I ask myself, why did you do it? As if I wasn’t involved.
My group of friends are the manifestation of culture and my Ape mind judges their apeness as it projects itself into a false reality. It is sickening, how full of shit I am, how I use the same mundane vomit of words to articulate justifications of poor actions. To blame. To blame. Blame the world. But the world does not like me, I say, and I am riddled with shame, and my shame whispers and makes my heart beat irregular. My shame sits waiting for me to open my eyes in the middle of the night. My shame starts to shout. My body grows tired. It gives in but never sleeps. It fills with pride and says, lets become the monster you could be, lets show them what you could do if you were really who they thought you were. Then I need that voice, that bullshitter, that right hand to rub my heart and say, “It is okay, relax. The moon takes the tide out too. Be patient and do what is right.”
Three months ago I sent a video of my self in the shower to my friends fathers long term partner. The problem is that I sent it whilst drunk and deleted it whilst drunk, so I didn’t know. Till I noticed my friends not replying to me. Not inviting me to things. Not talking. Silence. The blank white page in the blue and green world tormenting me, ignoring me. Then I was removed from our messenger group, the one that is twelve years old, the one who’s name we all have tattooed on our bodies. I filled the silence with pride and virtue. Looking down on the group knowing they killed Jesus too. I spoke to my brothers, my best friend and agreed it is just time to move on from that scene. I knew it was silly but my emotions were valid. A shell. Small. Ridiculed. Always the same. A reputation inundates him. They are worse than a pack of sheilas, I thought.
I message the person who removed me to find out why. Then I get told, it was all me, the same me, and I deserve it.
One person messaged me before I found out what I did, and he asked if I was okay, and said he is there for me, and when I found out why the cult had kicked me out of the cult I felt true remorse because of his love. Because I had found another way to let him down. To let someone who is willing to stand by you. Yes, I wish the group, or someone, had spoken to me instead of about me, I wish they confronted me instead of banished me. I wish for more than one should. I wish for more than I give. My pride wants to focus on that, stand tall, don’t beat yourself up, you have been unfairly punished, what does that action have to do with your entire friendship group?
Well, it all remains silent, five days later, and that says everything.
Never forget where you came from, unless you can.
But, this time, unlike many fuck ups in the past, I decided to own it, swallow all the sharp edges of reality. Concentrate on your actions, the disrespect, don’t let pride get in the way of remorse and shame. So I watch shame, and I want to be a very bad person. So how can I discard the safety of pride but succumb to the lures of shame?
I watch. I get up and go to work. My body is breaking down. A cold sore the size of Mississippi blossoms onto my bottom lip. I am hurting. I hurt. This is all of it, for what? Why?
Why did you do that?
Porn brain.
Blame porn?
No, show the collective self the other half of habits. The habits that help time pass by. All those instruments and languages you will never learn because of the finiteness of time. All those places you will never visit. Books you will never write nor read. Yet you still fear time. You still fear the slow tick. The mind running tired needs a reprieve. There comes the asses. The something. The past dressed as presence. Masturbating does make you go blind. Makes time disappear. The disappearance of the thing you want more of. The line death takes us from.
Blame alcohol?
Sober man took the first sip.
What does the sober man think?
He, I, us, thinks about unlocking the secrets of the universe, who is so deeply embedded into his fantasies that he forgets which foot to put in front of the other to walk. Who is so motivated to do what no one in the world has ever done, he is just another person with no spine, petrified of gravity.
Well, now writer, does it feel good to abuse me? Does it feel good to kick me when I am down? Because I will never forget, and that temptation you can smell wont be as easy to resist when I have the wheel, when your wounded self is filled with confidence, when you once again confuse your carelessness for immortality. Then all this hate from a different time will shine.
Is that a threat?
I don’t know. We don’t know. So why, why did you do it?
I didn’t do it. God did. You wanted me to have faith right? You wanted me to surrender. So, I surrendered. God did it, and I will watch. I will take absolutely no responsibility for it whatsoever, because god did it. The same god who wrote two books with my name on it. The same God who made me the favourite uncle. The same God who made me first to the scene of a car accident and had a young boy die in my arms.
But don’t you see, this spew of rhetoric that swirls around accountability and honesty. How long can I bounce between all of us?
I am sorry. I have a long way to go. I am here, but so are many others and I am not sure who is real. I am sorry. From the bottom of an empty heart. Your silence, the way you discarded me so quickly. How lonely it is on the other side of the castle wall even if that castle is built on sand. I loved that castle, for all the pain it caused me. I am the one who sunk first. It is dry. It is lonely. It is the truth, at last.
I ask myself, why did you do it, as if I wasn’t involved.
I thought my heart was empty, but the consequences remind me there is still shadows in my heart. Their knife finds them, reminds me I always knew they were there, I just pretended to forget because I did not have the courage to remove them.
I must say, the consequences are not the dictator of virtue. Are not the judge of morals. You can just sit and feel, you can watch and be honest, you can be present with this pain and insight and when it decides to relieve you from its grasp, let it let go.
But see, the lies you hold on to will die in mockery if you do not have the courage to leave them yourself. The phoenix may be humble but not triumphant. To the common man, who I pretend not to be when I am in trouble, I am sorry. Until next time. I must hurt without the casing of pride to see, I must make friends with my shame to save the next victim and I must have the courage to remove the past from my heart, no matter how warm the flames.
