emilylovedhim

Traits

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:26:57 +0000

When you start seeing someone and they notice something about you – a trait of yours that they pick up on. It makes you feel real because you have your own traits. “Wow, I’m unattentive – I never thought I was anything!”. It gives you a point of reference you can’t get on your own. Do you exist on your own, or only when you enter someone else’s consciousness (is the chair still in the room when you’re not looking?!). And all over again you caught up in your own self image.

Alienation

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:15:54 +0000

Not relating to other people. Hating them. Not wanting to know or be them. Are you supposed to be able to live with the depth of loneliness that this alienation causes?

Drugs

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:14:39 +0000

Everyone’s got their drug. Everyone. And they’re all symptoms of frustration and its denial. I’m a sophisticated liar and I’ll drink if I want to.

Context

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:13:03 +0000

Purge and gorge. Boom and bust. Ups and downs. High and lows.
Providing context to all feelings.

Is this it?

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:10:18 +0000

I don’t know how I feel but it surely can’t be in the top 5th percentile.

On a platform looking in

mattcm — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 23:09:40 +0000

Things look so much better where I’m not involved. Other people’s situations always look so much more inviting.

Lonely heart

mattcm — Wed, 14 May 2008 00:21:41 +0000

36 year old male, long term manic depressive, profoundly incapable of emotional attachment seeks gorgeous, intelligent, independent, caring and successful female. Hobbies include angst, self-loathing and denial. No time wasters.

Home is where the hatred is

mattcm — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 23:08:03 +0000

Such a lovely weekend,
smiles and lots of laughs.
The kids were great and shrieked with joy
and splashed around in the bath.
A great escape, to share your world,
and drink to our good health
But now it’s time for me to go
back home to hate myself.

On and on

mattcm — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 22:49:22 +0000

Sometimes I think of you so much I feel you must be thinking about me too. That you’ll almost appear in front of me because the feeling is so strong. But you don’t. I wait for the next text message, an impromptu invite – “can we meet in one hour?” – just enough time for me to drop everything and get to the meeting point. How can I say No? How can I refuse either of us the chance to take another quick breath of what we once breathed, of what finished just as quickly as it started. Has the connection really stayed alive this long, our silently knowing the presence of each other’s thoughts? I used to think it signified Hope that we hadn’t really finished. Now I realise it was Regret that we never really started.

I was always in the way of us, and only now am I starting to understand how. Life before you was dark, lonely and suffocating. You gave me love and, with that love, a first real glimpse of happiness. A time when I was content to just be. Thinking of you made life seem worthwhile, something that will bind you to me forever.

Nowadays, I realise now what little chance we ever had to be happy together. The fact that we had the time we did, and how you left such an indelible print on my life, these things mean far more now than either of us could have imagined. But I can see that now that we never had a chance. It wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t something you did, or how you were, or how you weren’t. You entered a crumbling cave, whose sides no amount of love could prop up.

There isn’t a day when I don’t realise what I let go, wishing it had been different. Wishing I could feel Love and not just Gratitude. Wishing I could let you go for good.

I used to

mattcm — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 15:50:00 +0000

When I was 22 there was a period when I thought, quite genuinely, that I would soon become homeless. In many ways I looked forward to it as the ultimate expression of my desperation. I came to my senses though, and realised suicide was the way forward.

Thank God I’ve never had much bollox.