Fear and loathing. For the longest time the two things had been a far off idea. The brain child of Mr. Thompson, these two emotions had rarely been positioned together for me other than when accompanied by thoughts of Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo. But lately it seems that the pair of them are all I can think about; all I can feel. First things first, I hate feeling like a victim. I hate feeling like the world owes me something. It's nonsense, no one owes me anything; owes anyone anything for that matter, and it is the logic of a broken spirit. It is a sentiment for the weak, for those too soft or not dedicated enough to get up and take real steps towards what they want. But every once in a while you find what you want, or what you want at the time, whether or not you are making any real efforts to go get it. Sometimes, life just drops something awesome in your lap. For me that was Jaime. And I'm not looking for anything when I write this. This is not a cry for help, more than anything I write these to myself, and post them on the Internet to share with those of you that care enough to read them. And sure I usually hope someone reads it, I spend time on these, dammit. And I'm a decent writer, sure, but I know I'm not the only one with these feelings, primarily because a few of you have described similar situations to me. And sure these retellings of past love gone wrong usually end in, some asinine and patronising "but then I got better" moral, it's still nice to know that I'm not the only one that has had heartache over someone that realistically they shouldn't have. And maybe someone else is looking for sone form of validation for their feelings and maybe my words will help someone else. And to back track a little, that's not to say that she isn't worth the heartache or anything. She will always be, or have been I suppose, my first wife; my first real love. And as many pandering, whining break up songs would have us believe, the first one is always the (insert stereotypical euphemism) There is an epidemic in our culture; one that I find most upsetting. And it is simply over diagnosis. Everything is ruled as something. Kids with no attention span have add, Stereotypes are applied where they don't apply, and things that aren't love are always being called love. I've heard several people comment on this: the similarities and differences between the statement "I love you" and something more like "I love tacos." Truth be told, no one "loves" tacos, not anymore than someone "loves" movies or some band or anything to that effect. Love should be reserved for that burning feeling in your chest, that aching desire not only to be around someone, but to do right by them. Because in a practical sense, no one wants to be around the one they love all the time. Imagine it, sure everyone wants to cherished. To be loved, to feel valued, I get that. Cool. But no one would want to be showered in poems and flowers and walks in the park, kisses on the hand and chocolates and fancy dinners constantly. It would make you crazy. You would be so annoyed with that person's infatuation soon enough and would never want anything to do with them. If you don't believe me you are lying. Even if that person was a paragon of physical attractiveness, if they were constantly nagging you for attention and talking about how much they love you, it would drive you and everyone around them away. But, by the same token, no one doesn't want that on occasion. Everyone likes little surprises. Whether its just making a fancy dinner before someone gets home, picking something for no reason, a gentle touch or a back rub, a kind word, hell even a random sexual favour; everyone likes being treated to something every once in a while. Without it, you'd go mad. It's part of being human. You need to be cherished from time to time. Otherwise you become bitter and angry. Some people, however, believe Love is a sickness. It's an addiction to a person. I guess under that logic someone could "love" heroin. And honestly, it could just be my.. Current position but I can see that. You lose sleep, you waste money, a lot times you alienate yourself from your friends. And when you don't have it anymore? Well, fuck. You have withdrawals. You have fits, you cry, you get pissed. You relapse sometimes even, going back to your drug for one last fix. But it's never the same is it? So maybe you decide to move on. And you replace your drug with something else. Someone else's drug, exercise, music, Jesus, ACTUAL DRUGS; something, hell anything to keep your mind off your crippling loneliness until you don't notice the addiction anymore. Or maybe just until you are addicted to something else. See, suddenly those of you I haven't scared away are wondering, hopefully in Jim Gaffigan's audience voice, is he talking about love or a drug addiction? And I suppose that's the whole point isn't it? They are almost indistinguishable from one another, aren't they? Food for thought is all. A wise man once told me, marriage isn't both people giving 100%. It's two people giving 50% to make 100%. At the time, I didn't know what he meant. I was confused because it was contrary to everything else I had ever heard. 50%? Isn't that like.. Setting yourself up for failure? A half ass effort surely won't add up to anything good. But I now see what he meant. If you put 100%, literally everything into something, you want it to work so bad that you'll do anything, not only to avoid failure, but sometimes to avoid the signs of problems. And if it fails, which it will if you ignore the problems, what the fuck do you have left? You just spent "x" amount of time putting EVERYTHING YOU ARE AND HAVE into someone else. You WILL land on your face. I promise. But I digress. Stepping back, I started this.. Essay with two separate ideas. Fear and loathing. And when you look at them together it's a pretty shitty place to be. It's a dangerous place to be. But separately they are just as dangerous. Fear. Fear of moving forward, of dying alone. Fear of never having back what was lost. And fear of facing the world without someone there to hold your hand, someone to share the journey with. Honestly, it's a scary fucking world. And having someone to watch your back makes it a whole lot less so. And loathing. Loathing is a curious word. Loathing is more than a seething hatred to me. It comes from the same absence fear does, but it's more.. Angry. It's an aversion. You hate love, you fear it. You loathe it. Loathe what you had since you can't have it still. And loathe those that do since you were so "wronged." See what I mean? Dangerous. With those two words you run the risk of standing in one place with your arms crossed until they have to put you in the ground that way. Normally, I have a point. I have some grand idea, some solution to the problem I've presented in my writing. But perhaps that's what makes this one unique. Perhaps that's why I can't move forward. Because I don't have a solution today. I wish I did. I wish I had something more positive for you. But in truth, I don't. I just have my fear, my loathing, and my insatiable need to find something else to attach to.
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