Woke up with a pretty terrible empty feeling again today. Not a vicious as the last time, but it’s still there. Obviously this healing thing is going to take some time.

It almost makes things worse to think about how quickly I’m getting used to this. Now that this feels final, I can stop working to compromise my own emotional defenses. While I was still holding out hope, I had to fight hard the urge to just go out and get laid and burn the whole thing down. It was as if by sabotaging any chance of rebuilding our relationship, I could seize some kind of control. Some unhappy part of me really wanted to do that. The good thing is that now that urge has largely passed. Now it feels over for sure, and I’m glad I was able to let that happen the way it did. It means I held on to my ethics. And it means I was honest and loving to the end. I didn’t betray what we had out of fear or weakness.

And now that gnawing, desperate urge to go get laid is gone. Now it’s just the general urge that comes with a month or so without sex.

But it does sort of demonstrate how I’ve come to have so many relationships. Physical intimacy comes very easily to me, and I’m a very giving and nurturing person, and that leads to very intense and often lopsided relationships. The problem is that I never want to misrepresent to someone what I can offer someone. I can feel great affection and warmth for someone, and I can even feel love for them. But I am very careful who I let myself fall in love with. And yes, usually I’ve got pretty good control over that. That’s part of what makes “A” so special. She sailed through my defenses like a stealth cruise missile and blew me to hell. But meanwhile, I really had it coming, because I know I’ve done the same thing to women I’ve been with before. Yes, it’s not fair that I’m hurting when I saw so much potential, but it’s never fair, and I’m going to have a greater understanding of the emotions involved in such an intense relationship from now on. Maybe that was just Karma’s way of filing down my dangerous edges.

But still, it seems as though opportunities to begin intense relationships are going to continue to be dangerously frequent for me. I’ve never had anyone capture me the way “A” did. To the point that I wasn’t even curious about what it might be like to be with the cute waitress with whom I gently flirt from time to time, or the endless gorgeous little college students who come to me for help at work all the time. Sooner or later, however, my libido is going to wake up again, and I hope the lessons my heart and my head have learned carry down the bloodstream to my dominant brain.

On another note, I guess I’m getting some perspective, which I hate. The further away we drift the more permanent the separation, but that’s the way of the world. And in hindsight, that little wrinkle that sometimes appeared between her eyebrows carries a whole other meaning. I used to think she was worrying about how close we were getting. In hindsight it makes more sense that she was concerned about how attached *I* was getting. We had the most amazing few weeks together, and I’ll always remember them as a highlight of my life. But distance and healing are already doing their thing. I think I’m ready to write to her as a friend at this point. I think I could do it without crying. Maybe. And one of these days I’ll even be ready to hang out with her a little. Maybe go to lunch. Before she moves away for real, I want to take her out to another day of mini-golf and go carts. Because I will always love her, and I will always want to bring a little bit of joy into her life. And I’m really hoping that in a few weeks I’ll be ready to do that as a friend, even if I can’t do it as a lover. I want to be able to look her in the eyes and say goodbye. And tell her that I still love her, and give her a hug, without crying, and without making her feel bad.

She has earned her happiness, and I want to send her away without guilt. Regret, yeah. What we had was worth some regret, but not guilt. I want her to remember me as long as I do her. But I want that memory to bring a smile to her lips, and not a tear to her eye.

I just want to thank everyone here for being my friends. This past year has given me a lot of highs and lows. I’ve worked at three different jobs, each of them providing some sense of satisfaction. I’ve been through far too many relationship, about which I know several of you were concerned. I’ve caught a glimpse of a future I never thought I’d see again, and I’ve seen it disappear. I’ve felt a happiness I never thought I’d feel at all, and I’ve had that disappear too. Through all of that, I’ve had my friends to turn to, and you’ve always been there. I love you, and I thank you, and it’s you that keeps me going.

Maybe that’s the explanation. I certainly can’t think of any logical explanation. But somehow in the brief time I’ve known her, she has worked her way deeper into me than anyone else has ever gotten. And it’s the way she was ripped out of my life that has left me hollow. The only good news is that if she is my soulmate no one else can ever do this to me again.

It’s probably a good thing that I don’t remember the whole dream. All I remember is a flash of her face. That was enough to wake me up an hour and a half *early* of all things. And since waking up, I have the literal, tactile feeling of a gaping, ragged hole in my chest.

I never knew what they meant when they spoke of having your heart torn out.

This had better not happen again, because my refuge against pain and hurt has always been sleep. If that’s gone, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I can’t fucking believe I’m going to have to go to my own birthday party tonight. I hate this.

I think the hardest part is not being able to say exactly what made her so special. I’ve always told myself I would never settle, and I’ve been true to that. It wouldn’t be fair to commit to someone when deep down I felt I was settling, because I know that if I did that, some day it would start to show on my face, and the worst thing you could do to someone who loves you and who you’ve promised to love in return, is to show them you don’t love them quite as much.

