Thanks to the dandelion, a snowstorm at 85 degrees to reflect my soul.

Thanks to the dandelion, a snowstorm at 85 degrees to reflect my soul.

At the point of eve, I gave up on myself. I wallowed wanting to go to bed, wanting to be in a coma of sleep for years. I sat bruised and skinned, with marks added to injury and emotions causing the most discomfort. I reached out in bed to a former best friend who somewhat skirted the role of conversation partner. I made efforts not to illicit pity and just let it be known that I existed. My eyes watered.

I returned downstairs to sit in front of the computer. I texted another former best friend. No efforts were made to escape the fact that I felt like crap. I wanted to let him know how much I appreciated him and just wanted to walk away at that point, but he made an attempt to redeem me. I talked to another friend who I was trying to make their role expand, giving effort to stay above the water.

I contacted my very best friend in times past, a girl I loved as a cousin and a friend. She had little to offer. I thought she was someone she no longer was. I laid it all out on her and she made little effort to empathize and offered very little in consolation. Yet it still felt more genuine than any other. Our talk was short and I confided that I missed her greatly.

I made a comment on Facebook. It was about the interconnection of the problems of others, and I made no effort to bring my woes up. “I want to say a prayer for an old friend who needs it, and a new friend who wants it. A prayer for someone who isn't a friend any more and a prayer for someone who might end up being a friend. All to be given a path to better days.” I didn’t want an old friend to die. I didn’t want my confidant and religious supporter to lose faith in what she believed because I needed to draw upon her kindness so much. I didn’t want someone I loved who didn’t talk to me to hurt anymore. I didn’t want someone who I could see my fondness grow, to take the abruptness that contributed to my sadness and throw out what connected us. I also didn’t want her to be sad, even if that meant she went ahead and got rid of our opportunity to be friends in lieu of the love she lost.

I wanted them all to be happy. Mike would say that no one would believe that this is true, that someone could selflessly want others to be happy. More than one of those folks ignored my attempts to wish them well. I hoped he was wrong.

In the morning, I woke up in a sweat. I could not control my dreams in the lucid morning, so I woke up. I spoke to someone a week prior that I never have sex dreams. That morning I had one that was strong, and I forced myself to wake as if it was scary. I was actually upset in my dream about my conscious desire to be with one girl. I felt guilty and ashamed just the same as if I were to look at a girl and think dirty thoughts about her in amidst a depression over wanting to be loved.

Ironically, I awoke to think about dreams in a different sense of the word. Could not control these dreams when I am awake either, at least they move slower. Every effort was turned to surviving. Eventually I was able to join up with friends for some bullshitting. That led to a bar run with another set of friends from years past and more bullshitting, which lead to me seeing two cousins and more bullshitting.

I was pretty happy for that moment.

There was a girl who joined us who was with one of the guys there for many years, and they broke up. That and the other aspects of her life overwhelmed her. The tears were familiar, but she said softly. “I was in love with him, and I will likely remain so for a year.” I thought about a year from now, what would find her? I thought about what would find me. A girl worth her weight in gold, might have to wait for a year as well and might still be hung up, will she give anyone that chance? What about the girl that refuses to be in love? Will she ever feel that pain, or will she hide inside of her current pain?

Life is Messy. That was a brutal way to say a true statement and tell someone to buzz off. I don’t want to make anything messy, but if I want to stay alive, I might eventually have to. Until I find someone who wants to clean up with me, I will hold my mess together with my magnet. I seem to have myself on board, but when can I become persuasive. Without the tongue of the sophist, will my feelings ever be accepted as fact? I haven’t played the drums in weeks, my heart doesn’t play the beat to drive my feet.

Yet I prayed, and in some fashion, all of the parts were answered. Much like an injury, those people will never be 100% again. We never will be 100%. I just hope all the people I have held in my brain with esteem will at least get to above average. I will always love, just like I will always cry, just like I will always worry, just like I will always over think, and just like how I will always believe I could do better. Let us all do better.