mahiwaga

OK, I know I myself have given the caveat of ignoring traumatic events. They will_come back to bite you in the ass some day. But in the wake of a figurative explosion, well, sometimes you’re just lucky to survive to the point where you _can develop PTSD.

I understand this is completely incoherent. As time goes on, I hope to make more and more sense.

But it’s amazing how I can see precisely how things are going to turn out, and yet I can’t seem to drag my sad carcass off of the train tracks. This is the reason why no one ever has any sympathy for me.

I am like a heroin addict just starting to withdraw. No matter how bad I feel right now, it’s going to get a lot worse before it starts getting better. (As Morpheus mentioned in “The Matrix,” however, there is a vast difference between knowing the path, and walking the path. As they mention on GI Joe, knowing is only half the battle.)

I dunno. On the other hand, maybe, just maybe, I am getting used to handling this sort of situation. Yay.

I just want to punch a hole through a wall right now, though. Or maybe run around the streets naked, screaming like a madman. Something like that.

Storytelling time. True story. Identities elided to protect the innocent. Although, truth be known, it’s hard to think of the parties involved as innocent.

The rationalization is that, at least, I did the right thing. Or, more precisely, I didn’t do the wrong thing. Although, yeah, we can get nitpicky about intentionality and all that stuff, but there is still a difference between, e.g., wanting to kill someone, and actually killing them. Never mind if the only reason you didn’t kill the guy is because he didn’t give you enough time to pull your knife out before the cops came.

I mean, there is something of value to following the Code, right? The Code that all men profess, but in practice, it is more evident in its breaking than in its keeping. So what? Does that make me a chump? Does it matter or not that I’m not exactly the best of friends with the guy? Does it matter that I’m pretty sure that she was messing with my mind anyway, and that she just hung out with me because she liked the attention? OK, so maybe at least a part of her heart was bound to me, but her body was still irrevocably tied to him.

It’s not like I started it. I didn’t really choose the situation I found myself in. Not consciously. Not deliberately. If there is any error to be found, it is in what I did not do, what I did not say, what I failed to stop from happening.

But it doesn’t matter. It’s all said and done—well, it’s at least done, because there was certainly much left unsaid—and I am left pretty much the same way as when this all started, by myself, with all the time in the world. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I won’t lie. I miss her, but, like she said, some things were just never meant to happen. And I know that, sometimes, it’s easier to accept the simple answer than to acknowledge the complicated true nature of things.

At least, I still know who I am. For the most part.

Yes, I am actually going to waste an entire blog post just to ask:

What in hell is going on here?!?

My life is truly, truly ridiculous.