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The standard disclaimer is still in effect; ie, do not read this thread unless you really want to. Things I say in here may upset you emotionally or otherwise.
Original thread may be found here (hope the linkage works): http://forum.iomfats.org/w-agora/view.php?site=forumiomfatsorg&bn=forumiomfatsorg_placeofsafety&key=1013422797 in case you have a strange, morbid desire for more of the same... 
I feel panicky for no reason. Nervous, upset. I don't know why. Maybe because I sent something off to someone last night. What if he doesn't like it? My work means so much to me, but I don't know if it is any good...
I awoke at least two times in the night with my bowels tied up in a painful knot. I thought I was going to become ill, but that doesn't seem to be the case. I'm just...restless, panicky.
Sleep has been fitful. I went to bed at one in the morning, awakened just before six. These few hours that has passed since then have been unusually slow and boring. I feel like I'm suffocating and I take deep breaths to counter the horrible feeling. It is as if the air is thin and lacking oxygen. I am drawing SOMETHING into my lungs, but it is giving little relief.
My Gladiator soundtrack CD has arrived, but I haven't picked it up yet. Still waiting for Unbreakable; that'll probably be another week or so of waiting since it's an US import item. Oh well, I am used to that, I've been waiting for something most my life it seems...
Never have I recieved that which I truly desire, though.
Sitting here, typing, I still feel like a restless spirit, not knowing where to go, what to do. I have several errands to run today, official business you might say. But I feel the claws of apathy dig into me even though my agenda for today is all set. I both do, and do not want to get up out of this chair, take a shower, eat breakfast, make a phone call, and then take the bus down to the city center to do my errands.
I had a wonderful dream just before I awoke. I was out walking on a dirt path with some friends in a strange, wooded landscape. I knew the way, I knew where I was going. Can't quite remember where, I think I was on my way home. I live in a city, not out in the country, but such is the stuff of dreams... Even though I felt I knew the way, the imagery was all strange to me at the same time. The ground was raw, brown earth, the landscape wintery but lacking snow. It did not look alive, nor dead either.
The road went up and down, through the woods. We got tired in the dream and stopped to rest at the top of a little slope just beyond a field, even though I did not feel tired. Suddenly, I was not there anymore.
I was at a swimming arena, naked. It was the most bizarre place you could imagine, hexagonal tunnels of white-glazed tiles filled with water connected the washroom to the sauna, and to the arena itself. I found myself in the main pool not knowing how I'd ended up there, still naked and surrounded by young kids. They were clinging on to me, shouting like kids do while playing in water. I swam through a tunnel, holding one of them in my arms. I did not feel the need to surface for air.
I awoke, almost feeling more tired than when I went to sleep, and found my left hand had gone numb. Probably that was what woke me up.
My mind is as empty and desolate as the landscape in that dream. I have soon spent forty-five minutes writing this. I think I'll stop now. I have to make that phonecall soon, or it will be too late.
Illumination:
There are so many of us here. Thousands, single points of light, all alone. Not like stars in the sky, proudly shining magnificiently in their splendid loneliness; uncaring, simply existing throughout eternity. No, we are more like candles I think, candles in the night.
Were we together, we would not fear fading, failing. But we are not. We are one with ourselves, and nobody else, and the wind is strong, so strong. Flickering candles under a bare sky, that is all we are. Our existence short and precarious, so much that should be done, so little time to do it in. So many of us, we want to not be alone. But we are too afraid.
I wish I was more than one, I wish there was another. But there is not. Only suffering.
I am a candle under a bare sky. I wonder, when will the wind take me?
-Lenny,
Jan. 30, 10:30 P.M.
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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Steve
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Really getting into it |
Location: London, England
Registered: November 2006
Messages: 465
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you are obviously suffering. I very much want to help. Honest I do. But I can't help you over this message board. If you would like to start up a dialogue with me, send me an e-mail - or any other person on this message board that you feel you can trust.
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Thanks for your kind offer, friend. I just might take you up on it some day in the near future...
And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming: lonely guy writing in the night, part umpteenth.
I sit here in my underwear, freezing. Just minutes ago, I was in bed, trying to go to sleep. I've been swearing at my computer for the last one and a half hours (goddamn WinGate that was supposed to let me share my internet connection across both systems but only managed to fuck up my LAN), and I got up way too early in the morning yesterday so I really SHOULD be tired. But I'm not. I want to write!
