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First Post (some language) (1 Viewer)

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Richard :/

Senior Member
Hey guys, my therapist recently told me to start writing in a journal everyday and to share what I'd written. I think this website might be a decent place to do that. I'm not a very good writer, I'm a personal trainer, so hopefully you won't slaughter my writing because I'm neither an author nor an aspiring author. I think that I'd like to use this site as a way to keep an online version of my journal and perhaps to link to others to show them how life's been going for me. Everything that I write is going to be an accurate description of whatever happened to me that day, hopefully it will help me remember the past better. I'm not sure what the mood of this website is; but, I know that criticism can oftentimes be harsh. Regardless of whether or not the stupid events of my life have any effect on you, what I'm writing has a profound emotional effect on me, and has really proved to be cathartic. I'm sure a lot of it won't make perfect sense because it's being built upon experiences that I've had that you haven't; but, hopefully it still makes some sort of sense. Heres to my first post, possibly one of many to come.

This is what happened the night of December 30, 2010.



R was drinking in the drive-through of McDonald's as he ordered his junior whopper and thought about how the night was going to end. He was going to a party and she was going to be there and he kept saying to himself “This is so fucked”. He missed her, K, the girl he put himself through hell over and she knew it. R was right, the whole thing was fucked.

R got to the party and the people who mattered to him were bombed. There was only a quarter of his parent's bottle of Bacardi left; he fit right in. R found a corner and leaned there for most of the night, held upright in a chemical hold. He got compliments about the clothes he was wearing, his watch and the musculature he wasted his time creating. People congratulated him about college and reminisced about high school. None of it was important, at least not to him. They weren't the people who mattered.

K's dog Indy wouldn't leave him alone and he didn't mind. He muttered “You love me don't you?”, petting him as he rubbed up against his leg. Indy was loyal, he acted like a dog was supposed to and R liked that. Her “little pup” was affectionate; but, not that little. R thought that was ironic.

Using the kitchen window as a mirror R watched himself as he drank more of his liquid tonic. Ginger ale and vodka never tasted so bitter. He wasn't bitter at K, he loved her more than she knew; but, he guessed something had to be. Faces were a blur and Indy eventually walked away in search of K, he probably loved her too.

R was looking for something that night; but, he didn't find it. For a long time there had been a hollowness to him that his friends described as depression. He thought it was just part of the searching process. R honestly believed that K was the answer, that he was happy before her; but, wouldn't be happy after her. He wasn't one of those phonies who acted all sad for sympathy. His actions were just who he was.

As the party died down and R's bottle emptied he started to drift away. Indy had been lapping at the floor and returned inebriated. He playfully pawed at R's leg and crooked his head upwards with an empathetic sadness. R was drunk and tired of listening to everyone talk. They didn't have anything good to say. He was quietly petting Indy, wondering if he felt the same way Elliot Smith did. R loved to listen to him and he had brought his mp3 player in case he was overly bored or started getting sad. He didn't get a chance to listen because K kept passing by him. Every time she bumped into him or said something to him he felt like he was being pulled out of his coma. He wanted to be angry at her, he wanted to think that she was worthless and that she was just like every other girl; but, she wasn't. It seemed to R that what he thought and how he acted was like watching a movie of yourself where you know the ending. It didn't matter how hard he wanted to change things, it was always going to be the same, no matter how many times he saw it in his head. Even still he went through the motions; maybe thats being depressed, or maybe thats what love is.

R started to feel sad, really sad. He didn't want to be like the guy you see on the train when you're going into the city to have fun, and he's sitting there all by himself, strung out, petting his dog because its the only thing left to love him. The only thing R could think of was to leave.

Indy was quiet all night, just like R; but, as R tripped out the front door he ran up to him and gave a yelp. R petted Indy goodbye and said goodbye to K in his head. She was the person who mattered.

He gave out a little puff of air followed by a forced smirk as he stumbled down the stairs. He always laughed when he was sad. It wasn't that he hid his emotions, it was just a combination of disbelief and “This is so fucked”. R pulled out his jacket and mp3 from the pink string backpack he had worn all night. He put both on, took a couple shots from what was left in the bottle, and following Elliot's orders, started haphazardly marching to the Rose Parade.

R could hear people calling after him, telling him not to try and walk home alone. Truthfully he had never walked home as far as he was attempting, as drunk as he was attempting, as unstable, as sad as he was attempting; but, he didn't care. There was a foot and a half of snow on the ground and the only cold he felt was inside. He could hear K shouting his name.

