Forwarding Address

Below are links to all relevant social media and internet based projects I'm currently working on.


New Blogspot:
http://scarred-sigma.blogspot.com/

Youtube Channel: 
https://www.youtube.com/user/eastsidebebop

Facebook Group:
https://www.facebook.com/Discussing-Ethical-Pragmatism-100108198055612

Podcast:
https://discussingehicalpragmatism.podbean.com/

Random Artistic pursuits:
https://www.deviantart.com/eastsidebebop

Creative Writing:
https://www.fanfiction.net/~eastsidebebop

signed, yours truly...

Here it is folks, the last planned entry here, the final commentary, a final blog post to put a pin into the map, a headstone over my finally dead and buried youth, and all of it's enthusiasm and foolishness and naivety.

With this final collection of keystrokes, I dump the last shovel full of dirt upon the grave of the romantic, tender and awestruck boy turned young man, who stumbled ever onwards towards a lofty goal set before him by not only himself, but his family, friends, religion, culture and society, and yet all for what?

That is really now the central question, the point of this blog at it's founding, a blind and possibly narcissistic if not at least self serving effort to try and articulate both for self, and for public consumption, the storm of thoughts and emotions birthed by this life, this personality, and this journey that has been if nothing else, the catalyst by which everything else has come about, and now congeals into who and/or what I am now.

How strange it is that something like 9, nearly 10 years later, the questions, both unspoken and published, still remain, in some form or fashion, the answers once thought to be had, are now crumbling away to dust, the lessons and observations and reasoning much better defined, but apparently no better applied. To borrow an expression, the software has been upgraded but the hardware is still the same.

There are a great many things I could say, most of them would be a repeat of what has already been put down here, names and places may have changed, but the basic theme seems to hold true.

To that end, I once more underline that I have never made any claims to greatness, or infallibility or perfection, in fact the only claims I have ever actually made, are very much on the other end of the gradient and yet accusations to the contrary abound for reasons I still cannot understand.

All I know for sure is what I see, and my judgments and reactions are based upon this limited knowledge and for nothing else but clarity and fairness, I openly accept that there is much hidden from me, and that my impressions are likely unfair and flawed. Even so we as humans have adapted to working with incomplete information, and as such whatever estimates I make are just that; my own reading of a situation based upon my perspective, my experience, what I know or think I know.

Be it some slow burn long game of hypergamy, a sudden shifting in personality due to medications, the apparent subtle manipulations of a miserable codependent person seeking to live vicariously through another, my own failings due to ignorance and weakness, the sudden self discovery born of arrested development, or some combination of any or all of the above, there was a failure of trust, and a series of choices made, most of which were beyond my direct control or influence, and they ended up robbing me of my best friend, my marriage, of my joy, my time, my money, my peace of mind and my heart.

And yet, I'm still somehow upright, I'm still here, and contrary to popular opinion, I'm still sane as I ever was.

Why?

Because fucking fuck you, you lousy fucking fucks, that's why enough for me.

And so now, onwards to the next book, the next stage, the next level, the next thing, whatever the fucking hell it is gonna be, I don't rightly know, and for the moment, I don't exactly care, because I know I'm not ready, but that has never stopped me before, and if anything is in fact constant, then it is this simple hard pressed and unchanging truth: I am the most stubborn, hard headed, knuckle dragging sonofabitch I've ever met, and if I quit something (or someone) then it's because I have well and truly had enough. And so, it is now enough. It is now time for the next thing, new or not.

It is time I go my own way, whatever way that may be.

This calls for a song.

So here ya go Kristen, this last track, is for you. I know it's one you know well, hope you don't mind if at last, I sing along this time...

Thanks for the time, this has been and shall forever be, yours truly, The Caleb Mac, signing off.

The Beauty of Letting go

Start the video first please.

Done? Good.

Long winded and or verbose at I can be here, and in person, I find that in this moment, I find that short and simple is going to be the best method for me to apply to myself and this that I aim to do.

Today, I surrendered the last items of worth or value (and all applications of the word) left over from my marriage to Kristen.

Small tokens mostly, momentos, accolades and thoughts where I think and feel and believe and even on a level, know beyond all doubt, the truth once laid. As to if the truth still lays there or in proximity to there, where I once thought it was, I cannot say for sure and certain, but what I can say with conviction is this: I still love her, but everything about the relationship, be it the end, or a painful pause, is now wholly incumbent upon her.

I'm here if she wants to try again, whatever that might entail or mean, and if she does not, then so be it.

In the meantime, I have my own life to lead and to live, and if she want's to diverge our paths, then just as with everything else over the last six months, she is well able to make her choices and act accordingly.

For me, I restate the truth of the relationship as it always was; I could never wish to control her, I'm not capable of it, and do not desire it. I want a partnership, not a domination. I am neither a slave nor a master, I am not so simply, but evermore directly, me, myself, and I, and I am a MAN, imperfect, necessary, vital and rugged as I can be, and for any who wish to walk with me, I ask that you, of your own volition, either lead, follow, or get the fucking hell outta my way.

There is a broken, imperfect beauty to letting go of someone who does not wish to be held. It is liberating, even as it costs something.

Everything costs someone something.

I will endure.

~Caleb

A poem for no one, everyone, me myself and I...

Funny how it works, said I, as I gazed into the sky,
Funny how life is a challenge, a plan gone awry,
Funny how it all flows down, I pondered and I mused,
Funny how the one you love, can leave you feeling abused.

Amusing yes? A joke quite right, to see ourselves toil,
Our dreams and plans, like dirty hands, caked in blood an soil,
For what we wish, and what is, are never what we see,
Thr’u in and out, letter and shout, I miss all we were to be.

Funny how it works, I said, as I watched you veer,
Funny how you never figured out, the totality of my fear,
Funny how like a tired old song, I replay it all now,
Funny how you chose at last, to forsake your sacred vow.

Frightening, yes? A a lie accepted, in you took of misandry deep,
Your mind muddled and my heart troubled, from vile bias, beginning to seep,
Statistics, arguments half thought, I never knew anything was wrong,
Alone in a crowd, or crowded alone, you became isolation in for a song.

Funny how it works, said I, as I felt my heart grieving,
Funny how my lesions, strangely keep repeating,
Funny how life makes us wander, to earn our marks of valor,
Funny how it always darkens, our souls to sickly pallor.

Longing after, a passion forgotten, clinging to what was,
To hell with my reasons, damn the logic, and maybe what the narcotic does,
Aroused and numb, I bit my tongue, and tried until failing,
I thought you knew better, but you did not care, and left my soul wailing.

Funny how it works, you said, the disdain barely hidden,
Funny how I realized, my desire was now forbidden,
Funny how you found another, in whole, wholly lacking,
Funny how your new mental lover, adulterous had you packing.

