2007-03-13 - 10:52 p.m.
Jack's Longest Disappearing Act Yet
"I couldn't see any way to change things."
"Only end them."
"I felt trapped."
Trapped in more ways than I ever could have let anyone know.
I did not want anyone to know.
I did not want to talk about it.
Any of it.
I am Jack's Private Hell
Anyone who knows me knows that I can be this completely open, warm, candid and sarcastic person. You can tell me anything. I will not laugh. I will keep your secrets. Somehow, I understand. Or at least relate as well as I can. I try to wrap my mind around you. I make you feel safe.
Anyone who knows me also knows that I can be this dark, secretive, cold, closed off person.
I always had this strange theory about living vicariously through yourself.
Sometimes what you are for other people, is what you actually want from other people. What you wish you had in your life. But since you can not have it, you become it. That way, at least someone is getting it. And somehow, by being what you will never have, you have it.
I am candid to a point.
To what point I am not exactly sure.
But I am pushing and then quickly retracting it all the time.
It can really become a conflict of interests sometimes.
And that was what really started all of this not writing.
Not wanting to talk about it.
Not knowing how to talk about it.
Not allowing myself to talk at all.
Denying and breaking myself of the habit. For what I tried to call "my own good."
Punishing and hurting myself.
Silently.
Physically.
Mentally.
There was a time in my life that I thought about carbon monoxiding myself in my car. Every day.
For the price of a length of hose from the hardware store.
All of my problems would be over.
A permanant solution to a temporary problem they say.
Permanant solutions are the only ones I am interested in.
Yeah, but I am also all talk.
Even when I am not talking.
Is it a cry for help if no one can hear you?
Sometimes, I have fantasies of getting up on a freeway over pass and only pretending that I am going to jump. It would all be a big game. Only I would really feel it. And they would really believe it. It would be somewhere between hilarious and horrible. I would probably cry. I would be arrested and patronized. It would go on my permanent record. But in the end, someone would finally take me seriously, even if I was not serious.
Is it a cry for help if you are only pretending?
Sometimes, I think that I play these games with myself all the time.
Because even I do not take myself seriously enough.
Is it a cry for help if the person you are crying to is yourself?
I don't know.
I do not even know why I am writing this.
I guess what I wanted to say is I feel like I have no one to talk to.
I have been thinking about going to therapy.
I have been thinking about writing again.
Though I do not know if I even know how to write the way I did before. Anymore.
Stopping writing here was one of the stupidest things I ever did.
It was creative suicide.
And like my fantasies of falling asleep in my car, every day I thought about writing again.
I do not know if I am ready to really do this but I am going to make a serious effort to start writing again.
When I began this entry, I told myself to just not think about it.
And before I knew it, it was all over.
Kind of like falling asleep.
It's Only After You've Lost Everything... - 2008-03-12
Jack Is Afraid Of Losing Everything - 2008-03-10
Jack Does Not Know What He Is Living For - 2008-03-07
Jack's Festering Apathy - 2008-03-07
