--Three Doors Down, "When I'm Gone"
On Friday, my case manager took me to a restaurant for dessert because my case was closing, and this would be the last time we see each other for a while. During our conversation, she asked me, "What are your short term goals?"
"I'm going to have sex," I say confidently. "No, really, I need to get back out there." I need to distract myself from Morpheus, make it appear like I'm actually moving on.
Sunday, June 4, 2017
"So Hold Me When I'm Here"
--"When I'm Gone" by Three Doors Down
"I will tell you, I do not like that man," Dad says.
"I think you should withhold judgment until you meet him," I say, instantly feeling like I should defend Morpheus by naming all his wonderful qualities.
"I have no interest in ever meeting him," he continues, looking away from me.
"If you haven't figured out by now that that man is a user, then you are an idiot," Mom adds to the conversation.
"You were just making ugly faces because Dad criticized him." It's strange how his name hasn't been spoken.
"I agree with him, but I would be open to meeting him."
"I will tell you, I do not like that man," Dad says.
"I think you should withhold judgment until you meet him," I say, instantly feeling like I should defend Morpheus by naming all his wonderful qualities.
"I have no interest in ever meeting him," he continues, looking away from me.
"If you haven't figured out by now that that man is a user, then you are an idiot," Mom adds to the conversation.
"You were just making ugly faces because Dad criticized him." It's strange how his name hasn't been spoken.
"I agree with him, but I would be open to meeting him."
"So Please Stop Explaining/Don't Tell Me Cause It Hurts"
--No Doubt
"In life, there's no always, there's no never," he argues.
He's talking in generalities, but I feel as if he's just referring to romantic love, how you can't guarantee how someone (including yourself) will feel in five years, ten years, twenty years. "I'm pretty sure I'll always love you..."
He insists that this isn't true.
I put my head in my arms, and say, "Of course! You don't believe I love you to start, so why would you believe that I'll love you forever?"
"In life, there's no always, there's no never," he argues.
He's talking in generalities, but I feel as if he's just referring to romantic love, how you can't guarantee how someone (including yourself) will feel in five years, ten years, twenty years. "I'm pretty sure I'll always love you..."
He insists that this isn't true.
I put my head in my arms, and say, "Of course! You don't believe I love you to start, so why would you believe that I'll love you forever?"
"If I Could Turn Back the Pages of Time, I'd Rewrite Your Point of View...."
--No Doubt
Morpheus tells me that he is filled with self-loathing from morning until night, bearing down on him like a great weight with sharp edges and thick nails digging into the skin.
I sit in his kitchen, and explain to him that my therapist thinks that our relationship is not good for me.
"Don't talk to your therapist about me," he winces.
"I'm sorry, but that's out of your jurisdiction. You can't tell me what I can talk to my therapist about. She and others think that you're using me. Are you using me?"
He acts like I've thrown a dagger. "No!"
Earlier, while he was wandering around drunk in a town about fifteen minutes from Yuppieville, one which I use to always go to for a drink because it's quieter and more solitary than drinking downtown Yuppieville, he accuses me of talking about him on Facebook.
"I never talk about you on Facebook," I say, at least not by name. For the record, I don't even think I've made any reference to him at all on Facebook. "You're having..." I want to say paranoid delusions, but I hold my tongue. He's just drunk, I tell myself.
Morpheus tells me that he is filled with self-loathing from morning until night, bearing down on him like a great weight with sharp edges and thick nails digging into the skin.
I sit in his kitchen, and explain to him that my therapist thinks that our relationship is not good for me.
"Don't talk to your therapist about me," he winces.
"I'm sorry, but that's out of your jurisdiction. You can't tell me what I can talk to my therapist about. She and others think that you're using me. Are you using me?"
He acts like I've thrown a dagger. "No!"
Earlier, while he was wandering around drunk in a town about fifteen minutes from Yuppieville, one which I use to always go to for a drink because it's quieter and more solitary than drinking downtown Yuppieville, he accuses me of talking about him on Facebook.
"I never talk about you on Facebook," I say, at least not by name. For the record, I don't even think I've made any reference to him at all on Facebook. "You're having..." I want to say paranoid delusions, but I hold my tongue. He's just drunk, I tell myself.
"I open up, you ignore me..."
--No Doubt
Dad is standing in the hallway. I'm trying desperately to dress quickly so I can reach Morpheus' house before he falls asleep. I walk towards him, heading to the bathroom.
"Who's [Morpheus' first initial and last name]?" Dad says, pronouncing Morpheus' name correctly. He read it from the caller ID on the house phone.
"He's a friend. I'm going to make sure he gets home safely," I confess plainly.
"Yeah, but what's his first name?"
"[Morpheus]."
The little bits of blocks in his mind start to shift. "He isn't that married guy, is he?"
"Yes, but he's divorced now."
"That tells you something for sure," he says even though it's highly hypocritical. Dad left his first wife, divorced. "This is not a good idea."
I clean up in the bathroom, put on fresh clothes, and then as I'm heading out the door, Dad says, "Tell him if he hurts you, I'll kill him."
Dad is standing in the hallway. I'm trying desperately to dress quickly so I can reach Morpheus' house before he falls asleep. I walk towards him, heading to the bathroom.
"Who's [Morpheus' first initial and last name]?" Dad says, pronouncing Morpheus' name correctly. He read it from the caller ID on the house phone.
"He's a friend. I'm going to make sure he gets home safely," I confess plainly.
"Yeah, but what's his first name?"
"[Morpheus]."
The little bits of blocks in his mind start to shift. "He isn't that married guy, is he?"
"Yes, but he's divorced now."
"That tells you something for sure," he says even though it's highly hypocritical. Dad left his first wife, divorced. "This is not a good idea."
I clean up in the bathroom, put on fresh clothes, and then as I'm heading out the door, Dad says, "Tell him if he hurts you, I'll kill him."
"Let's End It On This/Give Me One Last Kiss..."
--No Doubt
He keeps looking at me, like he always has, but he won't touch me. I didn't receive a hug upon walking into his house. Sometimes, he even blatantly stares.
As I'm walking out the front door with him slightly ahead of me, I say, "You know, I'm disappointed I didn't even get a kiss..."
He doesn't answer me.
He keeps looking at me, like he always has, but he won't touch me. I didn't receive a hug upon walking into his house. Sometimes, he even blatantly stares.
As I'm walking out the front door with him slightly ahead of me, I say, "You know, I'm disappointed I didn't even get a kiss..."
He doesn't answer me.
Caring For the Obvious
"You know what the worse part is?" I tell Morpheus over the phone. "There is no one--no one--who would know to call me if something happened to you. No one."
"Why do you even care?"
"Can I state the obvious? Because I love you."
"Why do you love me? I've been nothing but a dick to you."
"Why do you even care?"
"Can I state the obvious? Because I love you."
"Why do you love me? I've been nothing but a dick to you."
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