My tears were few, my cries hot, as I howled at the moon,
Petty vindictive, and abused goodwill, you could not burn away too soon,
Wounded yet again, yet deeper still, I felt you bleed my heart dry,
I bottled coping, and waited there, having turned my back on your lie.

Funny how it works, I said, whispering to the stars,
Funny how it is, that Venus abandoned Mars,
Funny how I let myself, fall into, the same old game,
Funny how I still burn, at the thought, of the shame.

I broke myself down, bartered my time, my nature elemental,
I kept my vow to stay faithful, but your practical flight mocked my effort sentimental,
Pass the burden, the bills, the blame and the weight leave me sunned and senseless,
Split the unit, burn the ships and dump on me the consequences.

Funny how it works, I said said, my exhaustion absolute,
Funny how all I now have left, is my name, and pride now resolute,
Funny how I almost guessed, how the end would come about,
Funny how now that it's over, you label me the lout.

Returning to that lonesome place, hard worn, and the wiser,
I recounted my lessons, and reread my scars, still ticking like a Geiger,
I draw up my neigh empty well of support, long ago set aside,
And with a sense, of dread purpose, I seek once more my stride.

Funny how it works, she said, envy and hate for soul,
Funny how the things you need, partly make you whole,
Funny how it’s always from, the last place that you think,
Funny how what makes us stronger, is admitting that we’re weak.

I trembled but once, as I spoke, my heart crying thunder,
I knew the risks, as did you, now my heart is torn asunder.
You saw only the bad, you forgot the good, and you let it only scare you,
When the truth was obscured, and only lies heard, you fled my attempts to save you.

Funny how it works, said I, as I gazed into the sky,
Funny how life is a dream, a thought gone awry,
Funny how it all flows down, I pondered and I mused,
Funny how the one you love, is never at fault, when your heart is refused…



I still love you Kristen, with all my heart, even if you don't think you can love me back.
I hope you find what you think you're looking for, especially now, if it's without me.


I shall ever more endure, if only by the grace of God, or my own knuckle dragging cast iron stubbornness,

~Caleb

Whiskey River

Cost for one apparently bad hair dye: $406

Cost for one hour of therapy: $30 with insurance. (x5)

Cost for one half gallon of an above average local brand of blended bourbon whiskey: $37.50

Cost for a divorce lawyer: $1600

Miscellaneous incurred costs for everything else: $1000 (est.)

Total estimated costs over 11 weeks and 5 days: $3193.50

Cost for a relationship meant to be the center of your life ending with 1 re-broken heart and 1 mauled psyche: 10 years

This is the cost of being made a single man again at the age of 34.

Compared to the national average, I got off cheap I guess.

There are some things money can't buy, for everything else, there is music, drink, and the reasonable if illogical resolve of stubborn pride born hope and a refusal to give up.

So much for my former titles of Husband, reacher and opener of things, giver of food and orgasms. 

St. Valentine's Day [Reprisal]

Below is a direct copy (with link provided down below) of a post I made some 8 years ago, but with a response in two parts:
The First; a highly biased yet thoughtfully crafted, creative interpretation of an imagined reply built upon a long and arduously researched analysis using a number of documents and sources, for the purpose of catharsis in the face of rampant cowardice and pointed betrayal.
The Second; my own thoughts washed through the filter of hindsight and time, and if I am honest, just a little bit of booze, depression, self-loathing and good old fashioned cast-iron stubborn grit in the face of my own odd reticence.

The end of this blog is coming soon, so why not precede the epilogue with an emotive flashback?

~~~

Do you know, my love,

How much I love you today?
[What again? / I told you every single day, even when you made me question it.]
How it is so much more in comparison than the day before?
[You never shut up about it but never bother to show me in ways I want, even when I make you guess what they are / I never stopped loving you, even as it now tears at me to the point of an all consuming numbness at your apparent disdain or hatred of me, stunting my affection and desire.]


Do you know, my love,

How much I miss you?
[God, I can't take it when you're gone, but I can't stand it when you're around. / I still can't understand how a person can make another feel so alone, even when in the same room. And if I ever did that to you, then I can't even start to explain how that thought guts me.]
How much it hurts, inside and out, to be without your touch?
[I can't be bothered to overcome my damage and meet you halfway any more, but I'll make sure to punish you for making me feel neglected no matter what. / Why would you knowingly deny me something I told you was so elemental to who I am? Intermittent reinforcement is abusive in ways no one fully understands, but experts equate to creating an addict. How self-absorbed can you be?]


Do you know, my love,

How much I care for you?
[You better, because almost no one else will put up with my shit long term, but don't expect me to look kindly on yours forever. / Was giving up on, delaying or literally selling pieces of me and my dreams really not good enough for you?]
How much I worry for your wellbeing and happyness in all things?
[I don't care what you've lost or given up or what you put yourself through for me anymore, I don't know what the fuck I want, but I want it now and I am tired of everything you've given me not measuring up to what others have. / I guess running myself into the ground, putting myself in harms way, and self-immolating my sanity and happiness to keep you alive when you have no one else who actually gives a shit about you and/or can/will do anything about is somehow selfish. I wish you had been that kind of selfish with me now.]


Do you know, my love,

How many my thoughts are, for you and what you do and where you go?
[If I don't hear from you constantly or you don't instantly respond to me, I freak out and guilt trip you, or berate you like an idiot dog, because my feelings are more important, but don't expect me to return the favor when you feel the same way or respect you for it. / If I could have gotten away with spending every waking moment with you, I would have. But the real world is not conducive to the romantic ideals of idiot teenagers. I thought we were better than that. I thought you were better than that.]


Do you know, my love,

How much I want you?
[Anything more than hugging is a micro-aggression and a product of the patriarchy that want's me to be barefoot and pregnant, and that's all you want from me anyways. / It's hard not to grow to resent someone who gets pissy at you for hugging them close for more than ten seconds, when you feel physically ill from being touch starved by the very same person who you are emotionally closest to.]
To hold you, and kiss you, and to pour out my affections upon you right now?
[I hate myself for loving it when you physically dominate me, to the point I'm willing to discount your feelings and needs because I'm scared the ideology I've had shoved up my ass for the last two years won't hold up under the weight of you fucking me into submission again. / If I could package the levels of longing, frustration, need and distress you put me through for the same 2 years, into a weapon, I could wipe the whole west coast of North America off the map in a single shot.]


Do you know, my love,

How much I need you?
[I don't care because I'm unhappy with who I am, mostly because between myself and the people I listen to, I don't know who I am or how to change and it doesn't matter how many times you tell me what you see in me, it is easier to give into my fears and nature and not believe you. / You used to make it worthwhile for me to drag my ass outta bed every day (and stay in it with you) but now your lack of focus and empathy expose how selfish you really are, which is far more than you ever thought or claimed.]
In my life, in my arms, and in my heart?
[I don't know any more. Even in the face of you telling and showing me for nearly ten years straight. / I never thought that you completed me, but I always felt like you filled in a lot of gaps, and soothed a lot of the hurts I had. If I'm ever able to let someone else get so close to me again, it will be a litteral fucking miracle or act of God.]


Do you know, my love,

How thankful I am?
[If I don't care or feel like it, does it even matter? / My gratitude was absolute, even if I was not always very good at expressing it or explaining it. Now I don't know why I ever bothered to try.]
That we met, that we are best friends, that we are lovers, that our hearts are inertwined, that you are my other half?
[Whatever I felt, doesn't matter now, and whatever you felt matters even less. / You were what I needed, when I needed it, even when I didn't realize I needed it. You were my best friend, the one person I trusted more deeply than any other on earth, and I could see, and feel the connection between us as if it was a tangible thing. Lie to yourself all you want but it was real damn you.]


Do you know, my love,

That I am so much more now, than I would be otherwise?
[You're less than, you're a childish abusive egotistical monster, selfish and ignorant, my family and the people I trust implicitly all say so, they were all right about you. / You once provoked me to be better than I was, you motivated me to know myself better, to push myself to dream again, to be a man, for myself, for you, and for us. It kept me sane, and alive whenever the darkness would sink it's hooks into me and try to drag me down, it healed my soul when it was bleeding out from the damage of others and this catastrophic event known as life would beat me down to a pulp. You made me dig deeper, believe that I could be a good man, a hero, even if only for you.]


Do you know, my love,

That I love you more than these words could ever properly express?
[I don't care anymore, your words mean nothing to me, your actions even less, all I care about is how I feel, what I've been told it means, I don't care if you misspeak, or struggle to articulate yourself, I'm tired of digging below the surface. / I never knew if you fully understood what all went on inside of me, all I ever really knew is that I would try, and you seemed to respond to the effort. Right up until you stopped responding at all, with anything other this exasperation and disgust.]
I know, and you know, and no matter what anyone else says or thinks or knows, we know, deep within our hearts, and that is all that matters.
[It doesn't matter anymore, I've made my choice, and I'm done with you. / You can believe all of the shit others tell you, ignore what you know is true, blind yourself to what has happened, to what we shared, what we had together, all that you want. But in the end, you are not likely to find lasting peace in mortgaging someone else's emotions and investments for what you think you want or need, based on the words of others who don't really know you, and have not seen you or poured into your life or cared about you, for as long as I have, in the way I have. We both know this, but it seems only I can still admit it.]


Live, Love, Endure,
~Caleb

