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This is where I will put up various bits and pieces of myself for display for anyone brave enough to look. I will try to keep it all in one thread, for the sake of neatness and tidyness. I will not stop anyone from replying, but I think of this thread as mainly my playground, or battlefield as it may be...
I may seem sociable enough. I have written more posts on this board than I expected in the short while since I joined. I have even enjoyed it.
However, I feel like a total sham. I cannot, dare not reveal the full extent of my anguish for fear of turning everyone away from me; there is so much of it and even myself am slowly suffocating, how horrible would it not be for someone else to witness?
Everyone has their own troubles to contend with, how can I expect anyone to be willing, wanting to listen to mine? I cannot. So I will hide it all here.
This is the dark place that is me, it is where I exist. All hope abandon, ye who enter here, and all that. (Cue Ominous Organ Music)
My 'thorny pieces' that I write, I do not change them or edit them after they have been signed and dated. They bubble up to the surface much the way they want to, their shape and form depending on my current mood. They may be open for interpretation in several different ways. Readers beware.
This is the first one I wrote:
Grey:
I walk in a world of darkness, it is desolate and dreary. Other people, like shadows in the night, pass me by as I pass them. I am lost in a milling throng of strangers and nobody knows who I am.
Here and there a highlight, a flash of beauty like the sun's rays breaking through heavy clouded skies, glittering in a puddle after a rainstorm. I want to touch...
...But I can't. It is not allowed.
My heart is bleeding, my soul on fire. But not for long, I think. Each beat slower now than the one before, the flames, faltering...
I do not wish to remain here in this place, I am lonely and frightened. But here I am.
-Lenny,
Jan. 30, 2002, 5:19 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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I dont think you need to bash yourself up Lenny. I know you feel bad inside and that you think you will always be but ,I did when I was 13 too and it has taken me 5 years to see better.
Tim, my on-line Dad is cool and has helped me heaps. I wont set myself up as an expert but, there are always happier times. I tried to kill myself because I was abused and thought it was the way out but it wasnt. All it did was hurt those that loved me and I could never do that again.
Please dont give into the nothingness ok?? Go and watch a "never ending story" and you wil lsee what I mean. I am not going to give you some psychoanalytic bullshit about the ID or any other crap I was forced to listen to. Just take each day as a segement and retain them all until you feel that you can make a sun out of them and then, place them all in and set it above you so you ALWAYS have it near you.
Remember please, you are unique and matter ok?? so dont piss me off and do anything stoopid or stop being YOU. 
*said with lots of prejudice*  ) hehe
People have a habit of changing your direction through life
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Why am I doing this?
I can tell you this, to begin with:
It is not to find peace, love and understanding. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude to you, I appreciate this board, its purpose, and honor it as best I can. I am simply unable to come to terms with myself anymore. Maybe ten years ago I could have, I don't know (my life was seriously screwed up even then).
No, why I do this is because when I do shuffle off this mortal coil, I fear there will be NOTHING there that ever showed to the rest of the world that I ever existed.
I have so few friends that will remember me, and several of those I once had, I have lost along the way these last few years. They moved out of town and stopped keeping in touch.
Each day passes without me accomplishing anything, each second ticking off into a big, black nothing of a sink drain that is as deep as the universe.
Nothing comes back out of there, for all the time of my life that I give up; I get nothing in return, and there is only less and less of me to give. All I feel is hopelessness and despair.
So, to answer my own question in the topic, this is my little fire on the empty beach of the deserted island, showing there's a guy stranded there, desperately wishing to be rescued. But no ships pass near enough to see it.
Lethargy:
There is a huge weight on my back. It is pressing me down. I can hardly move at all, it is so heavy...
Whenever I think of something I want, or should do, I cannot move. The weight is pressing me down, suffocating me.
