L’appel du vide is the French term translating to “the call of the void”. More often than not it’s used to convey a deep urge and desire to jump or leap from high places. I’m standing at the top of this clock tower, now in shambles, and I’m about to leap.
I’ve been touched with a madness of a dire lack of sleep. Yes. That’s the excuse I’ll use for this.
I find myself nostalgic. Do you remember that one hit wonder song “Hey, Leonardo” from the 90′s? You know, “She likes me for me, not because . . .” That was my catalyst. Once upon a time I had many friends. Were they really friends? I guess that’s not up for you or I to determine. Well, I wonder if I had ever come across a friend who liked me for me and not what I could do for them. I tend to enable. I tend to have too much compassion. Or at least I did. Am I there because you like to talk to me, or do you think you can get something from me?
When I was still a teenager I had engaged in what was ultimately my first serious relationship. It was an on-again off-again thing for years, and he lived miles away. He’s still in my life, but not in the way he used to be. We seem to understand each other and no matter how hard we try, our paths cross. We’re woven together like an abomination of a double helix. And I’m comfortable with that. I know he’s not going anywhere. But that’s a story for a different time.
I had engaged in another relationship with another person. For the sake of avoiding confusion, let’s call him Jealousy. Jealousy and I were engaged at one point. Our relationship as lovers was viral. We didn’t just burn that bridge. We blew it straight the fuck up. We were spiteful creatures, and despite our ages we were children. At times I felt he kept me because he might have cared. At other times I felt he kept me because I had steady income. He was able to control me. He was the first to control and mold me in to what he wanted me to be. After a while I was defiant. And don’t get me wrong. I did my fair share of bad things to him. Things I’m not proud of. Things that nothing could justify. But I was no where near the worst to him. For some reason, I cared a great deal. Even after we had split for the final time and I had left state I still sent him money and tried to take care of him. And in time he and I became somewhat friends again. But we’ll never be what we were. Now that my use has been exhausted, we’re barely in contact.
After Jealousy was Anger. Anger and I never planned on dating. We were just going to be fuck buddies. We were two crazy individuals who wanted to get drunk and screw. We often partied like it was our funeral and we didn’t care. We fell apart when we had to become responsible. Nobody wants to leave Neverland. We were both looking to escape, and I was an escape artist at this point. Did he love me? Maybe. You know, at some point. Possibly before he tried to stab me with a broken sword and caused me to miscarry. He could have also been using me for a multitude of things. I had connections he couldn’t dream of. I always had drugs, cigarettes, or alcohol despite being broke. I always knew who threw parties and how to get in. I learned from Jealousy. Anger and I drifted after he was kicked out of college. I had him crash with my friends. I crashed with him. Eventually we crashed with strangers. Strangers that I’m sure never cared about anything outside of what I could do for them. I had a lot of friends that were Strangers in that sense. Strangers are not to be confused with strangers. They saw me as income. They saw me as a steady flow of food, drugs, cigarettes, and household services. In short, I cooked, cleaned, and babysat the children full time. Little did we know, we were dying and transforming. We weren’t falling in love. We fell apart in a whirl of lava, flame, and death. In short, we don’t talk.
After Anger was Sloth. I had known Sloth for years. I figured it would be different with Sloth because of this. But it was a repeat of Anger. I was used more than a Playboy centerfold and a box of tissues. I knew but I didn’t care much. I had accepted it as common. After a while I had moved out of that cycle of my life. I was tired of being a babysitter. I was tired of lies and infidelity. I was tired of sacrificing happiness for comfort. So I left state and met Pride.
Pride was short lived. It’s not that we were long lasted or that anyone did anything wrong. We just clashed. He wanted a compliant housewife and I wanted to experience the world. Breaking up was the best that could have happened for us.
After Pride was Lust. Lust brought me back to the East Coast. But that’s a story for another time. I fear I’ll get side tracked.
I suppose I should get to the point. I’ve come to realize that I chase that which I never had, and in turn I burn bridges. Sure, the bridges light my way, but I can’t help but wonder what if. What if I never left town. What if I never came across certain Strangers or ex-lovers. What if I never got pregnant? What if I never let Jealousy hut me? What if I knew what home felt like? What am I running to? More so, what am I running from? Why do I always fall to escaping? It’s not like life is that bad for me. I have it a lot better than most. Does any of this matter? Do I? Do we? Do any of us? Will anybody remember? Were we ever important? Did I make a difference in helping, or did I just hinder? Was I just a catalyst? Why do I get all nostalgic about it? It’s like a half consumed canvas coated in layers of wet and dry paint. I can see what I want. But do I want it? Does anyone know that I would gladly stay an after thought if it meant that something good came from my interjection in to their soap operas? Am I capable of that level of importance? I don’t plan on changing the whole world over night but I do hope that my being here has at least helped someone, even if it’s years down the road. Even if it’s someone I’ve never met.
Holy shit. I started this somewhere around 3 hours ago. It might be just a tad passed my bed time.
Crafty Little Wench 