Monologue: Time Heals

Once my appetite has been whetted. I know what I did. I know I’ll face my wife again with the same disgusting, disheveled look about me. Eyes and head hanging low, dragging my feet behind me… walking up to her with a big sigh as I break down and tell her everything. I see once more the hurt in her eyes, as one more heart string is cut. One more wound made. The hurt I cause her is so unbearable to see… I swear off of it once more... she believes me… I believe me

But it, just eats away at me. This... hunger. For an instant, I forget the wound I caused myself before. And as that wound scars over and begins to fade… These, episodes, become longer. I forget my goals, my work, my wife. I can only focus on one thing. The very thing I swore off of forever mere months ago. Now my normal comes in flashes, just long enough to give futile resistance before my lust takes control.

I sink deeper into myself, become more lost in my guilt. I drown myself in the next sin I see, and for an instant I get relief, before sinking deeper again.

I’m stuck in this cycle. Every time, I feel so guilty. Every time I see the hurt in my wife’s eyes, I die a little inside.

Then that’s the last straw. That’s, the end. I am going to straighten up, and be a good man. And she somehow finds it in her heart to forgive me again and again. I feel so good, So free… I’m determined to turn around… Put it behind me... and I do. For a time...

When I finally reach my breaking point, and see the path of destruction left behind me, I see I cut her once more. And I can only pray this won’t be the time she bleeds out.

Monologue: Breaking Down

I met you exactly 3 months after I tried to kill myself. I met you at a party... Someone blackmailed me into going.
And I was not a fan of you either.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't anything personal. I didn't like anyone. Not you, not my family, not my.. "friends"... not even myself.
And in fact, it was a burden talking to you. Every word that came out of your mouth bugged me. You just seemed so.. happy...
I mean, what the fuck? How can a person be that happy all the time? You're hiding something, you have to be.
I think I was jealous. Why should you be happy, and not me? Who gave you that God damn right?
... And one day I finally understood why.
I don't exactly remember why I agreed to meet up with you that night, but I did. And you put on your same happy face, made small talk.... I hated it. We went to a sushi place downtown, and I was just waiting for my chance to end it. I ate, we talked, I tried to leave, and you wanted to walk me to my car.. some nerve. Well, my car doesn't start, and triple A would take 2 hours to be out there. So, you stayed, we talked... and talked... and talked, until I was so fed up, I needed an answer,
"Why are you so fucking happy all of the time? You're fake and I can't handle it".
And you said back "Because I am alive. I want to be the same person for someone else, that saved my life"
I was stunned to say the least, and my whole demeanor changed... sort of..
"What the fuck do you mean by that?" I said.

So you tell me your story about when you put a gun in your mouth a few years back. You felt like the world abondoned you. No one cared about you, you didn't care about anyone. You didn't even care about yourself. You started doing risky things, walking in the bad part of town, took up smoking... won a game of Russian roulette... but no matter how much you tried, you just, could. not. die. So you decided to do it yourself. Skipped work, and put a gun in your mouth to blow your brains out. But you didn't. Because just as you were about to pull the trigger, your coworker called you to make sure you were alright... To make sure you were okay, and you broke. You cried. You told him everything. And as uncomfortable and shocked as I'm sure he was, he stayed on the phone with you. He stayed on the phone for hours, didn't say a lot, but just listened... cared. That was the day you realized you weren't alone. The day you got help. The first day you opened up. The first day on a long road... but a rewarding one.
And from that day, once you recovered, you decided you were going to be that person for somebody else. What you told me sent shivers down my spine and my disposition towards you changed.
I related so much to the feelings you described, right down to the feeling of abandonment that prompted my own suicide attempt.
That was also the day I opened up, I broke down, I sobbed, and you gave me hope that someone else actually gave a damn. A genuine person who actually cares. Something I had long since ceased to believe in.
And that prompted my own recovery. You inspired me to seek help. And I'm not there yet. I still have dark thoughts, I'm still unhappy, things are still bad. There are days I don't want to do anything, I don't want any treatment, and I want things to end. But they're happening less and less and there are some days, I think I'm actually happy. And that's more than anyone has ever done for me before. You gave me a chance to get through this... Something that I never realized was possible... You helped me more than I think you realize. And you should know... you might not be able to save the world with compassion. But you saved mine.

Breaking Character

I've decided to break form a little today to talk to you directly, rather than getting into a character, because I heard something disconcerting from a friend today. “Happy is not poetic”. That bothered me. Because we do have a prevalence of sadness beauty in our culture. A majority of films we see that we think of as deep or meaningful, are generally sad. There's a prevalence of blogs having to do with depression and sadness (this one being no exception), and the audiences generally think of these as more artistic than a happy equivalent.
But I think you need both for poetry. You can only know sadness if there's some happy baseline. Happiness only exists with sadness as a reference point. So if it can be poetic to create a sad story, or poem, or monologue, you should be able to create something equally poetic that's happy.
Since sadness is only sad because you know how happy you can be, happiness with a sad reference point can be equally effective.
Although this blog does contribute to the very thing I seem to be preaching against, I do want to take time on occasion to write something I'll label as “breaking”, to focus on there being as much beauty in happiness as there is in sadness.

Monologue: False Trust

I trust you... I trust you... I trust you.
I have been echoing these words throughout our relationship.
Three small words. That are supposed to mean so much and yet they mean nothing.
I don't trust you. I mean I thought I did... at first.
I thought you changed, thought you were nothing like how you were in the past.
That you are a different person.
But everytime I leave you alone... I worry. I'm afraid.
Afraid that without me you'll go back to who you were before, and that I am the only thing keeping you from slipping back into darkness... your old shell...
I give myself panick attacks worrying about you!
Thinking, any moment, you would start having those, thoughts again. And maybe this time you wouldn't tell me.
Thinking everytime you don't pick up your phone, you could be gone.
Everytime you say goodbye, you really mean goodbye.
Sometimes, I wait up until four in the morning because I remember,  that time.
Because if you did call me again, and I wasn't there to pick up...
You wouldn't have been the only one who died that day.

I realized, I don't trust you.
I can't
I want to, I really want to, I do...
But... right now...
I think I'm the only one I'll be able to trust.
And, I'm sorry please understand.
I don't think I'm ready to trust you...
Not yet...