What have I done, all those years I spent in this world? Not much. Almost nothing, in fact. And now I cannot do anything at all, it requires more strength than I possess. As I hunger for mental stimulation and other things, affection... ...I feel the weight, and the weight is winning. I sit here and do nothing, thinking of all the precious moments of time I let go to waste.
I do nothing.
It is a terrible thing, this weight. I want to cast it off, but I don't know how.
-Lenny,
Feb. 1, 00.00 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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trevor
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Really getting into it |
Registered: November 2002
Messages: 732
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As you write, sharing those thorny peices with us, you are making an impact, we're starting to become your friends, we're sharing your fire on the beach, praying for you or keeping you in our thoughts. Someday you'll step back from the fire and bump into one of us and realize you're not alone. Keep on writing - more of us can relate than you realize, many read without replying.
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...and I can't say I'm happy.
Sorry, I noticed the congratulatory thread and YES, I appreciate the gesture and all, but that does not change the fact this is not a happy day for me. It marks the end of an era that completely passed me by, unnoticed.
I haven't really enjoyed my birthday for...well, I don't really remember. A long time. Less as time go by, I have to say.
When I turned 28, I was blessed to hear my drunken 'mother' shouting that *I* had ruined *her* life, and all sorts of other stuff. I probably don't have to say it was not pleasant to hear it. Since then, this day has lost even more of its charm. It is a constant reminder how worthless and unwanted I am.
I have been hearing it all my life, so don't tell me it's not true! I HAVE MADE IT SO.
Like I said to Tim in my first email to him... I feel like crying, but I choose not to. I know it does not help.
It only makes things WORSE.
Relations:
Born on Valentine's Day, the day of hearts and sweethearts, never to love.
- A cruel hand dealt by fate.
A mother I never knew. My father, a homeless man I was told. Abandoned, at age two given away to strangers.
- Indeed, a cruel hand.
Never caring much for my lost heritage as young, now it is all I can think of.
- Ignorance is bliss, I thought.
Cared for by those set to care for me, but never in the right way. Every day, constant fear.
- The lion in the picture over my bed made me scream. The lion went away, but the screams are there still, silent.
They wanted a child with which to save their marriage.
- They ended up ruining both.
A cruel hand dealt by fate.
- Indeed, a cruel hand.
-Lenny,
Feb. 10, 11.52 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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This is more of my assortment of musings, ramblings and I don't know what. There is a common theme in there, but it came more as a mistake than anything else. I had intended this post to be a bit like a bitter bag of Bassett's All-sorts, but I ended up with just one type of candy...
Please, do not read any further unless you are ready and willing to look at my dark thoughts. It is not a rosy picture I am painting here.
What do we want with our lives? Money, power, fame, happyness?
I always used to think, if I had money, then everything else would come more or less by itself. If I had power, everything else would come more or less by itself. If I had fame, everything else would come more or less by itself.
I don't have any of those things.
But I now know that all I really want is happyness, and I don't care if everything else comes or not. All I want is happyness.
I don't have it.
When this "startling revelation" made itself known to me I'm not sure. I suppose I've always known it in some way or another, except I never valued happyness over all those other things in the past. At least not consciously. It was a product, perhaps even a by-product, of those other things I thought, not the other way around. Probably because I've never really, truly felt it. Happyness...
That's fairly typical of me. I fall in love with THINGS instead. I see some cool gadget, and I just KNOW I must HAVE IT. Having it will enrichen my life, I reason. Having it will color in the gray of my existence. It won't love me back for all the attention I lavish upon it, but it will at least serve me, until I fall into a blackness of a rage and smash it to pieces.
Even now, I'm waiting for two new gadgets for my computer. I'll never change, I think, this is all I will ever have. Things. Dead THINGS that will never love me.
Better with things than nothing at all? I don't know... They become a burden too, I want things that I cannot afford and it burdens me. I constantly think, "if I had THAT thing, I would be happier!" I cannot afford it, and my thoughts gnaw at me.