“R, R, where are you going, she yelled”. R didn't turn around. As he walked Elliot sang to him: (YouTube - Elliott Smith - No Name #1)
At a party
he was waiting
Looking kind of spooky and withdrawn
Like he could be
underwater...
R hadn't known it; but, K had followed him. She interrupted with a loud “Hey” and a muffled laugh. R would never forget the way she said “Hey”. It was funny, and in a night of sadness she so effortlessly made him smile. She tried to make her voice sound like everything was completely normal, as if they were old friends who just happened to pass in the street. Things weren't ok; but, she was smiling.

“Where are you going? she asked”.

“I'm going home replied R, to which she said “Well, then I'm coming with you.” R told K that he wanted her to go back, that it was cold out and he didn't want her to get sick. That wasn't true. He said what he was supposed to; but, he never felt happy unless he was around her. She was the only person in the world who could make him stop feeling lonely. As they walked, K continued to probe R with questions. “R, why cant you just go back with me?” He thought about it briefly and then answered. “Because I can't just act like I'm your friend, I can't just be your friend.” K said that she understood; he believed her and they kept walking.

They were both very drunk and as they rounded the corner of a snowy stretch of pavement alongside railroad tracks, K put her arms around his. R took off his jacket and told her to wear it if she was going to walk with him.

“ If you're not going to wear my jacket, then I'm not going to”, he said as he took it off and placed it into his backpack.

“Well, I think thats really stupid”, she responded. It wasn't meant to be mean, and huddled together; both of them freezing, they continued to walk. R could hear someone shouting to K in the distance; but, they didn't pay her any attention. The snow wasn't coming down hard, just enough to cover their hair and eyelashes with a thin veil of white. R thought she looked beautiful. Haloed in snow, pressed up against his side, he knew that whatever he had been searching for, he had found it.

R lived nearly three miles away in the next town over. If he had been alone it would have felt like an eternity. He walked along in silence, thinking about how fucked this really was, trying to telepathically tell K how he felt. He wanted to stop and kiss her, explain to her how much he really missed her, and that he couldn't continue on the way that he was.

All he could bring himself to say was, “One day I'm gonna find someone, K, and it's going to be in spite of you”. This she didn't understand, repeating “In spite of me?”. R didn't explain what he meant; but, the words fell from his mouth with a gravity that embodied their truth. As they trudged along R wasn't crying, there were just tears in his eyes. A half-hearted river ran from the crease of his eye down to his mouth, as he let his feelings for K linger.

Once they had reached the canal that was fairly near to R's house they went and sat on a nearby bench overlooking the water. R had told K that he loved to sit there and watch as the sulfur lamps cast light against the still current, folded up against itself like strewn bedsheets. R went to speak; but, K told him to shh. She pushed herself against him as R tried to hide his tears from her. Looking into her eyes, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to hold her in his arms bathed in the beauty that she cast. She leaned against him and R parted her hair aside crooking his head upwards with stars in his eyes. She quietly smiled and he slowly moved his lips towards hers; but, he realized she wasn't there.

K's friend had been the one shouting to them about halfway back. K had pulled at R, tried to get him to go back with her; but, he wouldn't listen. So as K's friend dragged her back to her house, R had trudged along by himself, finishing the bottle of Bacardi which now lay capsized atop a snowbank. He went to put on his mp3 player which wasn't there, he must have lost it in the snow when he tried to give K his jacket. He was alone, accompanied only by her memory.

Now R sat, looking at the water, wanting to cry. He found a beer in the snow and sat there drinking, explaining his life to a crowd of ducks.

“She doesn't love me”, he shouted at them, igniting the nights silence with his pain. “Things used to be so good between us, and now it seems like they've just fallen apart. I really love her and I don't know where to go.” Unlike Indy, who had loved R unconditionally, the ducks didn't seem to care about him or his noise. R wanted them to keep him company, so he took a $10 and $20 bill out of his back pocket, crumpled them up, and threw them in the water. How he knew this would work he never explained; but, the ducks thought that the money was bread, and they came back to him. One of his favorite books was Catcher In The Rye and he felt like J.D. Salinger had just stabbed him in the heart. He remembered Holden's question about where the ducks went when the lagoon got all icy and frozen over and he finally figured out what it really meant to him. R had to ask himself the same question. Where would he go in the dead of winter, when he was lonely and frozen over. Leaning back against the bench, with the look of wonder on his face that he was known for, he stared up at the stars in all their brilliance, and thought; I'll stay right here.
 

MYHEARTISUNDEAD

Senior Member
My writing is wispy and baseless, yours is full-bodied and a foundation, a house to my cloud as it where. You're, and we, are just as smart as anyone. Dont put yourself down, good sir.

Im not really qualified to criticize anyones work, I dont know the context that people do it in (for example "pace" is something new to me), but I can tell you that I like your writing, and I read it all.
 
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