03 July 2007

Beach

I fucking hated it. Cold and miserable and not home and I plain fucking hated it.

Yeah, yeah, so I'm writing again. Nu? Don't expect a lot of mental health right now.

Also.

If these dreams don't stop soon I'll fucking kill all cowards in my path, starting with. STARTING WITH.

Fuck.

What I hate most, the most, THE FUCKING MOSTEST is, it's all been bloody ruined hasn't it, I can't be sure of anything anymore. I doubt everything that was. I disbelief everything that was. I lived one big convoluted lie is what I am beginning to believe. That makes me the stupidest, most gullible thing that ever walked the earth and it probably serves me right for being so fucking stupid. What an idiot I am, what a fucking idiot. Does this sound like loads of well-placed trust on my part? Oh no it doesn't. This smacks of long-wanted planning somehow, like one of those subterranean rivers and me the fucking blind fish, all unknown to science. This is the only thing that explains it, the only thing that makes sense of the callousness towards what will soon deliberately be the corpses of all memories. Not that I can trust those either, makes me wonder what else I never knew. Lies upon lies upon lies. Meet the village idiot, she'll happily dance for you if you throw her a well-spun story, *clap clap*, poor cow.

Am so bloody, sodding, fucking mad.

*PORTIE FINGER - THE ONE WITH BALLS*

PS - And if you're the tiny little wanker person from abroad who keeps contacting me despite my obvious lack of interest just sod off already, stop creating new email addresses, I don't even read what you write once I see who it's from, save your troubles and my rubbish bin.

4 furballs:

Kath said...

Dear Lioness, I'm so sorry your beach visit was so miserable. No escape in geography, no escape in dreams -- it's relentless. I wish I could protect you somehow, make a space where the hurt can't penetrate.

Speaking of Operation Make Lioness Smile, I haven't forgotten the pictures, my dear. Our stupid digital camera took one look at me and crapped out. (I'm trying not to take it personally.) You will have the pics as soon as I can manage it...

Congratulations on passing all your difficult exams! Give yourself an extra-huge pat on the back for that one.

And if you are going password protected, please count me in.

Udge said...

I'm glad that you are writing again.

Re village idiot: don't get mad but: I don't believe it. I don't know him other than from your description, but OTOH I do know you, and I am both male and a coward so I do have a certain amount of empathy and walking-in-his-shoes-ness. And this leads me to think that you were right then, and are wrong now, about what happened.

It seems much more likely to me (speaking as fellow male coward) that he was worse hurt by the breakup than he can admit, and is too weak to face the additional pain of conceding that it was real and good, so he protects himself by cutting you down. The limbic system is in control: the fight-or-flight reflex has taken over and since he can't flee physically he "must" fight you. It's a guy thing: we attack that which threatens us, so that it can't attack us first.

Doesn't make what's happened right or good, of course not; just the opposite IMHO; and I am deeply sympathetic and sorry for how you feel. Beijos, my dear.

CarpeDM said...

I'm going to have to go with Udge here, I don't believe that there was never love. I think there was. Unfortunately sometimes it just explodes in our face and you are left with the pieces, trying to make sense of it all.

I hope the dreams stop soon, I would sing to you, you know, if I actually could sing without benefit of karaoke machine. Oh, and was actually there.

Love & kisses,

D

Diana said...

Udge, once again, says it quite well. I, too, do believe there was love. I do believe that there's still caring (perverse form that it is), otherwise how would it still hurt?

Writing is good. I'll take that and be glad. Through writing, eventually, you may sort it all out.

(Of course, you know, I'd be blessed with the password when you get to it.)