~~~

There it is.

The thing is... The person you spend the most time on, is the person you care about most.
Right up until you left me, that person was always you Kristen.
But for you, even before you actually left me, that person clearly wasn't me.

You and I both know who it is.



Take from that, and my previous comments, what you will, that is if your head is on straight enough for you to not be freaked out by everything outside of your control again.

[Original Post: https://calebs-eyes.blogspot.com/2012/02/st-valentines-day.html]

Art predicting Life

The following is a monologue I learned in my second semester of college while taking Acting Theory I and it was used to grade me for my final.
I got an A.
It was spring of 2006 and I was 20 years old, in the single biggest gulf between relationships in my life, just months before I ended up in a retarded relationship with my former Jr. High crush/"Girlfriend", the girl who took my virginity at 15.

In hindsight I now realize that this monologue and that relationship, would set and/or predict the tone for my romantic life (if not my sex life it now seems) for the next... 14 motherfucking years...

Here's some NON original content for a change, chew on this and gossip you copper plated Canuck bitch, and you know who you are, and for everyone else, my final posts here will be pending, as I finalize my transitioning to my new blog, and refocus on my podcast (hosted on PodBean) and YouTube channel, and don't worry, links will be provided when appros.

~~~~~

"Phil" - Boys' Life - Howard Korder (1988)

"I would have destroyed myself for this woman. Gladly. I would have eaten garbage. I would have sliced my wrists open. Under the right circumstances, I mean, if she said, “Hey, Phil, why don’t you cut your wrists open,” well, come on, but if seriously…

We clicked, we connected on so many things, right off the bat, we talked about God for three hours once, I don’t know what good it did, but that intensity… and the first time we went to bed. I didn’t even touch her. I didn’t want to, understand what I’m saying.

And you know I played it very casually, because, all right, I’ve had some rough experiences, I’m the first to admit but after a couple of weeks I could feel we were right there, so I laid it down, everything I wanted to tell her, and… and she says to me… she says… “Nobody should ever need another person that badly.”

Do you believe that? “Nobody should ever…”! What is that? Is that something you saw on TV? I dump my heart on the table, you give be Dr. Joyce Fucking Brothers? “Need, need,” I’m saying I love you, is that wrong? Is that not allowed anymore?

And so what if I did need her? Is that so bad?

All right, crucify me, I needed her! So what! I don’t want to be by myself, I’m by myself I feel like I’m going out of my mind, I do. I sit there, I’m thinking forget it, I’m not gonna make it through the next ten seconds, I just can’t stand it. But I do, somehow, I get through the ten seconds, but then I have to do it all over again ‘cause they just keep coming, all these… seconds, floating by, while I’m waiting for something to happen, I don’t know what, a car wreck, a nuclear war or something, that sounds awful but at least there’d be this instant where I knew I was alive. Just once.‘Cause I look in the mirror, and I can’t believe I’m really there. I can’t believe that’s me. It’s like my body, right, is the size of, what, the statue of liberty, and I’m inside it, I’m down in one of the legs, this gigantic hairy leg, I’m scraping around inside my own foot like some tiny fetus. And I don’t know who I am, or where I’m going. And I wish I’d never been born.

Not only that, my hair is falling out, and that really sucks."

~~~~~

Well... at least MY hair isn't falling out, just going gray. Spinners and MILFs seem to love that shit, so maybe it's time to do some hard turnabouts and live like the other half for a bit...


With all due respect, to this most recent chapter in my life and every single one (two or three) of you who has been central to making 2019 the single worst year of my life, bless your hearts, and may you receive every single "good" and just thing you have planted into the fabric of reality this last year, this window of opportunity to do the right thing in this chapter has now closed, maybe it will open once more at a later date, but don't hold your breath, I know I won't, so for now kindly fuck off.

And for you Kristen... Well, you turned into your mother anyways it seems.
Cowardly or not, I can give you credit for this much:
In the end, unlike herself you at least had the guts to pull the trigger and double tap a 10 year relationship right in the heart. I just wish you'd had the honor and courage to do it to my face, not that it would have made it any easier, but I could have at least still respected you for that.

~Mac

(In)formal apology

I'm sorry.

Now that the linchpin is out in the open, everything that is held together by that, now needs to be unpacked.

In my life, I have learned that when a wrong is committed, the relational status between the people said wrong has happened, will then exist in one of two states: the first and far less common, is of little to no effect. For whatever reason, be it the nature of the wrong, the strength or age of the relationship, or even the wider context of events and circumstances, the mistake or transgression is easily ignored or forgiven with little to no need for any formal gestures or even acknowledgment.