So I don’t know what exactly it was that made me feel as though I wasn’t settling, but it was most certainly a mix of things. It was her smile, which warmed my heart ever time, right up until I knew it was only going to shine at me a few more times. Her eyes, brown and sparkling and open. Her body, and the way it fit so well with mine. Her kindness. Her geekiness. Her intelligence. Her adventurousness. I felt like she appreciated every part of me, and I appreicated every part of her.

She was enough. For once, enough that I felt I needed no more. Enough that I could imagine myself trusting her to start a family.

I think a lot of the crying that happened tonight was the last vestiges of my hope for a family letting go. I thought I’d given up on that a long time ago, but maybe I was wrong. I think I gave it up again tonight, but here’s hoping I’m wrong again.

Fuckin’ hope.

I am a fool. I shaved. I cleaned up. I brushed my teeth. I Listerined. I washed my feet.

All in what the painful knot in the pit of my stomach knew was a futile gesture. I knew what she was going to say.

She’d said it twice before.

“I’m not ready.”

I say, “Bullshit! You’re scared.” I didn’t actually say it, but I think it’s the truth. How many times before has this happened to me? I cracked her open. I showed her that she deserves to be respected as a person and desired as a woman. And she’s scared away by all this new intensity. And I guarantee, that within a year, she will be engaged, or married. At the very least, she will have found the love of her life. I fucking guarantee it. And meanwhile, she is the love of mine.

For the first time, I could see myself having a future with someone. I could see marriage, and I could see children. I’ve never come close to that before. Not even remotely. I can’t even explain why she’s the one, but she is. I’ve never been happier in my life than I’ve been with her. And she told me all about how her parents asked her after she met me what had made her so happy. And so, after I helped her prepare for a job interview, (at which she did fabulously, and the results of which I couldn’t wait to celebrate with her), she dumped me. And I cried. I cried a lot. I cried right in front of her and I couldn’t help it.

I hate crying. Hate it.

So, after a fantastic day the next weekend, for which we’d already RSVPd, I went all in. I told her how I felt. “I love you. I’ve never been as happy as I’ve been with you. You are worth more than all the what-ifs I may never have. For the first time in my life, I don’t want anything else, and I don’t wonder about anything else. All I want is you.” I said all this and she had no answer. Something like, “Wow. I can’t answer that now.” And this is where I got stupid. I knew what it meant. I knew it wasn’t going to change. And I still walked away with hope in my heart.

I fucking hate hope. Hate it.

So she said the same thing again, this time via instant message. Basically, that she wasn’t ready. And I cried some more.

And then, fucking hope sprang up again. Miserable fucking scum-of-the-Earth accursed hope. I walk out of my job for lunch on what started out as a pretty dismal day, and the sky is full of fucking sunshine and blueness. So I got all hopeful again. Schmuck.

I wrote this:

I want you. All my life, I’ve tried hard to protect myself from getting hurt, and now, with you, that doesn’t matter. By all rights, I should be huddling in a corner, still feeling like shit, and that’s kinda how I woke up this morning, but when I walked out into the sunshine this afternoon, I was filled with something else. At first I thought I was angry, but that’s not it. I’m determined. I’m determined that if you’ll let me, I will find us a chance to be together.

Love is as much a decision as a feeling. I don’t know exactly why the feeling hit me so hard, but I am in love with you, and I’ve decided you are worth fighting for. Even if you are the one I have to fight. Unless you can say for sure that you don’t or can’t love me, then I’m coming after you. I’ve uprooted and moved to L.A. for less defined and less plausible reasons, and now I’ve got a battery of skills behind me that will make employment easier to find. Once you move, everything I’ve ever *really* wanted for myself begins in L.A. anyway. There’s no reason not for me to go.

So if you really want to get away from me, tell me now. If you know for sure that we can’t work, that you can’t love me, that you aren’t willing to give us a chance, then I’ll give up and leave you alone. But if you’re willing to let me in, I’ll take care of the rest.

I love you,

- Joseph -

Damn, I’m thick in the head.

And she said nothing. For six of the most miserable days I’ve heretofore spent on this planet, she said virtually nothing. And yes, I got the hint. But I was in denial. And so tonight. Perhaps an hour ago, she came over. And she said it again. And I kept it together, like I had promised myself I would. Right up until she said, “I hope you still have a happy birthday tomorrow.” Keep in mind, she’d told me while arranging this little visit that she’d forgotten it was my birthday coming up. A little foreshadowing for you there, except I guess it’s no longer foreshadowing.

Hell, I started crying again, just thinking about it. Granted, she doesn’t know the shitty record I have with birthdays. That was when I lost it. Couldn’t look at her, couldn’t let her touch me, and I asked her to leave. And I can’t describe how much it hurts knowing she’s not coming back. Knowing in all likelihood that I’ll never see her again. Knowing that the last thing I did for her was make her cry.

And I guess she wasn’t quite gone by the time I walked out in my pajamas, but I don’t know if she saw me. Let me tell you, when they tell you not to drive while you’re upset, they’re not kidding. I could barely see the road, and a very large part of me wanted to die. In fact, I’m pretty sure that somewhere in all the screaming and crying, I asked God to help me out in that regard, since I’m too responsible to do it myself.

