“Harvest Moon” is just a song

Trembling under that moon.
That harvest moon?

Feet in the december water but I was warm as I’d ever been.

That moon stole my fairytale away.

I’ll never love that deeply again.

Not because another woman isnt out there...

But because I thought I found her once before...

And she traded us for them.

Trust is just a word now.

Love is just a word now.
Feelings remain alive in me...

But theyre just feelings.

I’ve been burned by that fire before.

It still burns...

But I’d rather wander away in the woods and howl at that moon.

My fairytale is over.

No love is true.

No trust will last.

Life is suffering.

Its okay.

I’m happier on my own...

Because at least I lie to myself less.

My dreams are still haunted by it.
Like my conscious  self is over it, but my subconcsience is still really sick.
Like Mol in Inception.
She shows up in every other dream.
Just to fuck with me.
Its like every other day I have to get over it again.
Every morning is spent processing my dreams.
Dreams I wish would have been true.
Dreams I’m absolutely disgusted by.
Either way they leave me in a funk.

Loneliness and love are intense emotions.
She was my sweetheart... but that didnt mean enough to her I guess

Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

Three thousand miles.

The drive was long and quiet.

Pines that would not stop coming.

Allot was on my mind.

She was on my mind, and I didn't seem to care, which is an important step in the right direction.

I've become the rolling stone that Bob Dylan sang about.

I overcame everything thrown my way.

My hat makes me feel stronger than I think I can be, and I've put it on appropriately when I need to buck up and be a man.

I was driving home last night, one of the first "nights" I've had here. The sun is always up in Alaska.

Streets were quiet, and the music made the coastal city come alive for a while.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh-PMHmd00o

It was beautiful.

--

I woke up this morning and my fresh mind thought that when I swung the van doors open I'd be in Logan, instead, I put my boots on in the anchorage rain.

I feel responsible here. Like I'm becoming my dad. I put my rain jacket, watch, and boots on, I go to work and make to-do lists.

I've become someone I can count on. Someone who at the very least will be 100% honest with me, someone who will argue with me, and someone who will revive me when I've been hit.

I was sitting in the van today when the sun came out, the first patch of blue skies I'd seen since home. It was so blue.

Homesickness comes and goes.

These Alaskan sunsets go on forever though, and the seaborne clouds and the salty air are enough for me.

I will get by.

--

J,

I'll always be glad that I just came out and told you how I felt about you, even if it was too late, happening hours before I left.

Sometime in the fall, I'll see you, and you'll see me.

You know how well I would care for you, and you for me.

I know you won't let go by the Fall, and I don't really care.

I'm not going to fight for someone who won't fight for me.

I'm indifferent to the idea of "falling in love" anyways.

I have feelings for you, but I'm indifferent to them.

So when you come back with your answer, and it's not the one for me...

I won't ask you why.

I'm not the one who didn't let go

Remember October, when my world was coming back together?

And you.

You tried to see if the strings on your hands could still move me about.

And they did.

Now I am the one who can't let go?

No.

I did let go.

And you came back.

You always come back.

And it hurts.

The heathen.

I see a wretch.
The wretch who stole Vicodin from the medicine cabinet.
The villain who unleashed anger on the undeserving.
The dog that bites the mouth that feeds it.
The outcast to his former friends.
The knave that robbed women of their virtue.
The assassin that killed the spirit of God within him.
The reckless young man, mixing substances.
The Vagabond in the van.
The nihilist who sees no purpose in any life.
The junkie who would sell his brothers for another fix.
The black sheep who rebukes himself.
The butcher to his own living hide.
The furnace of unrelenting desire and lust.
The drunk at the side of the highway.
The lepper cast far away.
The Undertaker preparing his soul for hell.
The dissenter to his faith.
The skinwalker under the moon.
The false prophet.

Whether its the false woman's touch, the relief of letting my crimson humours balance, the Eagles burning through my lungs, or the ethanol on my breath, vice will always have its grip on my hands.

Loyalty: When she says to drink the hemlock, drink it.

My heart beats, I know this, I'm just unsure that it matters.

I've never, not even once, been told I was a good person.

Not from others...

but certainly not from myself.

No lack of esteem.

Just the quiet realization that repentance is just another word that doesn't change anything.

Excerpts of paranoia

I miss my home. Whenever I enter this valley, my life becomes instantly complicated again. Sitting in the UVU library with a friend I understood how well I reciprocated with my home, and how much I miss it. I miss having my memories of you being shut by the sanctity of my city. My sweet solace.

--

My family and friends seem to understand me less and less. They are drifting away from me. Every time I visit this place, I long again to be back on my own. They make me feel like a black sheep. Every word from my mouth is rebuked. Every move I make is under judgment. Every step I take is sick to them. My once closest people are slowly racking me out of their equations. I don't feel missed. I've never felt like this with these people until now. I wonder how things would have differed if I had served a mission. Would they then accept me? Am I so currently reprehensible to my tribe? I feel reprehensible. I see my father's eyes, and how they reflect his disappointment in everything I've ever tried to succeed at. My best friends didn't say goodbye to me when I left. They told me I wasn't Christlike enough. I heard my brother argue for my fitness in serving a mission as if he knew the multitude of disqualifications.

I see it in their eyes.

I hear it in their words.

I feel it in my chest.

I'm the outcast.

--

Driving into this valley, my sanity seems to slip. Since arrival, I have heard voices, flashed back, and seen things. It set me on edge today when I was just out buying some eggs for my family, I felt eyes peering from behind each aisle. I feel like the ghost of my past is walking behind me. Close behind me. I fear her memory and how it lingers behind me. I'm afraid of how deeply I miss something so detrimental. She told me once how unstable I was. Truth really hurts.

--

I've been fighting a panic attack tonight, the meds are about to be trippled down. I've been convulsing in this panic for an hour. I can't calm myself down.

--

Since I have left Logan, these people, these memories, and these ghosts have crushed me. I can't handle this conditional love coupled with unconditional pressure. I can't take it anymore.

--

I'm unsure that I'll remember writing this by the morning, assuming I wake up. I was in nirvana before I left Logan.

--

I once had a heart of gold. Now I'm too far charred over to be worth any more time in this body.

"Don't paint me black when I used to be golden."

--

I'm sorry.

Forgetting where my keys are before I attempt a drive home.

The only reason the water hasn't frozen over here is that the rivers are moving

--

I've lost every person that I've trusted everything to.

--

I'm alone out here...

and I know what I'm doing.

I know how much it takes to forget how much I was hurt.

I've found the only way to forget you... and all the memories.

I know what it takes to get the voices in my head to shut up.

It's such a simple recipe.

It works.

That's why I'm always on the medicine.

Because the only reason my heart hasn't frozen over is that the medicine keeps it moving.

Because if I remembered what has happened to me, I'd probably quit.

I can't wait to get over this

https://open.spotify.com/track/3WWAvWDBQANpJeNbvVbjMg