The second, more common, and possibly more telling, is of some noticeable pause or shift. It is what should provoke some kind of gesture or admittance, which ideally would lead to some effort of restoration. As you can well understand of course, the world is not ideal, not by design, and not in anyway thanks to the people that live in it.


To that end, I have realized that my own failures in my marriage, were due to just a few surprisingly simple mistakes I was late in identifying, despite my constant efforts take responsibility for my mistakes, and my understanding that seeking peace and working at maintaining a dialogue are vital to any healthy relationship. I still to this day am entertained and amused to no end by the responses of others when I say I am sorry or take responsibility for something so quickly, or when I show a willingness to entertain the notion that I am mistaken, illinformed or ignorant about something.
People are always saying that I act like I know everything, or that I think I never fuck up, even when I have never in my life, ever made such claims, as underscored by my previously stated penchant for taking on the burden of responsibility or apology.

Much as I disdain doing so, much as I dislike being wrong or making mistakes, I was taught and exampled from a very young age by my late father, that the fastest and best way to learn and grow, and to gain favor and protect yourself, is to, as some have so eloquently put it; "Own your Shit" which I have also taken to the other extreme and applied to accepting credit when it is due, for excelling at something as well, but without hording or fluffing yourself up.

As my mother, now Ex-Wife, coworkers and so many countless others will likely testify to, one of my more madding traits is to seek out whatever good or positive there is, and contrast it with the bad and the negative in any situation. Maddening because I take a very hardline stance on understanding the context of something, and I demand that the reasoning and intent be acknowledged as well as the effect and the result.

Moreso since my entrance into the Security Field and the concept of "totality of circumstances" has been so brilliantly engraved upon my person. In simple form, this is the idea of finding the balance between the known, and the unknown.
Or as a long since late family friend once put it to my parents (and once to myself at a very young age) "all things being equal, even though they aren't, if you can come to the place where it really does not matter what choice you make, only then can you make an informed and reasonable decision."



All of this being said, I now address the rattlesnake in the living room...

From my own perspective, my marriage was ended by three things, beyond my control to effect, and to which I reacted to both too late, VERY poorly.

A lie (or rather more accurately, a lot of mistaken or malformed information and opinions), and a choice to not only believe said lie, but to abandon a relationship based upon that, and because of an inability to consider the idea that just because someone has a bunch of expensive letters after their name, does not automatically make them smarter than someone without.

In a word, this was a failure of trust.

I say this, with a sack of rock salt in hand, with the understanding that I do not have all of the information I need to make all things equal. But then no one I think ever really does. The question is if I have ENOUGH information to make any kind of decision at all. I honestly don't know if I do one way or the other, but a choice I must make, and thus take a stance, and so here it is.

Kristen, I apologize for my mistakes, my turning inwards in my depression, and my delay in addressing my issues, and your own. I am sorry I was not strong enough in both my moment of crisis as well as your own. And I am repentant in my panicked reactions to things I had inadvertently ignored or did not understand.

I was complacent, distracted, weak, hurt, overwhelmed and scared, and what is more, I hesitated and became passive when what I needed to do was push you, and myself to rise to the challenges that came upon us, instead I stood by until I was smacked in the face with the enormity of the circumstances I had allowed to form and fester in our life together, blaming things I could not effect, and not acting when and how I should have in the things I could.

It is not easy for me to say that, and it hurts, in some ways, more than the divorce does, if only because I think that it is in some central part, what provoked you into removing yourself from my life.

It is the only reason I can also forgive you for your failings of me.

Someday, I might articulate them, if only for the sake of fully fleshing out my acceptance and fully realising my part in them, but for now I will only say this, because I think it is vital you understand:

It was never about my and how I couldn't accept that asexuality is or is not a mental or physical health problem, it is the fact that you refused to exclude the investigation into your own physical or mental health and wellbeing to ensure that it was NOT.

As I said more than once, it was/is hard for me to reconcile our early physical relationship with the end of it. I do not understand how you could so readily accept the notion that because you had such low sex drive before we met and then again had such a low drive at the end of our marriage, it somehow meant you NEVER had a sex drive, which ignores the factors of your always fluctuating physical health and how it affected you in all things, or how you could so fully dismiss out of hand, my observations of this.

Beyond that, I will not say any more, as I have not the energy or will to even consider it right now.

Guess maybe I'm still a bit of a coward. I'll work on that.

~Caleb

The Final Countdown

Within the next 72 hours, I will be Divorced.


10+ years invested, thousands of dollars, millions of minutes, secrets, dark deep and perfectly hidden, shared and bartered, trust, vulnerability and intimacy on a level never before achieved, things given and taken that can never be recovered, untracked miles, uncounted words, and not anywhere near enough contact, touches, or glances shared, a central point of my whole world.

The foundations of a lifetime...

All of it, gone.

What the hell happened to us?
What happened to you?
You were my best friend.
You were my wife.
What the hell do you think happened that night?
What changed?
Why did you stop choosing me, why did you choose to end us?


For the record, if it has not been abundantly clear; I never wanted this. This is not what I signed up for, and the only reason it's happening with so little resistance from me, is because I am simply too burned out to fight someone who was meant to be my greatest ally anymore. I'm giving her what she wants. What she has asked for. Because in the end... Just like with every other girl I have ever loved, I could never really say no to her.
Not without hating myself for it. Strange it is for me, to say yes, and hate myself even more.

I don't honestly know what is next for me. I have a few new work options I am looking at, I still have the infamous "5 year plan" that includes me going back to school at last, abit rather much modified now.

I still have, for now at least, my health, some shred of my sanity, such as it ever is or was, and a few bucks stashed away (a VERY FEW) and I have a few dreams and ideas still.

What I lack right now, for the first time in so very long, is any real sense of self, direction or motivation, even if I wholelly have the desire to get up and go do something with myself right now, no matter if I have not the faintest fucking idea as to what that would be.

Maybe I just stick it out for a few here, gather some more resources and then move onto something new or different, without uprooting myself wholesale.

Maybe the wilds of the open road are truly what I need, something so familiar yet still new, to give me fresh perspective. Knowing me, the line I once wrote for a song, will still hold true; "every road I take, leads me home," but where now is my home?

Where my heart is? What heart? I don't have a heart anymore. It was stolen away, and never returned, and the heart I got in trade, has now been taken back as well. I am right now, in a word, heartless.

Maybe then, that is the point. Maybe, I have stayed tied down to this arena for too long. But at one stage, I had a dream, to leave Texas, my home, my land, my birthright, and go west into the mountains, into the untamed wilds, to share the next adventure with my love, my heart.

No more.

To borrow my all time favorite quote from likely my all time favorite Book Series: "Here now I stand, and I can do none other."

I may wander for a season, but I always seem to find a place to stand.

