I never quite fulfilled that goth kid role I wanted so much. Like, I always related to it, but I never adopted the look. It was too much effort to show off my misery. Much easier to maintain a facade of detatched, journalistic indifference.
None of this is what I wanted to write about right now, but now I'm on a tangent. I'll get to my original thoughts here in a bit.
I've always felt like an outsider, which I've gone into recently, I think. I think I missed my calling as some sort of weird gonzo journalist (maybe less drugs, obviously). I used to participate in things just for the experience, and rarely did I get too close to my informal research. I think that's what my rave phase was really about because while I liked the music, it didn't move me like my favorite music does (Punk, Depeche Mode, Johnny Cash, etc.). I also think that's why I used to go to the Church (goth club in Dallas) in jeans and a t-shirt. I wasn't an active participant but I was obviously there for at least some of the same reasons as the others.
Also, I go back to being naive, a little bit. I think in this case it served me well. I used to go places not "dressed for the part" because I simply didn't care; I just wanted to be comfortable, "myself," or whatever I thought that was at the time. I sometimes think I was more myself when I was blissfully unaware of the fact that I was out of context most of the time. Perhaps some of my identity crisis as of late stems from the fact that I'm more than aware of everything that's going on with me on a deeper level. Was it just a defense mechanism? Or have I changed for the worse?
More importantly, is the damage done now? Can I make a choice to be less jaded and miserable? I guess it could be argued that I could, however I don't know that is entirely true. You can't just unlearn things. Time and chemicals usually have to aid the process of forgetting. I'm not really willing to commit to the latter road with any sort of vigor. I guess it's like exercise, you work on it until you hit a level of endurance that is second nature. I suck ass at committing to that too, though, so I don't know where that really leaves me.
Anyways, back to what the title was initially referencing before my commentary on said title. Since I finished reading through my old LiveJournal archives, I decided to start reading other people's journals from my friends list. So far I've only gone into a handful: My ex-girlfriend's from 10 years ago, another female friend, my wife's (pre-marriage, beginning of our relationship), and my friend Jay's.
The ex-girlfriend's was hilarious in that I'm pretty sure she invented the concept of Vaguebooking (the modern Facebook phenomenon of people stating emotions passive-aggressively in status updates, leaving no details as a means to invite sympathy/attention from other parties). It got even better when you looked at my comments on it, particularly during and after our breakup. It was very clear how much stock I put into that relationship. I was all in on that, and I was willing to continue getting shat upon if it meant not losing it. So sad. Funny now that I'm grown, but still a little sad. I don't think I can do funny without sad, frankly.
The other female friend's was the girl that took my virginity. I didn't go back too far in hers because she had some semi-recent updates that I didn't remember reading. Haven't talked to her in a couple of years. She seemed to be going through some crazy relationship shit. Who knew that was everyone?
My wife's was pretty interesting because it was a snapshot of about our first year together. There were a lot of things that I had totally forgotten about. Lots of stuff from when Kynlee was toddler that made me smile. The big takeaway from that one was that at one point, she did at least seem to love me on the surface. The issues we currently have were starting to rear their heads, but they didn't seem like the end of the world or anything. She didn't have a whole lot of negative things to say about me. I think I needed to see that, because I needed to know that at one point, we were happy with each other, even if it was a honeymoon period or whatever.
I'm still going back through Jay's. This one is tough because his last entry is sometime in 2005, so there's a about a three year gap between his last entry and his suicide. I wish I had more insight into the time leading up to him making that decision. He did have some blog entries on his MySpace, but that was taken down shortly after he died. I don't remember there being anything particularly damning in those blogs, because I remember looking really hard for answers at the time. I knew some of the pressures he was under, but I didn't know exact causes. Sadly, none of us will ever know. He made a choice, and it was the ulitmate choice, in the end.
Tomorrow marks seven years since Jay killed himself. They say time heals all wounds, but I don't know that I buy that. I think that you just get more and more used to the pain as time continues on. It doesn't go away so much as you adjust your tolerance. I'm not saying it makes you any stronger, because I think it does the opposite if it's not dealt with properly. I think it's corrosive. I think the pain of Jay's death and the circumstances surrounding it have not been properly dealt with on my account because on some level I think I'm jealous, in a weird way. It's like he found a loophole. I know he was in pain, especially as I go through his old journal and recount our time together. The dude didn't have it easy in life. He was a six foot tall albino white dude with two rather fucked up parents. We're lucky we had him as long as we did. He didn't have a sense of home or security from an early age. He was constantly on the defensive. This made him an interesting person to be around, for better and for worse, but it was also incredibly sad because you knew that what he was hiding inside was some really dark shit.
I really loved that guy. Not in a romantic way, but I think our friendship was built on the fact that on some basic level, we recognized the darkness in one another and bonded over that. My earliest memories of him involve us in pre-school/day care. I was about 4, he was 5. Kids were shitty to him even then. I was friends with him because I thought he was cool. I knew he looked different, but being an only child, I think I was just happy to have friends at a certain point. He was a year ahead of me in school so we didn't really become friends again until middle school. By that point, of course, puberty had started and people started becoming seriously shitty, to both of us. He was the near-blind freak with no pigment and I was too skinny and afraid to not get picked on. We were both easy targets.
Anyways, to address the loophole thing: I don't condone his actions whatsoever. I don't believe that's an answer, and I don't believe that I could do that. It doesn't mean the thought hasn't crossed my mind before. I'd be a liar if I said otherwise, especially after he did it. The idea of doing that had never been in my brain until after he did it. It's not an active thing, it's just there as the thought of "Well, that's one way to go about things." I've had those thoughts before and because I don't want to put people through the pain or awkwardness of dealing with someone talking about that, I rarely, if ever, vocalize that. I finally did in therapy the other day and it was actually a relief. It goes back to what I've preached (but rarely practiced) about what I believe is society's grand problem: disclosure. We don't disclose anything to anyone ever, and we walk around we these fake, stupid smiles on our faces as if we don't burn with negative energy on the inside. Negativity is like a fusion reactor, it puts off more energy as you feed it, and eventually, people just snap. They kill others, they kill themselves, all because they're afraid to try and reach out and connect to someone else, or they feel like they can't connect, or they are frustrated that they can't connect the way they want to. It's so sad and fucked up to even think about.
Anyways, not going to be in the news for being an asshole. Sorry world. As much as I'd love my name to have some meaning and definition, I'd like it to be something positive and good. I ultimately want to make people happy. I think that needs to start with some sort of baseline of happiness for myself, though.
I had an idea for a "where are they now" about my group of friends, because that was something I noticed in Jay's journal. Maybe I'll get to that later. I don't see that entry going anywhere but "ugh" so maybe not.
Between 9/11 and reliving my friend's suicide, September blows.