I should be sleeping right now. I am tired and awake at the same time. Hot and cold. A little upset that I’m not upset anymore. And by anymore, I am referring how upset used to be a way of life for me. Depressed wasn’t something I did for a few days or a few weeks, it was like my hair or my eyes, it was something I always had with me. Now I’m very comfortable with almost every aspect of my life, and I’ve identified what I like doing and how I’d like to live my life, and I’m doing what I can to stay headed in that direction. Now I do everything I can to not have hair, and anyone who’s spent much time with me in recent years has seen me try to gouge my own eyes out, and I’m just not depressed anymore. Sometimes the one or two bits of my life that I haven’t got a handle on start to get to me and I feel almost like what depressed was for a few days or weeks, but it’s not like before. I just don’t seem to have it in me. Too much in my life is going well, too much in myself is how I want it to be. I just can’t sustain a foul mood anymore. Usually within a day, at most a few days, and I find myself bubbling over with laughter, consumed with joy for one reason or another and realizing that it’s just not that bad. No matter how hard I try after that, no matter how deep my funk was beginning to be, I just can’t sink into it properly again.
“I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Down in my heart. Down in my heart. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Down in my heart to stay.”
I just can’t escape it. And I know I asked for it. I remember the moment, though not the day on the calendar. If I had known what I was asking for, I don’t know what I would have done. You see, there is so much creativity to be had in despair. So much hope to be had when you’re looking up from the bottom. So much art comes out of depression and depravitiy and this darned joy just won’t let me get down to that level. I look at all these beautiful things around me, music and art and literature and movies and so much more, and so much of it is born out of loss and pain and fear and hope for something better than the stink and depravity of the creator’s life. Even when my home is at its messiest and I’m as financially strapped as I get, you can still see the floor and people still come over and say ‘this is nothing’ and I can still pay my bills, and I can still see the point not too far away when I will be financially comfortable again. Not matter how dark it gets, there’s always a light, and I know everything is going according to the plan. Even though I don’t know the plan, it’s still all too comforting knowing that it’s all going according to plan anyway. I just can’t seem to get upset about how things are going, because I know none of it is a surprize to the one that really matters, and that if things were supposed to have gone any other way, they would have.
Wait. I don’t want to babble about predestination vs. free will here. I actually believe in both. I don’t see how it all being laid out ahead of time implies that someone else is making my decisions for me; they simply knew which decisions I was going to be making on my own before I did. Anyway. What WAS I going to babble about? Oh yes. Being a stalker.
Man O Man. I’m a sad sort. More stalker than ever, I’m afraid. But now too aware of it to want to keep it up. I used to just do occasional searches, occasional cold-calling, occasional mailing a few letters out into the void, hoping to perhaps make contact with Amanda. If you don’t know who Amanda is, read my entries right around the new year about how I think I may have seen her then. If you do know who Amanda is, you know that my behaviour concerning her has been a little creepy. Unless it turns out she’s interested in resuming communication with me, in which case, it was admirable. That’s the thing about stalking and sexual harrasment; if the advances are welcome, neither one is a crime.
At this point I’ve got my Amanda-hunting down to about twice a year paying 800-US-SEARCH to let me know if they know where she is. A couple years ago they gave me an address in Scottsdale where she used to live, but no forwarding address was available, and the people living there, though they knew her, were no help. This last winter (I search right before Christmas, and right before her 4th of July birthday), they still didn’t have a new address for her, but were able to provide me several years of back addresses for her mother and two AKAs for her mother (married and re-married, she has several names), though attempts to contact the most recent address for her mother proved fruitless. So now it’s almost 4th of July again, and I’m at that point where I’m thinking about Amanda more than normal, and I’m thinking about how I should try to find her, so at the very least I don’t have to keep spending over $100 a year on someone I haven’t seen in five.
Then I remember the other person I’m very nearly stalking. This one is worse than Amanda because this one told me the last time she saw me, right before she fled the country (somewhat to escape me), that she didn’t ever want to be more than friends with me, and that being friends with me might be too much for her. I feel very needy. I guess I want too much, or think I want too much, and it smothers. Anyway, she’s now 3500 miles away and won’t be coming closer for another three years at the soonest and I keep pining too much for her. I keep emailing her and IMing her and I have sent her a good many packages, and in recent weeks even began calling her in her own home. I keep pricing tickets to fly out to where she is, and I fear that one day I will become serious enough to actually go get a passport so that when the mood strikes me one day I’ll be able to just hop on a plane.
What makes it worse is that Sara, the stalking victim that I know where lives, keeps encouraging me by saying that I’m not stalking her, or that she returns the endless love I profess for her. Strange how being 3500 miles apart isn’t much different from being 35 miles apart when neither of us could drive. Strange how we both learned to drive at the same time, at the same school, just moments (or it seems like moments) before she flew away from me. We are each trying to live our own lives, yet intertwined deeply with each other. She’s still sure we’ll never really be together, and I’m still sure we belong together, and she doesn’t always disagree with me on that, but the best I can look forward to is that she still has to decide where she wants to go when she gets out of school in three years. In the meantime I don’t know what I want, because while I am still attracted to men and women of all ages and ethnicities and socio-economic backgrounds, I do not have a clear idea in my mind of how I got into this Love business with the people I Love, and I’m not sure that I want to forsake those who have gone before in hope of maybe finding someone new.
Really, I’m okay being alone. At the same time, I’d like to be with someone. Like, I don’t want to get anyone pregnant, but I’d like to have children someday. Sometimes weird things get connected in my head. All those great things about being in a relationship, I seem to want. I lay awake in bed too many nights thinking about the idea of having a person laying next to me who cares about me and who I care about and then I realize that although I remember being in relationships, I don’t remember exactly how I got into them. Except for one. One time I just had to say “Okay.” I am so ready to do that again. I am confident that I can do that. I wish it were that easy again. Hell, I wish it were her again.
So the question keeps coming up in my head, and it symbolizes more and more every time. Do I go to 800-US-SEARCH again, do I try to find Amanda again? It’s that time of year, time for the bi-annual Amanda search. Do I stick by the old standards, the ones who left me long ago but can’t reject me any more than they already have? Do I keep looking for the ones that got away, and if I do, does that really keep me from looking for someone new? Sometimes it feels like a big conceptual thing that if I’m still searching for Amanda, if I’m still loving Sara every day of my life, how could I be available to everyone else out there that might be okay or even right for me? Other times I realize that even just thinking that much about it means that I’m not letting it get too much to me. Still, when I’m looking at a pretty face I don’t much know how to get from friendly conversation to a first date to a healthy relationship.
I remember in high school it was all so much easier. I don’t remember what I was doing, but I remember it was easier. I didn’t end up writing long rambling essays, page after page about not being able to face the concept of the relationship because I couldn’t figure out how to get from lonely guy to half of a couple. I guess that now I’m surrounded more and more by the married; there wasn’t that obstacle in high school. There wasn’t someone I couldn’t charm out of a relationship without feeling bad about it. I respect marriage too much now to even consider such a thing. I’m also looking for more in a partner than that they would drop me for the next, more charming guy who came along. I’m going to try to go to bed now. It’s hours later than I should have been sleeping. I’ll get at most three hours now. I’ll probably take a nap tomorrow afternoon and still not get to all the cleaning that needs to be done.
I’ll probably pony up the cash and look for her again. I’m getting closer every time now, I can feel it. Any year now I’ll be able to walk up to her in person and be rejected again.