New York
Help Me.
I’m Lost and
I don’t know where
my friends are.
3:04am 12.29.03 NYC
(my) Best friends can become strangers. These are the nights that make me want to give up drinking. Again.
Sobering up while my friends were still heading towards a drunken high was fun. A low tolerance isn’t a curse, so much as a mandate to accept that nights out will be different. But it becomes a curse when he starts giving me shit for not drinking enough. Because the whole point is drinking. Apparently.
You need to increase your tolerance, because on New Year’s, you need to drink more.
More? Why? I’ll be fine.
You need to be able to go for eight hours.
I’ll be fine.
No, you’ll be bitter. Every year you’re bitter. People expect you to be bitter. And getting drunk early and then not drinking for the rest of the night is going to cause that.
Because clearly the whole point of the night is drinking. Let’s all get sloshed and have a great time.
I was having a good time until you started giving me shit for this.
I’m trying. I’m TRYING. I’M. TRYING.
BUT FUCK! It’s shit like this that makes me regret coming here. And drinking. And caring. And feeling. FUCK.
I hate you. Because you tell the truth. But I’m trying, and you don’t acknowledge that. I’m trying to have fun. And that’s all I can do. I don’t know how to do anything but try. My hardest. But it’s never enough for you.
Sometimes I think you took the place that my parents should have so long ago. For as long as I can remember I’ve tried to live up to what seem to be your expectations of me. The academics, and reading, and social life, and papers, and everything. Everything. It’s never good enough for you. Me.
And I regret coming here. Because coming here brings me face to face with you and your immediacy of the fact that my trying hasn’t paid off. I’m not drinking enough. Or doing the drugs. Or having fun. Or not being bitter. Or having a girl. Or growing. Or getting on with my fucking life.
You make me want to die. Being around you is often the lonliest times of my life. And often the best times of my life. But the lonliest times stick in my memory. If only to show me that this relationship is anything but perfect.
We’re all fucked up in our own little ways. every. one. of. us.
So when I came back from the bathroom and you and he had bought drugs from some guy on the street, it didn’t surprise me. When you made plans to leave the bar and sober up and do the drugs, it didn’t surprise me. To leave me alone here while you watch the sunrise in Central Park on drugs because I don’t know anyone else in this city. It. Didn’t. Surprise. Me. Only then did you ask if I wanted to join in. Me? No. Because you’ve already made plans.
Didn’t I just tell you that the worst moments of my life are being with people but feeling excluded? Yeah, that. It’s happening right now. Of course I don’t want to partake, because this is routine for you. And sacred for me.
So I stand in the subway station atop the wooden benches. Way up on the backrests, and shoegaze, letting my vision blur and my body sway until the floor rolls underneath the bench and I fall off.
The rubicks cube looks lonely tonight. You don’t notice, but I do.
I bite my nails to remind me of a time when I felt something other than this lonliness. Even the pain is better than the lonliness. Anything but this. Anything.
I’m trying.
I’m trying.
But it’s not working.
And it never has.
Comments
… and a Happy New Year!
(The sarcastic asshole in me couldn’t resist.)
Greg, drop me a line about your travels out this way, when you’re coming around and whatnot. I’m still itching to give you your Christmas present, but after this little entry even more so.
And tautologies are such a pain… “Sounds like fun but it’s not really unless it is.”
Posted by: Benjamin on December 30th, 2003 10:40 PM“And goddamnit, if what you’re trying isn’t working, fucking try something else.”
becomes
“Something arbitrary and whimsical. Drinking v. Sobriety. Meat v. vegetables. Mohawk v. Not. Why?”
Do you understand? I’m aware of not having a direction. But I’m trying to find one. And these are the most superficial signs of that. Because nothing I’ve tried seems right yet. It may seem whimsical, but it feels like anything but. It feels like a freight train tearing into a good evening.
but
thank
you
Perhaps I don’t recognize the trying because it doesn’t seem like trying. Perhaps it’s because it seems like a change of mood, of taste. Something arbitrary and whimsical. Drinking v. Sobriety. Meat v. vegetables. Mohawk v. Not. Why?
Trying seems to contain an aim. A goal and a vision of where you are headed. Are you really headed anywhere, or are you just following the herd? Even if that herd is just one person.
To be honest, I dreaded the fact that y’all would be coming out here. Sounds like fun but it’s not really unless it is. Which really only means that I think we’ve all gone so far apart that none of the other stuff makes sense anymore. I only really want the superficial anymore because that’s all that really works at times with you people. Or not.
I’m not sorry for what I said or did. And I knew what I was doing. Is that cruel? In a sense.
“Didn’t I just tell you that the worst moments of my life are being with people but feeling excluded? Yeah, that. It’s happening right now.”
That’s the feeling of your own weakness. Is it horrible? Of course it is. Should it be? Yes. I think for the most part, people and “friends” avoid the problems. They create safe spaces for faults and flaws. Fuck that. Fuck that to hell. Any friend that lets you entertain your weaknesses is not a friend. Well, that’s not entirely true of course. Everyone wants some of those people whose shoulder you can cry on. I’m not that person though. I’m the person, maybe the only one, who is going to shove it back at you and make you feel like shit. Because you should. Because, like you said, it’s the truth. That you acknowledge that at least is something important, it’s an acknowledgment that can only come when a friend shoves it in your face. Yah, you can blame me, but you know it’s true at the same time and it’s that second part that a friend brings to the table. If you really hated me, or if I were an enemy, you could just lay it all on me. Avoid responsibility. And responsibility is just the thing I bring to the table.
Look at our friends. What are they making of their lives? Beats the shit out of me. I don’t like that. It bothers me. I’d rather see someone driving for something I disagree with that watch my friends atrophy.
I realized a long time ago, at least subconsciously, that I couldn’t be everything. So instead, I decided to be one thing and be very good at it. I am a walking, talking, “Goddamnit motherfucker you can and should do better than this, you fucking owe it to yourself and to the rest of us to use that fucking potential that we all are watching you waste.” Don’t do drugs? What’s going on back in LA, and fucking everywhere, is far worse than some junky too strung-out to notice. It’s people to weak to take control and make decisions. Fuck everything else. Stake your claim. I don’t give a shit what it is as long as it’s original and you beleive in it. Don’t turn your life into a chicken sandwhich or fried potatoes. And goddamnit, if what you’re trying isn’t working, fucking try something else.
You want me to let up a little? Give you some slack? Well shit, maybe I would or could if you were surrounded by people with the right message. But fuck, it’s four hundred people pulling you one way and just me pulling you the other. Or at least, that’s how it feels for me. I’ve got to keep pulling in this direction, there’s no other choice. The stakes are just too high.
I’m just sick of what I see and I can’t allow it anymore. I can’t allow people being late. I can’t give them an out anymore. I’m not going to catch you if you stumble and fall. In fact, I’m going to push you down myself, over and over and over again until you can withstand anything. Because yah, this relationship is fucked up. But hey, guess what? Everything is fucked up, now are you going to cry about it, or do something about it? Because those are the only choices you have. And are you prepared for what that takes? Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and do it. As trite as ending this with a Star Wars quote may be, it’s the motherfucking truth. “Do, or do not. There is no try.”
And if I’m wrong, then fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. What the fuck do I know? Probably nothing. But this isn’t about me really, it’s about you. So what are you going to do about it?
Posted by: Tim on December 30th, 2003 4:36 PM