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It’s been around 3 years since the last time I’ve been writing on this blog in a present manner. Not just to say something… one thing after every year. Not just to reflect upon an entire year of mistakes and experiences, but the ones that occur on a day to day basis.

Today’s a fucker of a day. Not because of how the day went, rather the opposite.

My actions today have been consistent with most days these days, I’ve gone to the gym, I’ve wrote, I’ve met my friends, I’ve talked to my partner, I’ve eaten. That’s about all I do every day anyway.

Forgive me for how disorganized this is going to be, after a long time I feel many things at the same time. I’m afraid and confused about many things at the same time. There used to be a time when I would listen to music and write, but I don’t know exactly what it is but unless I listen to some gentle piano background music, I can’t bear to have anyone else’s words in my mind when I write. How things have changed.

Today, I spent time googling, trying to understand how I can make myself cry. How I could try to get through whatever type of numbness I feel and just sob uncontrollably. It’s only when I really thought back to why I stopped crying that I understood a few things. When people close to me used to ask me when the last time I cried was, I remember answering it to be the day my uncle was assassinated. Though now I remember that is untrue. The day that happened I was still, numb, emotional but it was all internal. A form of disassociation I’m familiar with now but back then might’ve been one of the first times I didn’t know how to feel, or even how to act as I’m supposed to feel. I don’t know how many years ago, probably close to 15 if not a bit longer or a bit shorter, I was crying about something and I was told that if I continued to cry I would get beat. I remember being behind a door, hiding. I don’t remember why or when, I just remember that dark varnished door, standing behind it and crying uncontrollably. I was scared or sad, or maybe just in pain, but I was told that if I cry again I’d be beat. I’m not sure if I’ve cried after that but then again I’m not sure I feel half the emotions I feel. At times I just feel like I’m … to put it best, something my current partner told me is, “do you even feel anything or do you just act like you do?”. It’s surprising at times how this person can see through me, and at times can’t understand that I’m just an autistic little boy that gets so scared and so confused. Half the things that I do in my life that are bad I do without the knowledge of them being bad, and the other half I do with the expectation that if I’m doing them then I probably know what I’m doing. Which is wild, since most of the time I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing.

I live this life, you see, this life that on paper should make sense. On paper it seems like it’s the right kind of life. I take care of my body, my psychology, I try very hard to take care of those around me though sometimes I fail so fucking horribly, and I just expect so much appreciation at times because I feel like I’m doing this for you, not for me, so appreciate me. It doesn’t stem from some engrained narcissistic ideology, just a deeply insecure one. One in which I feel the way most do, if I don’t do this for someone then I won’t be useful and why would anyone want me around if I don’t have any use.

Tragic isn’t it, to live a life so seriously only to deep down know it’s a fucking joke.

It feels like, I’m the joker, from the movie joker.

But really though.

I wish I could cry. I wish I could feel the things I know I’m supposed to feel. Not just acknowledge them. But really fucking feel them. That I could just sit down or stand up right now and just fucking sob because the girl I love is so far from me, because I feel like things are going to go badly and I’ll end up back in prison, because I miss my home, I miss my life, I miss who I used to be. I miss the long haired, charismatic character that I had conjured up. I miss acting like that person. This person is not as easy to be, not enough forms of escape. Not nearly enough.

I want to be able to say the things I feel, and truly feel the words as I say them. I want to cry when I say, I don’t know how I can be with you but all I want is to be with you. I want to feel that sadness that’s associated with the fear of incarceration. I want to not just feel numb and disconnected but scared and disheartened. I want to stop living like life is the amalgamation of a thousand quotes and live like life is just life; the ups and the downs, the peace and the disturbances, the warmth of another’s hands and the chill of their feet rubbing against yours.

I’m just so tired all the time of this facade. Of feeling like I have to be strong. Of not crying. Of not being able to be connected, to be associated with myself. I’ve done so much bad in my life and I’ve also done so much good. I don’t feel any of it.

As stupid as it sounds, I miss waking up, rolling a fat blunt, sitting on my bed and staring at the building next door through my balcony’s window. I miss slowly getting up and refusing to check my phone, I miss stretching my arms over my shoulders and behind my back and walking out of my bedroom into a house asleep, towards my living room, and onto the couch where I’ll spend most of the day. I miss hearing the doorbell ring and being greeted by someone I hadn’t seen in a couple days, sitting with them, smoking with them, existing with them. I miss having those close to me tell me that this isn’t sustainable, I mean they were right, look at where I am now, but hey do I miss telling them you’re wrong.

I miss the stupid moments, the happy moments, the sad moments and the unforgettable moments of absolute fucking tranquility. Do I fucking miss putting on drive or 3:15 by Russ and sitting on my couch and just looking out of my window and preparing myself. Do I miss ordering that orange juice and following the advice of a fucking sweetheart, drink the juice smoke a j and go to school.

Do I miss being authentic, authentically a dumbass, but at least one who would make decisions and die by them. It’s why I didn’t complain when things got fucked up, it was my actions that led me there, so why blame anyone. Just accept it and keep moving forward you know?

On a separate thought.

I was praying today and I remembered how in prison I would pray so slowly, as if each moment in prayer was a moment I was at peace talking to someone, asking for forgiveness, asking for support, asking for understanding but most importantly asking for patience. How I would spend hours just slowly praying just so that time would feel as if it was moving forward in a place that robs you of months and years while making them feel longer than they actually are.

It’s not something someone who hasn’t been to prison could understand. I mean I’m sure most people have friends or family members who are or have been incarcerated. I did, I do. Before my own experience I couldn’t understand what they meant when they said time doesn’t exist in here, while every second feels like a day. I thought, hey it’s okay it’s hard but it’s okay. Until I went and I realized, O this shit’s different. They don’t kill you with the cage, they kill you with the clock that hangs above the door that can’t be opened. Fuck them huh.

People tell me sometimes that uni is like prison, that they are stuck in this city just like I am. I’m sorry and I really don’t mean to offend anyone. But shut the fuck up with that. You mean to say giant meadows and a starbucks is the same? You mean to say that walking by strangers and sharing a smile is the same? You mean to say that breathing fresh air and watching the sunrise and set is the same as looking through a window that leads nowhere is?

A little wild they are, but hey I’m happy to know they’ll never know the feeling.

It’s just kind of crazy. The danger there. You can’t even smile at someone randomly without needing to prepare yourself to fight them.

I’m not a dangerous violent man. I’m somewhat soft and somewhat scared and somewhat kind and somewhat evil. I’m just somewhat. But in there I have to be all the somewhats I don’t really know how to be. I have to be somewhat strong, somewhat violent, somewhat dangerous, somewhat intelligent, somewhat fearless (not brave) and somewhat sick in the fucking head. Though you also have to be somewhat compassionate, somewhat caring, somewhat understanding and somewhat more human than most outside the walls.

Some people think of me as this strong man, some people think of me as this scared stupid little boy. It doesn’t bother me to be called a little boy just as it doesn’t fulfill me to be called a strong man. I’m both just as most are. I’m strong when I have to be and I’m a little boy when I can be. I’m a little happy with that. I’m a little happy to put my head on my girl’s chest and hold her just as I’m a little proud when she gets surprised that I can put her to bed when she sleeps on the couch. She thinks she’s a real big girl… she’s a little girl, she’s a strong woman too.

I’m tired of all of this, but I’m enthusiastic about so much. I’m this clusterfuck of mixed emotions. But I’m in love. But I’m terrified of my future. But I’m happy. But I’m so sad.

All these feelings, at least they lead me to know one thing.

…

At least I’m a human.