I don’t know if I refuse to learn from my mistakes or if I’m just incapable.  I feel as though I am addicted to some hardcore drug that is sure to leave me on the streets with nothing but a shopping cart full of perverse old memories and collected cans. Like all addictions you should have that strong voice of reason in the back of your mind that talks you out of your inevitable moments of weakness or  it pipes in the split second before you take the plunge. Right before you light up your bloodstream with that pink dragon you’ve been chasing you hear the familiar “You’re wrecking your life” or “Maybe this would be a better thing for a Sunday as opposed to  a Monday”.  Maybe my voice guy is on vacation, or perhaps he has gone mute, or possibly he is just tired of being ignored and gave up the game a long time ago. I can’t tell, he didn’t leave a punch card or even a note.  

I don’t know why I am depending on a totally made up man in my head to instill responsible choices in me, I guess it’s just easier than making them myself and acknowledging that I’m entirely accountable for all the pain and suffering my silly choices are going to cause me in the long run. On the other hand, if I don’t make the silly decision then maybe I will be missing out on all the bliss and riches it could bring. That’s the thing about decisions which are hard to make, no matter what you take a risk.

Maybe I am looking at things too logically.

I used to blindly follow my heart and trusted it no questions asked. I suffered from a pretty severe case of “heart on the sleeve” which has now been bashed into oblivion, I now believe that I suffer from the opposite. My heart is under lock and key somewhere, possibly somewhere in the Nevada dessert encased in titanium and vanilla beans. I try not to listen to the old ticker anymore, she seems a tad sadistic for my liking and has lead me into gut wrenching heart break, followed by heart break, followed by let-down. So I just packed the strawberry tart up in her titanium and vanilla box and buried her until all that was left was a whisper of what the blood pumper wanted. I can’t say it’s been all that bad, I am doing quite alright with my heart under lock and key never to ride my sleeves again.

I have always let love consume me, tie me up in nylon ropes and leave me in knots next to the radiator. I never gave it enough space, which I suppose you learn over time. I could never keep away from the heat of it, I just wanted to be so close I burned. I let go of my own ambitions and lost sight of my own path and just recklessly went wherever the love was, wherever that big FIX was. I would go to the ends of the earth to make sure I was wrapped around that burning white hot feeling it gave me all the while my life spiraling out of control as I lost the puzzled pieces of identity I was trying to put together. When love was gone I was left in shambles wondering what had happened to all those friends I had, or I would stay up late trying to remember what it is I liked to do in my spare time. I couldn’t for the life of me remember doing things on my own anymore —— so instead I just chased love elsewhere, and then someplace else, and then back to start.

I wonder who I was before love, if there is any part of me that is still anything like her.

Sometimes I still hear a cry from the old ticker out in her shallow grave, wherever it is, just screaming for what it wants. I just don’t know if I can trust that feisty love muscle anymore, I don’t know when I will be able to close my eyes again and throw myself wildly into the throws of love and let myself feel again. The thought of never feeling that white hot heat that melted my femurs to nothing and brought me to my knees kills me, the thought of never feeling an overpowering heart break also leaves me feeling sore and lost. There is no winning answer.

I don’t know.