It is true, new things gives me pleasure for a short while. Carrying home my new shiny toy gives me pleasure. Unpacking it, holding it in my hands, feeling its solid weight, connecting it up and admiring it gives me pleasure.
For a short while.
Then everything returns to normal again, that same old normal dullness. That nothing which fills every single god-damned day of my life. I might THINK the next day will be different, HOPE it will be better somehow. It never is.
Some days aren't as bad as the one before it, but none are better.
What awoke me from my slumber and made me light this little fire of mine was that accursed music video that Tim has linked on his stories page. I watched it, I was astounded, I was heartbroken. It has ruined me even as it gave me life.
I cannot go back to sleep now. I now know of that thing which exists, that thing which no matter how much I yearn for it, will never be within my reach.
That thing, called love.
Rage:
I feel so much anger within me. I feel so much hatred. Hatred for all the things I do not have.
Friendship. Closeness. Intimacy. Love...
I curse the rest of the world, damning myself. I can do nothing but hate it.
I want to have that which I do not, fearing what would happen if I did. I feel so much anger... How could I ever come to terms with it?
This dark voyage, will it ever end? Is there light at the other side of the tunnel? No, I don't think so. Not for me there isn't.
I boil silently, within myself, hating what I have become.
-Lenny,
Jan. 31, 1.24 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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I stand alone in my darkest hour. I again ask you not to read unless you are ready to witness a part of what I feel every day. I am still holding back. Reader discretion strongly advised.
"Cogito, ergo sum", Descartes said, perhaps in a flash of enlightenment. I know only all too well how true it is.
How often have I not wished otherwise.
There is nothing worse than crying alone, with no-one there to comfort you. That is why I hate doing it. But I have cried tonight, out of sheer loneliness and desperation. And I hated it even as I did it, but I could not help myself.
It is a vicious, self-feeding circle; misery piling upon misery unchecked. No help. No relief. No nothing. My eyes are still stinging, my nose clogged up. I am so very lonely.
So here I am again, writing more in this thread of mine, not even 24 hours after my last post. What else is there for me? I am very much in love with the English language. It is so rich, it can portray both such total vileness and the most amazing beauty imaginable. Thus, I write...
There are some religious types here I've noticed. I don't know what it is you see in it. I've never found any refuge in such thoughts, quite the opposite. I cannot accept the idea that some mysterious being, a god, or even gods, is using us humans as their playthings. We are living, breathing people, dammit! We hurt, we suffer, and there is no help coming from above.
No help at all.
I will not put my life into the hands of an IDEA, a concept that I do not really own myself. That I am a slave unto this being, made to serve it, to worship it, and to love it with all my heart.
That I should be thankful for being alive.
That I should offer up my gratitude - daily even - in prayer, and ask forgiveness for wronging arbitrary rules set down a long time ago in some musty old book. To accept punishment like a disobedient child, even though I am an adult.
Is it because of this refusal of mine that I am being punished in this manner? I have tried to get an answer, but there is nothing out there. Nothing at all. I don't even get the sense I am being ignored; there is simply NOTHING OUT THERE!
And I am not thankful.
There has not been anything out there even when I was a child, and too young to really have had any, eh, rebellious thoughts such as those above. So why pin my hopes to a religion which obviously is giving me nothing?
Well actually, I do not. I do not have any hope left.
My will to live has all but gone now. The only reason I am still breathing is I am too much of a coward doing anything about it. "What if this is all there is?", I think. No reincarnation, no heaven, no hell? What if, by some stroke of luck, I was to find refuge in the loving arms of another human being tomorrow, or the day after?
Pointless wishes, but they keep me here all the same. Shackled, in this prison of flesh and blood of mine.
Even worse, what if there IS a hell? That scares me even more even though I have rejected the idea on an intellectual level. Those scaremongering priest bastards have gotten to me.
But what could possibly be worse than this, I am already there. This is my living hell. I must be dead and don't even know it.
I wonder, what did I ever do to deserve this?
