the sound of his voice sent me back there, to that place full of false hopes, giant trees that look real and smell real and then you go up and try to pick an apple and the whole façade falls and its 2-dimensionality is revealed.
Time has nothing else to do but pass. The only thing it is capable of doing is passing. And if this, me, human, mortal, limited in perspective and existence, is limited by time, bound up forever in the fact that I am going to die and that every single second is a second that will pass, then this will pass, my life is going to go by, and somehow I’ll be able to accept the truth.
But that knowledge only goes so far in my brain. It can only do so much to halt the fantasies. Fantasies don’t give a shit about any rational explanation for their death. Fantasies think they are God, they really think they can just manifest themselves, they really think they have a chance and that “Chance” (read: intuition, some divine ultimate prophecy) is the mechanism through which they will be lived.
It’s going to take some major Buddhism here to get these thoughts out of my brain. They lived dormant for years, growing all along without my knowledge of it, and just exploded like invasive species, sucking up all of the space where necessary thoughts lived. It’s going to take will-power.
The whole reason this is dragging on so goddamn long is the lack of directness. Just a bunch of causal little lies slipping through, nothing blatant or obvious or DIRECTED at me. I would kill (at least these thoughts) for just one direct statement of the truth, the obvious.
For so long, even now, I would do anything for love, for his love, to make him love me or to love at all. I did so much, tried to change who I am completely, to cover it up, “edit” it to suit what my distorted mind thought may have been his tastes.
I mean: I would have literally done ANYTHING. You name it, I’m there in a fucking heartbeat. And I mean, now, I would literally do ANYTHING. I see how flawed this is. It’s really fucked up. But it’s the truth. I really would.
There are at least 2 Selves living inside me and right now they are beating the crap out of eachother. I really hope that one of them gets a gun.
But, at the same time, I’m a fucking hypocrite. Because I would have done anything, but I obviously didn’t do enough, could never do enough, and I failed. I guess I did what I said I was going to do just about every time, but it still wasn’t enough.
I never was enough. Never will be enough. Could not possibly be satis. Let go.
When is it going to end? I know it’s going to end: Everything that lives dies.
I just don’t know how to kill it. All the resolutions, conclusions, epiphanies, trying, slowly killing myself, changes in thoughts, words, actions, rationalizing, promising (to myself, to him)….never end up leading to the ultimate death of this very fucked up attachment. I gave up some of the best things in my world, it’s all changing, I gave it up really for that ultimate Desire, all in vain, and now I will be alone because I am fucking stupid and should have never done it in the first place.
Maybe that’s when it ends. But I am skeptical.
At least Meatloaf had a limit. He would do anything for love, but he wouldn’t do that.
He’s fucking dead.
I can see how he got there. If I didn’t have a neatly rational Other Self, then I would be also.
Hopefully The End is soon.