Not here, not now, but one day, somewhere, I'll stand.

And whomever you, oh reader mine, may be, you can come and do as you will.
I'll be waiting, but with a promise, and warning:

God Forgives, God Forgets. but I can only afford the former.
God has mercy for you, I however do not.
If you come for good, you must earn it.
If you come for evil, you already have it.
If you doubt this, you are welcome to test me at your convenience and my discretion.

This is my way, and I'll not yield it to another, ever again.

The Road So Far...

To date, I have only ever loved 3 women.

I should preface this by saying that I have only ever loved, in any meaningful way, two girls and a girl who became a woman along side me, as I became a man.
And I loved that woman, in a way, to an extent, and with a depth and passion, I had thought impossible, and what is more, I still, in some unnamed and indefinable way, still love that woman, in ways words cannot hope to capture or express, even if now, I am to understand that she no longer does, or can love me back.

Its a helleva thing.

But more towards the point, comparing a breakup with a divorce, is childish, if only because the orders of magnitude that separate them are so vast, that the only reasonable comparison I can draw, is to compare a rock to an atomic warhead.
Both will kill you, both are solid, weighty things, but the level of complexity, the depth of effort, and the damage that can be done when used, while the same in the end result, are rather much removed one from the other when you look at the process, and manner in which they work.

A rock is a simple thing, and can be used for more than just killing, but the ability to transfer simple, brutal, blunt kinetic force, makes it a very direct implement suited for a very direct and simple method that takes an effort that likely should be repeated until the result is achieved.

A nuclear warhead however... That is clearly something else altogether.
It works on a great number of levels, the most practical of which entails not even using it, but having it at your command. The old term used for that was called "MAD" for Mutually Assured Destruction. The idea being that no matter who started a full scale war, everyone lost.

And while many may attempt to frame Divorce as liberating, or even necessary (where it in truth does apply) no one ever seems to fully grasp or communicate the depth of what it may possibly be for someone: total annihilation of the heart and mind.

Now I will not take the time just yet to list or break down the pros and cons of marriage (or even relationships as a whole, as they are related but distinct things) right here and now, nor will I comment with any commitment upon the whole "Manosphere" / "Red Pill" / "MGTOW" matter, as while I have been exposed and have researched them, and am as of yet undecided on their validity, I will attempt to explain where I myself am at right here and now given the looming specter that now rests less than a week away from me upon the road before me.


Alright, ready? Okay...


I have no fucking clue.

None.

None at all.

Not a single damned clue.

Nothing at all outside of profound disappointment, substantial confusion and rampant undefined and inconsistent depression.

I have a terribly incomplete picture of how I got here. I am missing some very key details on what exactly happened, and when exactly it took place.

I know that events happened to me, around me, and because of me, but as to the exacting effects, I could not say with any clarity. I know I made mistakes, I made some poor choices, even if some of them were to not make any choices or take any actions at all.
I know choices were made by others, but I'll be fucked if I know when or WHY these people have made their choices.

Oh I have details, bits and pieces of information, and a wealth of post action physiological analysis that lead me to understand in part, what has provoked behaviours and responses, I have plenty of philosophical data as well, that frames some things rather nicely.

But it's like trying to take a photograph with a filter that blocks out one of the 3 primary colors.
I can see the damn picture, but it's bizarre and deformed and missing key pieces that making fully comprehensible.

As such, I know my findings are biased, incomplete and likely unfair, yet I cannot come to any other reasonable conclusion. And it as much as the situation (and some of the people attached to it) is what aggravates me.

But I'm still breathing, and there is a road ahead I must survive before I can pick a new one.

I just don't want a new road, even though at this point, I know I likely will never be able to get back to the road I thought I was on. And mores the pity for it I guess.
That or I was more the fool to think I was heading the way I thought I was.

But if there is one thing the road has taught me in my experience it is this: it's usually some combination thereof.

All I can do, is just carry on until the end.

In All Candor

Barring any unforeseen entanglements or further actions by the other parties involved, in less than two weeks (12 days), my divorce will be finalized, legalized and recognized, and the official and final marker will lay in memorial to the single most incredible, momentous, and impactful relationship within the last 10+ years of my life and my journey thus far. It feels like a big monster revealed on a movie screen, that is both larger lan life, yet within the context, smaller than my own body, both impressive and evocative, yet somehow unreal and yet almost believable, dislocated from reality and requiring some sort of suspension of disbelief, like the subconscious echo of a strange dream you jolt awake from, a spectacle that impacts you in the moment, shakes you deep in your bones, to your soul, yet fades almost as soon as the lights turn on and you take that first deep breath of wakefulness, stirring your hands and feet and feel the blanket over you rather than the mists of your own mind.

It is both the most tangible and hyper realistic, tactile and solid thing in my life, yet it also feels like a the wisps of that bad dream fading, not real, divided from reality, a lark or random bad day dream, a stray bad thought arising to check and balance your good mood when you get too full of yourself on a winning streak or right after you blow out the candle for your birthday wish.

But it is just like that wish, you know the one, the one you made sometime between 17 and 21? You know the one, it was the last real wish you ever made, where you knew in your heart, that it wasn't likely to come true, and with that, the final shred of innocence you unknowingly shepherded right up until that point, finally dissolved like the smoke wafting from that candle, when you realise that if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride...

The truth is both more needed and more terrible than you could ever admit, than anyone who ever really cared about you could ever bring themselves to telling you; Santa isn't real, and neither is Mickey Mouse or his friends the Disney Princesses, it's all a lovely pretty little white lie, a scam, a ploy and a practical joke, a stick without a carrot, a cheat code empowered boss, a nerf sold as a buff.

The Cake is a Lie, Pyrrha dies for nothing, Kodlak gets to Sovngarde but Aduin consumes him, the Templars are the least of your worries, not everyone gets to go home, and some who do, only go home to die...



In the end, all I wanted was someone to choose me, over anyone and everyone else, to stand up and say "This one? He is mine!" and prove to me, that they thought I was worth it, no matter what the circumstances, to fight for me, to fight with me, to forsake all others for my sake, for my soul, and for the sake of themselves, to want and to need me in the same way I want and need them, to be the best person they could be, for me to be the best person I could be, for the sake of us, for the sake of we, to work through it all, easy or hard, to surrender self until self, to become one thing in two parts, and to strive towards something greater.

Instead, I get to feel like I've wasted the last seven years of my life, all on some weak and dirty thing. As if I had bet it all on a lie, or cowardice, or a lack of resolve, as if it means nothing of great importance, as if all of the struggle, sacrifice and effort was just for the sake of entertainment value, like a caged beast in a circus, as if my tears, my scars, my trials, my efforts, my all and my everything, every moment, every tear, ever dollar, every step, every mile, every secret was worth nothing more than a moment of panicked disdain. Or even less than.

I bent until I broke, and when I dared refused to give or bend anymore, because I simply could not, I was cast out like a soiled pair of underwear with the crotch rotted out.

