Saturday, December 29, 2012

Reptile Part Something: An Introspection

I was reworking the story of the time spent with my Ex-Wife (and the person I turned into to be with her - how different he was from the bible-thumping Christian I was before I met her, how different from the apathetic sloth I've since become) - trying to create something that could be entertaining and informative.

It's given me serious pause as to the path my life has followed, though.  In 15 years, I still haven't published a novel (the purported primary purpose of my life when all this started).  I haven't been in a single romantic relationship that lasted longer than a week.  I weigh nearly a hundred pounds more than I did 15 years ago (when I thought of myself as horribly out of shape).  I rarely leave my bedroom, much less the house.

I've kind of forgotten how to be a man - turned it into this twisted mess of machismo and violence I wanted to avoid so I could excuse myself for evading the truth of my responsibilities.

I was writing about what a terrible person I had become to be with a woman I didn't really like or get along with, when I realized I'm still that same asshole - I just turned all the frustration and hatred inward.

I am somewhat - no - completely ashamed of my behavior during that time in my life; and it has translated into this paralyzing fear that I might somehow go back to that.  Even when I was "trying to better myself," it was just public masturbation; I was going through the motions to convince myself that what I was doing (to my body, my social and emotional life, my friends and relatives), was okay because "I was fighting it."

I was never fighting it.  The Demon didn't teach me to lie; but I lie easier now - for having known her.  Only now, more than any other, I lie to myself.  I'm very good at that.

I'm tired, though.  Hating yourself is fucking exhausting.  I don't want to do it anymore.

There was a man I knew once who didn't have to lie to those around him so that they'd maybe think he was happy, interesting, and fun to be around.  He never had to play that game of "putting on a happy face" to go to work or hang out with friends.

I was a genuinely happy guy once.  I miss that.  I miss being me.  Whoever this new fucker is, I'm bored of it.

It's time to move on.

I won't be finishing the Reptile series. Maybe if my life becomes interesting enough to warrant a memoir, I'll include a chapter or two of how I was led astray and left to wander; but it's just not important enough to me right now.

If it's time I moved on, it's well past time to get back to living my life - rather than dwelling on someone else's.  Time to do something worthy of that memoir.

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