The Paper Trail From Houston (December, 2002)

The Paper Trail from Houston….

December 2002

The End of the Journey… And Into the Mouth of Madness of the Next One…

I chased the last fading dream of city living into the dimming glimmer of tall mirror-glass buildings as the sun sets over the skyline. With a deep sigh and a long, concentrated drag off of my cigarette, I stood on top of what I had claimed as my empire. Within hours, I would have to turn it away. I came here with virtually nothing; was leaving with nothing, but I had lost everything.

I stood unmoved amongst the hanging humidity and smell of water in the air. It was thick and heavy. Almost visible. This is shorts and t-shirt weather. I was going to miss this. My long and weary drudge to the northern part of the country is inevitable. And it had to happen, no matter how bleak and cold it promised to be. And the bleakness was almost guaranteed. And the cold, well, it came in more forms than just the temperature. It was a promise too. “Damned unto itself because of itself,” I thought. Soon the ever present wailing of sirens would cease. And I would once again be paying more mind to my conscious thoughts. I would no longer be amused by the endless stream of new faces and different cultures, music, food; everything.

Instead, I will soon be growing tired and return to the place that I had strived for years to break from. Depressing? Quite. I wasn’t handling it that well…

The ties that did once bind had already long been severed. So once again, I find myself starting over. This time though, I go alone. I have no choice or option.

My heart is growing heavy and my nerves are wearing very thin. My heartbeat seems to get louder. Faster. Almost deafening. This stress takes its toll. And I’m on the road to the homeland once again.

The Unrest; Constant Thoughts; Inspirations for the Constant Mental Breakdowns..(condensed)

I’m not too sure when it was that I figured out a very important fact of my life – that I was doomed, or perhaps the appropriate word is destined – to repeat the bad parts of my life over and over again.. Now, I’ve heard it said before that you must move forward if you expect change. Well, I‘ve done that. I’ve picked up the broken pieces of my life and moved them 1,500 miles away from the comforting familiarity of ‘home’. New job, new faces, new scenery. Same bullshit. Out of one relationship and into another. And at times, I feel so alone, still.

I’ve found that you really can’t run from your problems. They always come back to haunt you. And it’s not that the problems ever actually disappear; they only follow you.

Nowhere to run.

Nowhere to hide.

No matter how far you go.

Regret is a word I’ve always tried to keep out of my vocabulary. I try not to regret thing I’ve done, but to regret the things that I haven’t. However, there is one thing- one single thing out of my entire fucking life that I DO regret. And it’s not easy for me, either – regretting, that is… The one solitary thing that brings shame to my heart, tears to my eyes and strikes fear deep into my soul is the innocent child that I wasn’t strong enough for. That I couldn’t be strong enough for. What a fucking failure. I’d killed myself in a mental fashion so many times over for this. In one motion, I destroyed the meaning of an average childhood, a happy childhood. A happy, innocent life. Never asked to be here. Never asked for anything. I created this. And I ran away. I think about how this feeling I have MUST be what it is like to have a weapon fire a round through the chest cavity. It fucking hurts. It burns. It doesn’t ever go away. Like living with a butcher knife protruding from your chest at all times. That was all. I left behind those little fingers and toes, the tiny voice that could speak only a few words…My son’s. A once smiling and happy face I can now imagine had turned indifferent. Hateful. Spiteful. Maybe. He is only two. It’s up to his adult influences to see how hateful and spiteful they can turn him. His life is in chaos.

And it is my fault.

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