So I write, hoping, dreading, that someone, somewhere is reading my words, remembering them.
I read "Doug" by The Composer a couple days ago. I immediately wished I hadn't even looked at it once I had reached a certain point in it, but I was spellbound. It was such a fascinating story, and such an awful one at the same time. I kinda suspected the way it would end even early on, but once it hit me, I felt really bad. It is such a sad story, and I wish I hadn't read it. Even now, days afterwards, I am still very strongly affected by it...
I sit here in my underwear, shivering, listening to the magic vibrations of Lisa Gerard's powerful voice, thinking of poor Doug. I highly recommend this story to every one of you out there, unless you are in a melancholic mood like me...
If you are, DON'T read it. Wait until a better, brighter day.
THEN read it.
Even if it means waiting forever...
Fuck, it is cold sitting here like this, but I still want to. Maybe I can burn off this strange energy I feel bubbling inside me by writing this. I hope so, because I will not be able to sleep for quite a while yet unless I do.
I should tell more about myself now, but I can't find any good place to start, so it will have to wait. I am too unfocused right now to analyze myself...
But here's something new: a "thorny piece" composed in realtime (a real challenge for me!). Previously, I've always posted pieces I'd prepared in advance a bit like a TV chef... This one is different:
Kin:
- The air is cold, my thoughts in endless flight,
they fly across the freezing february night.
Springtime slowly approaching outside my window, inside, it is still deep december.
- I scour the world for someplace warm, a haven for my mind,
where to look, where to find?
Icicles cover my frozen soul, sharp and jagged. They tear at the edges of my sanity.
- Who is my older brother, that man I know to be,
do you ever wonder about me?
-Lenny,
Feb. 20, 2.40 A.M.
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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tim
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Really getting into it |
Location: UK, West of London in Ber...
Registered: February 2002
Messages: 842
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No Message Body
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Irreverent Writings presents: a Zustara Orur production, of a Lenny Valentin story.
An epic stretching from Zero to Infinity.
Soon screening on a website near you.
Thank you, Tim. For everything.
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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tim
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Really getting into it |
Location: UK, West of London in Ber...
Registered: February 2002
Messages: 842
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Now go read the story, coz I just posted it in all it's glory. AND I sent an email to 708 people to tell them so.
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It was worth it.
All the effort I spent.
All of my worries.
All of it.
I logged in on my hotmail account, saw four emails waiting for me. My heart leaped up in my throat, and to calm myself I told myself it was probably just spam (I had mistakenly used that email account to register for a beta software download and recieved crap from "associates" of them even though all the "special offer" boxes were UNchecked).
It was four positive feedback emails for my story.
Yes, I am very happy right now.
And it is all thanks to you, Tim. Without you, I would not have written the story to begin with, and without you hosting it, I would not have recieved those mails either. Please accept my most gracious thanks, and a hug in return for all of those you've given me!
Your friend,
-Lenny
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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tim
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Really getting into it |
Location: UK, West of London in Ber...
Registered: February 2002
Messages: 842
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You wrote it because something inside you is capable of great happiness, though your hopes have somehow been horribly interfered with along the way.
You showed how even almost the worst disaster is able to be "processed" and lived through.
And you wrote a great story.
Thank yourself, too
{{{{{{{{{{{{{Lenny}}}}}}}}}}}}}} (which is probably lop-sided, but then I am lop-sided when I hug)
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This is what I feel. You might not want to read this, because it is real. It is not made-up, or "maked-up". So you might not want to read it.
Things have changed for me.
I have recieved some nice emails for my story, not a whole lot, but still enough to show that at least some people read it, and appreciated it. Should I submit my work to Nifty? I'm not sure, I feel like this is the home of my work, I wouldn't want to betray it. On the other hand, more people could see it, read it. I just don't know.
Anyway, this (albeit small) success has spurred me on, and I am about 60-75% finished with my second effort. The ending is fully mapped-out in my head, and it is magnificient (in my own biased opinion). After that, I don't know if, or when, I'll write anything more. I'm all out of fresh ideas. (But that was true just after I finished the first one too, so who knows what will happen?)