It was a quarter to two when I started writing. Now it is much later - or earlier if you will - and I feel tired. Not the kind of tiredness that gives easy dreams. It is a weary tiredness, I feel spent and worn-out. Opening up myself like this is difficult, and ultimately unsatisfying. I keep telling myself why I do it, but it is not helping.
Tired:
I want to sleep, sleep forever.
My dreams wonderful, my waking hours a constant nightmare. I have lost all strength, all willpower. What little left, I feel it trickling away like my life's blood from a wound that will never heal.
Fed up with pretending all is well, fed up pretending all is even almost OK. Those that did what they did to me, how do they feel now? Are they even aware what they've done? I think not.
They care as little now as they did when they committed their crimes.
When I sleep, I am strong. Mentally... Physically... ...Sexually. When I sleep.
I want to sleep.
-Lenny,
Jan. 31, 11.49 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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I have spent part of the day walking around in the city. My thoughts have been wandering around as aimlessly as my legs. I have been thinking about my situation, what the fuck I should do with my life, such as it is. I find no answers. I talked to my adoptive father just now over the phone, he says he thinks about me. He is a kind man, he doesn't show his emotions much, but he is kind. Kind in the wrong way however, he shows too much kindness to the woman he's been married to for fairly close to forty years now, almost all of those, UNhappily married. I told him I was angry at him for not divorcing her, for letting her wreck my childhood. He kind of laughed tiredly, saying it was too late to do anything about that now. Well, I guess he's right.
I walked around in the city, feeling empty and burned-out. I revealed too much of myself last night I think, but it is too late to change that as well now. I'm not sure I even want to in a way.
I thought, that I don't even know where to pick up a gay porn mag anymore in this city, to have some pretty flesh to fasten my eyes on for a couple of hours; everything is so politically correct these days. Not that I do these sorts of things, I can't afford paying $15 for an imported magazine. However, now society seems to have decided we can't have porn, because it's degrading to women. Or at least, a loud-mouthed (small) part of society has... Well, in a way, I agree. Porn often IS degrading to women, if it has women in it.
Yes, I know women in porn rags sold in this country at least are consenting to have their pictures taken while naked and engaged in various sexual activities. Except, it still makes them look...well...cheap, I think. Like cattle, racked up for display to the public. Like they have no mind of their own, just a body. In a word, cheap, and it doesn't turn me on.
It is different with gals for me than with guys, a naked woman needs to be displayed in a much more sensual way than in ye average porn rag, or it becomes cheap and demeaning like I said. A male body is somehow more, eh, robust, I think. Not that sensuality doesn't have a place there too - it absolutely does - but there is much more leeway between an erotic, exciting image and a distasteful one. Am I making any sense here whatsoever? I'm just babbling, please forgive me.
Oh, and by the way... My mobile phone fucking crapped out on me
today. Something's rattling around in there and shorted out the electronics; probably the buzzer motor. Goddammit, things like this always happens to me.
As I walked around, pondering such issues (which, on a cosmic scale, are of rather limited importance), I concluded that since I write these posts in an attempt for people to get to know me a little, there are things you need to know for that to happen.
We could easily pass on the street without either of us realizing it. I'm a nondescript person, neither good-looking nor ugly in my own opinion. In an act of rebellion (against my adoptive mother of course, sigh), I have let my hair grow so it reaches just past my shoulders. That's how far it'll go, I haven't cut it for over two years now, maybe even three, and it's not getting any longer. It's brown, and a little wavy. I have a goatee-ish beard on my chin, or else I look a bit baby-faced. It suits me fairly well, I think.
My eyes are sorta green in color, fading over to brown at the center.
But to really know me, you have to know my name. I've told Tim this already, and now I tell you.
My name is Lenny. It isn't the name I've been given, but it IS my name, not a pseudonym or an internet handle.
Now you know.
-Lenny
(No thorny piece in this post. They will return some other time.)
"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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The dark place that is me 
Re: The dark place that is me 