So I went to a place where I could see the twinkling lights of the little town I currently live in, and I cried some more. I’d thought I’d cried it all out already. I’ve cried off and on for almost two weeks now. But wow. Man I was just warming up, I’ve never cried like that. It was like a monsoon compared to a friggin’ lawn sprinkler. I couldn’t breathe through the pain in my chest and the snot in my sinuses.

And now I’m empty. Mostly. I still kinda want to die. (Don’t fucking worry, it’s only theoretical.) But all I can see before me is the same shit I see behind me, except now it’s in a new perspective. I see an undending string of brief relationships in which I will be so emotionally guarded that either it’ll be shallow and mostly meaningless, or I’ll hurt somebody, because fuck me if I’m going through this again. I don’t want to. I’ve caught love once, and that’s quite enough thank you. I see myself having no one but myself to support, and so never being quite motivated to make of myself what I should. I see myself somewhere down the line all alone, and pretty much as unfulfilled as I am now. And I see myself putting a end to it. I’ve got a few tries left in me, but seriously, a guy gets tired of getting kicked in the teeth eventually, doesn’t he? How many times can a heart and a spirit be broken before the pieces just don’t fit together anymore? How long before the good parts of you are more glue and tape and bailing wire than they are you?

So thank God for anger. Because there’s a teensy bit of that left in me. And it hurts, but it kept me from doing something stupid. And of course I still love her, and those of you who know her are absolutely forbidden from saying *anything* to her about this shit. I’m venting here. My heart is dead. My spirit is dead. My libido is dead. But I still love her. And I still hope that the guy she’s madly in love with a year from now is me.

So that probably makes me just a little more stupid.

This story has several morals, ladies and gentlemen:

1. Hope is evil. Don’t associate with it. It makes you stupid.
2. Love is the Nuclear Energy of human interaction. It can knock everything flat as far as you can see, and even when put to good use, it has drawbacks, like making you stupid.
3. My birthday is a dark day.
4. The worst think about a broken heart is knowing it will get better.
5. Anger is good.
6. Good or bad, True Love is forever, no matter what.

Addendum:

Aside from the chain of really bad birthdays that started when I turned twenty-one, my life has been a friggin’ funhouse of bad timing. I am serious about the fact that I wish her nothing but happiness. I am serious that she will find it in the next year. And I am serious that I wish she would find it with me.

But here’s the sad truth: Some times you only get one chance. Unfortunately, when she’s ready in a few months, I probably won’t be. She is unique. And I am unique. And we have narrowly missed something worthy of songs and legends, and something as simple and common as true contentment and genuine happiness.

And maybe I’m totally wrong. Maybe she could never love me. Maybe I could never make her happy. Maybe I’m too fat, too bald, too liberal, too loud, too abrasive, too whatever. But I don’t think so. I think that once again I’ve missed by the knife-edge of bad timing and the angry Fates, the kind of life I’d forgotten to hope for.

I think I’m done. I think this may be the best thing I’ve written in years. We’ll see if I still think so tomorrow.

Oh yeah, one more thing: Don’t tell me any fucking platitutes or bullshit sentiments about time healing things or how I’ll be okay. I won’t be okay. I will wear the ghost of this pain for the rest of my life like a scar. And if you happen to catch me at the right time you’ll see it flash across my face. I’ve felt something like this only once before, and though it wasn’t even the faintest shadow of what I felt for “A”, it still has sharp edges. So now, a decade after the dress rehearsal, (to the day mind you), I know what I will feel like on my seventy-eighth birthday.

It was only when writing that last paragraph that I remembered my eighteenth birthday. Come to think of it, I think that might have been the start of the bad ones. Some day when I have more energy, maybe I’ll tell that story. Right now I want to sleep forever, so I think I’ll get a start on that.

The sound of a soft, nearly breathless sigh, as the pain wells up in my eyes, pours down my face and pools in my chest, where it ignites, and smolders and burns.

Why is it that happiness sneaks quietly in the back door when no one is looking, but never leaves without wrecking the place up . . . a lot?

I am weary of this pattern. Weary enough that I kinda wish my life was over. Not in the “I’m gonna kill myself.” way, but in that I just wish I could skip to the end. Like in a video game when you try and try and try and try and try and try and try and try and try and try and finally get tired and turn it off? I wish I could do that. Just turn it off for a while and come back later.

People ask me frequently why I never seem to get excited. This is why. Because every single time I can remember getting exited about or highly invested in something, that something has turned around and viciously kicked me in the throat, leaving me emotionally stunned, stunted and crippled. Jobs, relationships, ideas, projects, passions, everything. Every single joyful thing I can remember thinking might finally last, and every meaningful victory I ever thought was in my grasp has tried to kill me.

So I fixed a sizzling AirPort Base Station this past weekend, but of course after having the thing sit around for a month, I did the fix on the spur of the moment and didn’t take any pictures. One of these days I won’t be a dork, and I’ll document one of these projects. I’ll try to do better with teh MegaPod project I’m working on. Cross your fingers, y’all.