Thanks.



But I don't hate you, hurt as I truly am, as much as you have staggered me, I'm just saddened and disappointed that you became everything you said you feared and hated.


But I'm still standing.

And more vile and proactive people than you have tried to lay me low, with intent no less, and between me, them and you, the only one who is ever gonna take me out is God himself, or me, and I aim to take the most perfect and righteous form of vengeance out on everyone who has attacked me: I'm gonna fucking keep on swinging.

I'm taking back that quote I gave you, here and now, so take note: You're never beaten, if you never quit.


As the man in the movie once said; "I didn't hear no bell..."

The Infinite Library

A nameless wise man once said: "When you come to the last page, close the book."

The story of ones life, is indeed a constant rising and falling action, and like any good book, there is a tension that builds from conflict, sometimes rapidly, sometimes slowly, and often times there are stretches of stability in between them, plateaus that connect the valleys and mountains as it were.

Holding to the topographical nature of the above allegory for a moment, the journey forward is filled, lousy even, with trails and roads, some well worn, others yet to be discovered or blazed, yet all inevitable as the sunrise, even if for some of us, the path chooses us rather than us the path, or in my own case now, chosen for me.

Just like when the either incompetent or disdainful or more often oblivious driver cuts you off, forcing you to either slam on the brakes or change direction (or again both literally and metaphorically in my case) or even force onto a whole other path you do not want to take, or cannot wish to traverse without taking damage, you cannot hope to always take the road you want, even if once more in my case, you don't have a set route in mind, but you know more or less what you want your next destination to be, and are open to taking whatever street or highway presents itself to get you there. Knowing the terrain you are going to be moving across is key to success, but how many of us can truly know what lies ahead in a dynamic landscape formed as much by God's unstoppable machine that is the universe, as much as by his highest creation; flawed, imperfect humans?

Imperfect we all may be, yet the drive to create, well, something, anything, still pulls us along, and in this, from this, I believe, we all take our part in writing our own stories, and unwittingly take part in writing the stories of others, and in this, we all see ourselves as the heroes, or at least the protagonist, of our own tales, yet we so easily forget that for most others, we are but a passing bit character or a temporary part of the larger narrative, and in some cases, far more often than we realize, the antagonist in someone else's tale.

A popular and respected fiction writer once posited that the only real difference between real life and fiction was that fiction must make sense (Tom Clancy) and to that end, the ever ill defined "X factor" we as people are, is ever more the thing that motivates us, when viewed from the outside. And yet it is also that which is hardest to define, sometimes even more when we attempt to articulate it.

When one is telling a story, be it through acting out, writing, singing or even just simple recounting, the underlying force behind that "X factor" is motivation. It is the thing most easily overlooked or forgotten, yet it is central to all that drives us. It is also, most often, that which we as humans, attempt to hide, obscure or disguise from outside observation.

The most bare, plain and simple questions, "What" & "Why" (as in "what did you do and why did you do it?") are often, some of the hardest to answer, because in being honest, we are exposing our motivations, we are allowing a core aspect of ourselves to be vulnerable, and this often runs contrary to the self-preservation instinct, more so when we KNOW that our motivations are not only selfish, but possibly (or most assuredly) malevolent. We don't like admitting that what we want is going to cost someone else, something, because that also comes up against the social impulse that is found in our DNA. We never, in the moment at least, stop to consider that it is this binary push and pull, that we must seek to balance. That it is the distinction and conflict between selfishness and generosity that may bring about a serviceable and sustainable equity.

It is of course a core element that follows the rule of story telling wherein conflict drives a narrative forward. But conflict takes many forms, and comes in many levels of intensity. As does our resolve to face it and learn and grow from it.

Yet it is, in my personal opinion, a cowardly personality that seeks to define conflict, as a form of abuse. While I do understand and agree that conflict can most assuredly LEAD into abuse, conflict itself is not by it's nature abusive, but rather the method in which we seek to meld the motivations of two or more persons.
Conflict resolution is (or should be) the aim, so that the parties involved might agree upon a goal, and work towards personal fulfillment, with as little compromise or cost as is needed to achieve harmony.

But again, real life, unlike fiction, does not always make much sense, and real people, unlike trope laden archetypal characters, do not always KNOW what they want, or how to get it, and above all, real people do not have the benefit of an outside "all knowing" force to directly control and guide them, in such things, and more to the point, there is no master outline or plan to ensure that everyone gets something they want, or promise that they get what they deserve.

But even so, our lives are our stories, and the best over arching stories, have more than one book, take years to write (if not to read), and are always on some level, a work in progress.

As the authors of our own lives, and the consumers of others, much as we might enjoy or wish to reread favored tales, there comes a time when we must admit to ourselves that, yes, we have reached the last page, and it is indeed time to close the book.

Only then can we move on to the next one, to figure out or discover what comes next.

Beginning, Middle, End.

It is the nature of the universe, it is our nature, and we cannot escape it.

Hard numbers, hard truths

The following is a video that has been out for a while. It is criminal how few views it actually has given that its almost 4 years old now...

I'm already damn near a statistic now, but I refuse to be another afterwards.

I was looking forward to being a minority statistic before long. Looks I am forced to join the majority.

Direct link below (copy/paste)
https://youtu.be/zOP793671p0

A Realized Quantification

Over this last week, with all of the struggles, challenges and happenings I have constantly waded through for much of recent memory, I came to a realization, an epiphany of sorts.

Work related issues, training, reports, dealing with the state AND local government, with my lawyer, and the effects of nonsensical (and possibly illegal) actions taken by the soon to be ex-wife, asshole neighbors, blithering and dithering idjots on the roadways, bills and other personal obligations, have all been dog-piling me for the last week. Or rather pile-driving me. No lubricant.

At one point, while touching base with my mom, who despite her blind spots and shortcomings, I still love and trust very much, (moreso even since the passing of my father) that after catching her up with all of the absolutely out of my control shit (and the things that spin wildly out of my control) that I suddenly went from bored recounting, into full on, expletive laden, low rumbling, elevated volume ranting. A full venting of the spleen that took about ten minutes before a quiet settled over the line, and she said she was sorry, and wished she knew how she could better help me.