I have taken up (almost) daily bicycle exercising. It suits me perfectly, I get tired, but not TOO tired. Afterwards, I feel spent, but not burned-out. I have had my gym card for over a year, but only used it regularly for about a week since last february. I don't know how long this mental discipline I'm feeling will last though. Hopefully, a long time. The most straining part of my exercising is actually the bus ride to, and back from the gym (its a fairly long way), and then washing up my clothes in the sink afterwards. The biking is kind of relaxing in a way, I can disappear from the real world and only concentrate on breathing, keeping my legs moving. I have gotten most ideas for my two stories either at, or while going to or from the gym, so I guess the change of scenery is doing me some good from a creative standpoint.
I eat less these days. Not only is it cheaper (which is important for a person with a limited income such as myself), it is healthier too. I am back at the second hole on my belt instead of the third, but still weigh too much - 96 kilos. I hope I can make it down to 85 or so if I gain some muscle at the same time. Last time I weighed that little was maybe seven years ago.
And still, despite all this everything stays EXACTLY the same.
I'm still as lonely as ever. I have no person to talk to, to confide in, to hold, and to love.
I am standing in line for psychiatric counselling. I have waited for over four months now, and I can expect to wait another six at least until I get to see someone. But that isn't what I REALLY need. Just talking won't fix my situation.
I still feel like I am standing at the precipice of an infinitely deep abyss, with nothing but darkness all around me. I stumble along the edge, fumbling, not knowing if my next step will end up on firm ground, or in the void.
Noose:
Twelve years ago he was eighteen. A young man, full of hopes and dreams for the future. Full of confidence, of ideas and energy.
...No. That's not true.
Twelve years ago, he was eighteen. A young man, suffocating. Breaking down inside from the emotional impacts recieved at home and in school. It had been going on for a long time, all his life almost.
He did not know what do do with his life. He was convinced he was no good at anything. He failed at everything he tried his hand at, each failure re-inforcing his beliefs.
Each failure making the next even more likely. He felt it tightening around his neck. More and more as the years passed. Failure piled upon failure.
Nothing changed. Ever.
-Lenny, Feb. 25, 11:45 A.M.
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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Warning. Angry and bitter thoughts within. I might accidentally hurt your feelings if you read this. Please, do not.
I hide stuff inside myself. I hide stuff here. I hide wherever I go, conceal, cover up, pretend. It makes me feel fake, invalid, fraudulent. I must hide in this thread because otherwise I'd pollute this whole board with my misery. I must hide everywhere else because otherwise I'd be unbearable and nobody would want to have me around.
Dammit. Why does life have to be so god-damn difficult all the time?
More things in my life now, I got a new mobile phone from my adoptive father. It glows blue really prettily when one presses a button, which attracts me immensely on a shallow level. I mean, what else is there for me?
It's not as if have a cutie to fancy like Dan, or a great on-line dad like Ashley. Yes, I'm jealous, dammit. Jealous and envious, and it makes me feel like I'm an old, grudging fucking bastard.
Why can't I simply wish people all the best, even though I myself have nothing? I know the answer to that question, and it does not make me proud.
I can't even write anymore. I have this great story - or so I think at least - pressing at the inside of my skull begging to be released, but I CAN'T DO IT. And I don't know why. What little I do manage to write, I'm not sure if it's coming out the way it should, if it is worth keeping.
All I have now is a burning desire to lose weight, make myself physically attractive. Or at least not make me feel ashamed of myself whenever I'm naked where others can see me. It is such a hollow desire I know.
Hollow, because I could offer anyone else nothing in return in a relationship. I've been on sick leave for months now, and will be for many more I think. Otherwise, I'm permanently unemployed. Anyone else would have a job, or studies, a social life with friends. I would be left alone for hours every day, and every hour would gnaw at me. Making me jealous and worried at what my partner was doing right then, and with whom. It would never work because nobody can be expected to abandon everything else just to constantly be with me.
But my shattered self-esteem could not accept anything less. Never, never never never anything less than absolute devotion!
And nobody can offer that.
I'm sorry it has to be this way...
-Lenny
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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tim
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Really getting into it |
Location: UK, West of London in Ber...
Registered: February 2002
Messages: 842
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Why does it have to be this way? Who sets the rules here?
