Now, You Really Can't Go Home Again

So, last night, I was putting the final touches on the resolution of The Girl thing. It took a text from her that said calling late at night drunk was not cool. She was right. It's not and I did. I felt horrible and just apologized and took her number out of my phone so that it would never happen again. I followed it up with a nice e-mail letting her know that I would put her belongings that she left at my house in the closet in the event that she ever wanted them. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, but she left a laptop that I put back together like the king's men couldn't do for Humpty Dumpty.

I basically took the text as a "Please don't call me again, freak." Oh and there was a weird myspace friend drop that is so stupid for a man of 32 to experience and then even feel bad about. The weird part was that she even dropped my friends to sever any type of six degrees of Kevin Bacon connection. I felt a little vilified. I lightly self-medicated on Tuesday under close self-supervision and then just tried to take it easy and watch a movie last night. things were recalibrating back to manageable. I want happiness, but I need content. It's a matter of wants vs. needs.

I'm at home watching Knocked Up which was not living up to its word of mouth status at all. Paul Rudd is a genius and the dick and fart humor was funny at times, but it was no cult classic or anything. The movie was in Act II where the heroes experience something bad which they will always resolve in Act III in these type of movies and my phone rings. I look down and see that it's my mom. My first thought was to finish watching the movie and call her when I was done, but then decided I would answer it because maybe I could talk to her about feeling down lately. I know better than this, but I was planning on doing some mom and step-dad time this weekend in hopes of stabilizing my personal world. It turned out to be one of those calls. Apparently, I was going to add more complexity to what has got to be my Act II in life. I just wish it would only last 20 - 30 minutes like in the movies. It would also be nice to have some good one-liners in there. Actually, I do have a lot of funny moments in my Act II. I'll admit that.

I picked up the phone and my mom said "Are you home alone?" and I replied "Of course." She then says I moved out of the house and your step-dad and I are separated. My chest cinched up like a knot and I could almost physically feel the couch ripped from beneath me followed by the carpet, by the foundation of my apartment, by the dirt beneath it, all the way down to the immensely heated liquid core of the earth. The first urge was to throw my phone into the wall and find some satisfaction at the pieces flying all over my living room, but stuck it out because that would be selfish.

The back story, at this point, is that I've been through this before when I was 5 and had recently put it to bed with my dad. Like in the last six months. That was a cool silver lining of The Girl. She gave me some good perspective and great energy to go visit him and let all the bad stuff go because I was pretty much belligerently beside myself with happiness. Euphoria is dangerous. Pro tip. So, to go through this at 32 makes you feel like an asshole. Life is supposed to be like this: High School, College, Meet someone, Get married, Have babies, Grow old together. It's not for me. The last three years have felt like I'm walking through a stumbling block factory during an earthquake in a rain storm while wearing roller skates and sponge pants. My dysfunctional family was the last thing holding it together. There was always some solace when I was around them in almost any situation. They were my rock.

So, I paused the movie and did the phone call. Breaking down a couple of times. There is nothing masculine about a 32 year old man breaking down, but you know what, people do it. It's real life. Halfway through the phone call I was severely disappointed that I didn't have a cigarette and self-medicating was out of the question as I had cleared my apartment of any type of booze this last weekend. That's the point where you realize there is nothing you can do and every mental direction that you turn in your head has a locked door in front of it. In fact, on the locked door is a picture of you in a precarious position to just add a little guilt to the situation. It's so you can turn it around on yourself and kick your ass while you're at it.

She said that it's nothing permanent and they had talked about it for a while now and she was just unhappy. I feel horrible for both of them and just want them to be happy, but it's a situation that is so incredibly out of your control that it's a little ridiculous. On top of that, how the fuck can you help someone else when you are having a hard time helping yourself?

We finished the phone call after about an hour and I hung up the phone and just kind of stared at the wall for a while hoping that my Saturn would somehow rise before everything became too much. I think that's astrological or at least lifted from Tool lyrics. I wanted really bad to talk to someone about it and realized that I had no one. It was as alone as I have felt in a long time. I texted the oldest friend that I have and he stepped up and called me to talk about it, which was very nice. The coolest thing through the whole situation is that my kill switch engaged. No bar. No booze. No running from the problem at hand. It was just a mental list of bulletpoints of the reasons that were causing me to think that a drink might make things better. It doesn't. Then, going beyond the bulletpoints and realizing the real reasons and fears that were buried underneath them.

At this point, however, I just want to let it all go. I never want to go home again. No Thanksgiving. No birthdays. No Christmas. No anything. I don't want to go there anymore. I want to withdraw into my own deal and just not deal with chasing the ideals that are absolutely impossible for me to attain. Nothing is "normal" and there are others that have it much worse than I. That doesn't make it better, but it rains on my pity parade. The world waits for no one and I've already been sandbagging for long enough now.

Had to get that off my chest. I apologize completely and everything is what it is. That's all it can ever be. May have to browse some therapists today. It all just feels very overwhelming. That's a big deal. I hate therapy. Duh!