To which I said "Two weeks and two thousand dollars and no cell signal might just do it." and we laughed at that. I then sighed and started fighting off more laughter as I realized out loud to her, saying and I quote: "I'm fucking fraying end to end, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, I feel literally fucking retarded and absolutely exhausted, I'm thirty fucking four, and I feel like I'm three hundred years old. I'm too god damned tired for thirty four, I've not had more than five hours sleep a day in almost a fucking year, I live like a vampire, and when I do sleep more than five or six hours, I feel like I'm hung over. Everything either feels strained, pulled sore or cramped, and if just one more decently sizable thing happens, I'm either going to shut down and just sit mute in the middle of the floor for a week, or the person physically closest to me in that moment is going to die and I'll be in jail for six to twenty years. I'm tapped out. I've been in full on fight or flight panic crisis superhero mode almost nonstop since fucking November of Twenty Eighteen, and any breaks or trips I've taken to cool off, relax or recharge, haven't actually worked because the stress just follows me like a starving fucking dog, and no sooner do I get back then it's all just worse. I have nothing left to give anymore. I want to sell everything, give away my cat, fix my car up, pack my sword, my gun and two bags, and just fucking vanish into the wilderness, and if anyone really wants my ass, they can bring a friend and some guns and just fucking try it, because you fuckers are not taking me back alive! I'm done with playing nice, playing by the rules, busting my ass trying to accommodate everyone, and then getting fucked in the ass over it, so everyone else can shit themselves and fuck themselves just fine without me. I'm not playing the game that any more. Maybe its time I played my way, by my rules for a change and we'll see how that works."

My mom then instead of counter ranting or reprimanding me (as she is wont to do) simply asked me if I felt better, and then if I really meant any of that, and then said she wished I was a bit more careful about saying such things, telling me that she fully understood the frustration, and the impulse behind it, but that she didn't want me to do anything that I couldn't bounce back from, overcome later, or undo if I wanted too.

I get it Mama... and thank you. I'm not planning anything too drastic yet. but hey, thanks to my insurance, therapy is almost as cheap as booze, and I can drive my car afterwards, and aside from the total morons they let out on the roads, driving soothes my heart.

Hell, only time I'm ever even halfway happy anymore is when I'm layin down scratch, grabbing gears carving corners, and rolling down the road in excess of 70 with some classic rock or synthwave playing in the background. Even in my old worn out "shit box" Camaro.

Only way it could be better is if I had a pretty girl in the seat next to me, but my first choice has gone now.

Oh well, car's faster (I drive more aggressively more like) with just me in it anyways.

Funny how it is, my first love is now the only place I can find solace... Not within the soft curves of a woman, but within the hard curves of a car.



But fuckit, give me ANYTHING with curves, and I'll make that bitch sing.

Resolved

People always say you should follow your heart, you should listen to yourself, you should always take the action or make the choice that makes you happy, the desire of your innermost being.

The Bible however says the heart is deceitfully wicked Above All Things and only God can know the true heart of a person.
I however, I've come to the conclusion that if both are true or at least somewhere in between is true, then I should listen to my heart and I should think very critically about what it's telling me and that I should likely perhaps do the opposite.

This having been said, my heart it tells me that I should have hope, that I should remain in the relationship, that I should justify the relationship, that I should do whatever it takes to salvage and repair and restore the marriage and I should hold tight to the friendship, that I should fight with all that I am for this continued status, of the loving husband who is also a dear friend.

But I can't do that, because that's what my heart wants as much as it hurts, as much as it takes out of me, as much as it longs for the marriage that we once had or at least the pretenses I was operating under when we were first together, when we were first married. But because I now realize the above having been said already about the deceit, the dishonesty and the ignorance of the heart, if I'm to be both ethical and pragmatic, if I'm to hold true to my ideals, my ethics, and my Doctrine, then I simply cannot do this.

While I yet value the friendship, and I value the history of it, even as I value the depth of it, and moreover I value the longevity of it and lastly I value the intimacy of it or at least what it was "Once Upon a Time" it no longer holds its own weight.

However at this point in time, that aspect like all others in the relationship, has degraded to a point that I do not know if it can be fully or in part, salvaged or saved, but whatever may be saved I do genuinely wish and desire to save and realistically believe is worth saving, however the marriage in and of itself I now question.

More than anything else I question the authenticity, I question the intent and I question the goal.
I cannot in good conscience listen to My Heart in regards to the marriage.
I cannot with any measure or metrics of ethics, pragmatism, realism, objectivity, stoicism or even emotionalism ignore the path that it is taken.
I cannot go on putting myself in such a position as this.

It is why I regrettably, have come to the now inescapable conclusion that at this juncture the marriage is in effect null void and over, legal status notwithstanding, as I am personally incapable of separating romantic attraction from physical intimacy or contact, as I am incapable and unwilling to accept any measure of romance without a physical application or context and as I am currently in such depths of frustration, anger, confusion resentment and despair that I cannot be the best person I can be, that I cannot move forward with becoming a better me and I cannot at this stage with any measure of contention, application or justification continue at this stage or any other beyond this point, be married to a woman who says she loves me with her words then does not example this with any of her actions, her attitudes, her choices or even now increasingly her words or lack thereof.

While it pains me on many levels, the pain itself is nowhere near as substantial as I am led to believe it should be, it is a dull relief rather than a searing piercing anguish that I feel coming to this conclusion, a large part of me is resolved, not yet at peace but resigned in this and content with the mild nature of my reaction to this development and whatever parts of me that do feel anguish and despair are at this stage by my estimation minor and irrelevant.

Perhaps I truly am monstrous, perhaps I truly am far more cold-blooded than anyone could ever imagine.
Perhaps too many years of wearing my heart on my sleeve, of being tender, empathetic, kind and understanding, reasonable and accommodating and then of being punished for this, of being bullied and abused and targeted because of it.
Perhaps it is all culminated now in the cast-iron shell that is built around my person.
Perhaps it is the clarity of age.
Perhaps it is the Spectre of my mortality that grows slowly but surely.
Perhaps it is simply experience tempered with wisdom, knowledge, understanding and curiosity that could have forged this armor upon me, isolated me and my heart from the greater impact and the potentially devastating fallout of this decision, perhaps maybe I am both more worthy and less worthy of that which I desire.

Who knows for sure, I do not but it is irrelevant whether I know it or understand it, I can only acknowledge it for what it is and for whatever undercurrents of sorrow there may be, such prevailing of the winds upon of my person, of my soul and the impulse incorrect of my heart, bring me to the conclusion that it is not I who has changed so radically, it is I who has grown slowly unwittingly unknowingly, it is I who have come to greater understanding with myself and the world that has brought about this acceptance, for it is not I who has so radically transformed myself, it is not I who has operated either with knowledge or in ignorance, with purpose and intent or by happenstance, with deception dishonesty or an inauthentic mindset, but it is you.

And for that you do have my pity and my sympathy and even my understanding, but you do not have my leave to continue this behavior directed at me and for that, any pain that this causes you, I truly and fully regret. But I also ask that you remember with clarity, I've only given you what you asked for, I can only pointedly remind you to remember, that you wanted this.

I have sacrificed much of myself, for your benefit, even things I did not intend, and even things that were not necessary, all for you, and your good, even in ignorance, I have given up many things for you.

For now at the very least, I do not intend to wound, I do not intend to harm, I have only ever wanted what was best, what was good, what was kind and what was necessary for you, but I can no longer say that you intend the same for me. Your selfishness which I have watched you battle for the entirety of the time I've known you, has now seemingly won out.

