2004Aug15
I did almost burn my writings many times, but this morning I sit to write even more. As a personal ritual I know I can’t imagine a life without words. Poetry might flatter the ears of unsuspecting listeners but no one is interested in the flow of consciousness. So far I’ve shared only little segments – droplets flung from some waterfall or rapid part of my life and in my slow times, my ruts, an occasional bubble or gem floats to the surface. Today I feel committed. In front of me this day I’ll find some resolve, I hope, with Katie, Ben, my parents, maybe more. It’s the 15th and I’m nearly broke. Negative feelings ensue a particular self-defeating logic that guarantees only a chanced at happiness, but I am with my journal for now and I find solace in this exercise. Everyone with opinions, but no one questions me. My lifestyle raises many questions – I’m capricious and unstable on the surface (innately unpredictable), but absolutely unchangeable in some way no one is able to discern. I’m like a bad penny, priceless for it’s own reasons. I write, but nobody wants to listen. I have a lot to offer. My mind is such a powerful tool. I’ve used it to create and destroy, but I needn’t be concentrated on myself. There’s just no one else here. It’s a difficult wish, that someone might want a glimpse of my mental churnings. Only a mate would be interested and, of course, that’s why I’m writing.

This string of pearls became unclasped with Leticia, and I slid down one by one to feel the wholeness. What started with Dallas, ended with Texas – so many years and so many women emotionally manifested. So here I am today with no one left (none wanted but for Leticia) and I have the sovereignty I desired. The power of this day is that I have no vision of tomorrow. The word of the day is ‘telling’.

I want to kill myself. I have for a long time, although I am just now aware of it. My identity is subtly self-destructive, justified by all the social ills around me. It’s too late to be what I wanted – valuable to mankind. There is no recovering from my mistakes. I was let down – dropped – then stepped on and I cannot settle for some kind of incomplete life under the guise of humility. The truth is, my greatest gift has always been to remove myself from whoever I care about. Leticia has not returned and there is no other for me. I guess she was never meant for me, either. I write because no one wants to listen to me. No one wants to spend time with me (I get snubbed constantly), and people enjoy victimizing me more than giving to me. I am reminded daily that I am not wanted no matter where I go. I am who I have chosen to be – Indigo. I guess I thought this self-created being would be good enough. I never wanted to be God. I just wanted to be adequate. I am overwhelmed by my needs and others are overwhelmed by my neediness. It’s hopeless. What I’ve called my unbreakable faith is hardly more than wishful thinking. My dreams remain unmanifest. It’s apparent that fantasy is just imagination at it’s best. I am alone and so clearly not good enough even for myself. There is no support available but for that that comes with a price of self-sacrifice. I wish I could help this fucked-up world but I am not wanted and I cannot force my way through other people’s fear.