Now, my turn for parts of a message that the reader may not like totally. Not in any hurtful way, just saying whatI see, and doing it with total respect, and I am going to put it in the third person to make it less "personal"
I see a person assuming he is a victim. Now he may be a victim. So far he has told us that he is a victim of neglect of love. He may be the victim of other things too. And he seems to feel guilt for being a victim.
The pieces here. Are they cathartic? Do they give releazse? or do they extend and increase the unhappiness? Only he can tell us. By doing so he will also tell himself.
There si a lot more that can happen here. All good.
And the Writer's Block? That will pass
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You know what the scariest thing is?
To not know your place in this world... To not know why you're here.
That's... That's just an awful feeling.
No, the words were not phrased by me, they come from M. Night Shyamalan's strange mind, spoken with such passion by Samuel L. Jackson. However, the quote reflects my sentiments exactly. Unfortunately, I do not share Mr. Glass' realization, I still do not know why I'm here.
Most of the time, my waking hours reminds me of one long, drawn-out torture session. Wherever I look, I get reminded of all the things I want that I do not have (not speaking of material objects this time), and it is the WORST kind of pain that can be inflicted. I suffered from a bacterial infection in my nervous system once, it was constant physical pain and nearly paralyzed my legs, but it was not as bad as this.
I can hide from my longings at times by watching a movie for example or even imagine I am someone else. I see someone on the bus, I start thinking of who that person is, or who those friends he or she is speaking with are. I try to become that person, and sometimes it feels like I'm succeeding. Like I'm slipping in under that person's skin, but then I always hit an invisible barrier that blocks me, and rubber bands fastened to my body snaps me back inside myself again. The moment passes like it never even existed, and I feel stupid for sitting there, daydreaming of things I can never have or understand.
I may be walking around in a neighborhood somewhere, I see an interesting house. I peek through their windows (even though it's taboo), wondering who lives there. I look at the things they have collected inside, and I know.
It's all fake of course, just something I made up on the spot, but it is a diversion all the same. Problem with diversions is that the real world always seem just that bit closer afterwards. Just like you drive a car and your cellphone rings. You reach for it to answer, and while you do that the car in front of you steps on the breaks... That's how I feel.
My hiding only works for short moments.
I read a congratulatory email on my story for example, I feel pleased with myself for a little while. Then that nagging doubt returns, sometimes with a vengeance. It never really stops, it never lets up. I just forget about it for some few, short precious moments. There is not a day that goes past without me doubting myself for any number of reasons, and it really, really hurts inside.
I cannot stop it, I cannot help it. That is just the way I am these days. If I could change, I would have, a long, long time ago. If I could just stop feeling bad about myself, I would have done that too.
I have probably been suffering from a depression since my early school years, most of that time not knowing it except that something was WRONG with me. It has become chronic over the years, a ball in chain locked to both my feet, and the key is forever lost.
I have said this before, I do not really write these posts to find consolation (because there is none to find that I can see, none that last any period of time anyway), I do it because I want to put my mark on the world before I leave it, even if it is a small and insignificant mark at that. You raise an interesting point when you ask if my posts help me or not. I would have to say, both. Writing about my inner self that I keep hidden so much is relieving in a way. But it also reminds me of all the pain I feel, so it is both good and bad at the same time.
I still do not know why I'm here, and the way it looks, I will never find out. Yes, I know it sounds really fucking depressing, but I really don't see any purpose for me here on this earth. I just continue to plod along out of old habit, there is no reward for me doing so, no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, or even just a tiny, pretty flower.
Okay, this post is long enough now, time to go to bed...
-Lenny
"But he that hath the steerage of my course,
direct my sail."
-William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act One, Scene IV
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tim
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Really getting into it |
Location: UK, West of London in Ber...
Registered: February 2002
Messages: 842
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I am beginning to find this out, and I am reinfirced by converstaions with people like Ashley.
The simplicity is to seek to take control of a small portiuon, to learn to control it and to use the lessons learned to learn to control a bigger portion.
OK, that sounds easy. It isn't. When I have the time I am going to put an example here of how we can control ourselves and out body's chemcial composition (to an extent) in order to manipulate and control our own mood.
With luck that wil be later today, but I might not manage it
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The dark place that is me (2) 
It is finally done... 
Silly but very happy right now... 
Tim, if only it was that easy... 