So is it not fair play for it to turn about for me to finally be just a little bit selfish on my own behalf? I do not think anyone would argue against that, at the very moment I certainly cannot.

In all candor, for the longest time I could not imagine my life without you in it, but now... I find I have a hard time imagining my life with you at all.

And that, if I am honest, is what hurts the most of all.

Abandonment

It takes many forms and shapes, this wasteful human trait,
possibly some trick of genetics or cruel a twist of culture,
that causes us to discard from our hands, objects to their fate.

Hither from nothing it all has come, unto nothing it all will go,
with three words reality exploded into being, and with three words it will implode,
all of the totality of the universe, tells me this is so.

But we humans are so dynamic, vain, arrogant and driven like this to be, 
creative and contemplative when we allow ourselves to think,
of the paint peeling off our objects under the punishment of sun and sea.

From the simple wooden boat left forlorn upon the shore,
to the crumbling facades of concrete and steel, dying slower that us,
to the rusting shape of a car in the desert, to be driven never more.

For from dust we are made, and to dust we must return,
that divine spark is all we hope is eternal, even void of proof upon mortal expiration,
the chemically induced reactions that result, in a metaphysical discern.

But no matter what the object be, be it flesh or wood or metal or plastic,
we create and use and consume to our so called hearts content,
glutting ourselves until a replacement arrives or our ador wanes, then mutter out "fantastic!"

Discarding the used object, usually in a another meant to hold our waste,
no true second thoughts are had, as the contrary hunger unholy demands it,
we gorge ourselves beyond our fill, until we actually forget the taste.

And so the cycle never ending yet never established and obscured from the eyes to see,
lets us consume all like the void we vagely ignore, the full yet empty that spawned we,
you drop and discard yet again unfeeling, abandoning this time, me.

She Wasn't There

She wasn’t there for the meeting,

The rivalry.

The unity.

The jokes.

The stories.

The creation.

The process.

The journey.

The discoveries.

The adventures.

The laughter.

The joy.

I was there, with you, beside you all the way, sharing the highs and lows, marveling at you, supporting you, sharing the burden, pulling at the yoke right beside you.

She wasn’t there for the hard times,

The dark times.

The struggle.

The cold.

The work.

The sacrifice.

The pain.

The fights.

The tears.

The loss.

She wasn’t there, until very recently, swooping in like an owl in the darkness before dawn, talons 

sinking in slowly but surely, tearing away life from flesh, but I always was.

She wasn’t there.

Until now.

But now, neither are you.

The Metal Ring

Why is this ring of mine now too heavy?

When did it become the last link to fall into place in this chain now resting over my heart?

What took it & hammered it into that final link that forms the iron tether binding the weight of my sins, both documented & fictional, around my throat?

Who dared to corrupt the blood warmed bond of my promise into a cruel metal lash, uncaring & cold, meant only to bite at my most tender & sacred, to divide that which was once whole & shared, realized & unfailing, into your decreed petition for my punishment?

Where might I find a reason or a cause, an explanation or a clue to parse out the moment someone leveraged something with the intent to rend my most prized and exalted source of hope, comfort & joy in this life, given and taken, built and discovered, sent & received by the grace of God & my own chaotic self to invest all I was am or might be to become something greater than myself, yet unto ruin?

This is the question(s) of this metal ring, now sitting upon the nightstand gathering not warmth but dust.

What Now Was Iron

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but from within.

I wonder how many tears you have cried, how many nights this last week you spent crying into your pillow, sobbing about the breakdown, the separation that has come about, based solely upon your choice to commit to an action based in a choice forced by your own misshapen perspective, manipulated and tainted by voices other than your own, other than mine.

Voices that do not seek the same goal that I do, voices that have altered your path from the same goal we shared for so very long, or so I thought, but now I ask you, did you ever think the same?

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but within.

Today I shed no tears, not in sometime, not since your touch fell away cold and infrequent, not since your rejection became the norm instead of the exception, I've shed very few tears, though I've yelled and cried out into the sky, shouting into the void of my pillow, staring into the abyss of the window, questioning where I went wrong, wondering what it is I forgot or didn't do or should do, not knowing what the answer might really be, due to your withdrawal from me

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but from within.

Without our outward imperfections I have manifest, they are but fringes frail limitations of a simplicity, the peripheral of a core of a truth of a singular part of the person I am, it is not the foundational aspect that you've taken issue with or at least not that I can see, it is a falsehood an imperfect frail facade, it is an incidental thing you have misappropriated, a result of circumstance you have claimed as the result of intent implying something far darker than even I would ever care to entertain.

But then I must ask why, this is the question I have sought this is the answer that I seek this is the singular query that opens the door to so many multitudes of answers, it is the cornerstone that you have now denied me as you have denied me yourself, myself and so much more.

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but from within.

"Remember, you wanted this." I will say when the time comes, and the confrontation that now builds is at last had, the truth inevitably seen. I tried to be reasonable, I tried to bend, I bent and bent and bent but, I refuse to break but I can now bend no more.
Maybe I was not dominant or assertive enough, maybe I should have led you better, maybe I should have been harsher or more blunt, maybe I put too much faith in you, maybe I burdened you with responsibilities you should not have taken on, maybe in trying to make sure that you were free I in fact shackled you to something far worse than myself.

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but from within.

Call me heartless call me vain call me arrogant call me angry call me foolish call me immature call me childish call me broken call me anything and everything that you desire that you need to, that you must, to avoid taking the responsibility onto yourself, ignore me in my pain, ignore me in my ruminations my observations my opinions my perspectives, ignore me all that you wish, you've done it before, you've been doing it now and it seems now you will do it once again and so if I asked what even was the point, why even did you bother, what was I to you except the convenient escape from a self-absorbed and narcissistic tyranny that you have now embraced as your own?

The iron shell is rusting, not from rain without, but from rain Within.

But you don't see the rain within, you don't know where the water dripped and dripped and dripped, you don't see the wound seeping oozing leaking eating away at the rust, corroding and corrupting, damaging and wearing away at that which has grown to protect that which you once said you treasured Above All Else.

Absolute chaos is what you once called me, the sweetest burn you ever could know, the sunrise the sunset the Sun the Moon and the stars, that which was most wild and untamed, you know that which was most necessary yet inspiring, that which you so desperately sought, that what you have laid claim, to have beaten down and left broken in the middle of the road, drowned in its own rain, remember you told me this, remember when you shared your hurts and your secrets and your dreams, remember when you unlocked your heart for just a moment and shared your most poignant observations of me?

I remember, I remember it like a tree standing by the river, a tree beautiful and strong, a tree now turned into only so much splintered lumber and firewood, sawdust drifting in the breeze to disintegrate and to become no more.

The iron shell is rusted not from rain without, but from within.

The iron shell is my heart empty again, and the crimson liquid droplets are the tears I can no longer cry.