There Always Was a Song Not Me  

rm_TappyTibbins 40M
49 posts
5/10/2005 4:40 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

There Always Was a Song Not Me

Apparently, as a child, I was filled with joy. I don't remember being young and happy ‒ most of my memories are nervous ones -- but everyone tells me that I was delightful; always laughing, always polite. I even remember one of my grade school teachers telling me years later that I, "had one of those radiant, contagious smiles that would light up any room and spread an ineffable joy to all those around." Even taking into account the likelihood of gross exaggeration, it’s reasonable to assume that most people remember me as a fairly happy-go-lucky kid.

When I hit my teens, I grew confused and fearful and withdrew from society. While most of my peers began their adventures searching for treasure in the newly discovered land that was the opposite sex, I was on a crusade deep into the unexplored wilderness that defined "me". I was obsessed not with "how to score chicks," but rather with answering the questions: what makes a person good? How should one gauge success? Or, what are the preconditions to happiness? As you can imagine, I was a dark, introverted, brooding adolescent. When I spoke, I think I may have confused some people and scared others. My parents sent me to a therapist. Needless to say, the girls were wary of me, and mostly stayed away. I didn't go to my high school prom.

It was a few years after high school that I began to realize that I had shaped my internal self into a person that I could respect. I was compassionate, generous, respectful, attentive, kind. I was a "nice" person. I was everything that I had ever been led to believe was proper and good. I was ready to be social again. I threw myself into the world and I was amazed when nobody wanted anything to do with me. I had heard for years from women that they were “just looking for a good, nice, kind man.” Well, here I was, and if my looks piqued their curiosity, my kindness bored them.

I held firm to my beliefs, but began to slide into depression. I was still a good person (I thought), but I slowly withdrew back into myself. I couldn't understand what was wrong with people that they refused to see me as I saw myself. I didn’t understand what it was they saw when they looked at me that made me so easy to deride or, worse, ignore.

And then, as these stories often seem to go, I met someone. She was truly amazing. One of those women I had always assumed was out of my league, well beyond my reach. But she liked me. She liked me. I knew it was super important that I not fuck this up.

We stayed together for years, and for most of those years it was wonderful. We would stay up all night laughing, playing monopoly, talking, dancing, making love. She groomed me and taught me how to groom myself. She elevated me to her league and we played together as lovers and friends. Soon we were living together. We were making plans.

Gradually, as time slipped past us and plans turned to hopes turned to dreams turned to fantasies, we laughed less. We played less. We stopped making love, choosing instead to fuck each other and make it through the day. I think we both got tired. We began to snap at each other, to be irritated, impatient. Soon, mistakes were made, forgiven, resented. More mistakes were made and forgiveness came less and less easily. Our lives were unravelling and soon our life was over. It was my life again. Her life again.

I fell apart. I began to drink and drinking helped so I drank more. I was filled with bitterness and took it out on everyone I knew or met or didn’t know and couldn’t give a shit about. I stopped caring. I was rude, brutal, abrasive. I took pleasure in being a son of a bitch and a bastard. It was a point of pride, something I would brag about. I raged and my rage was my shield. No one could hurt me. I was untouchable. I poured my hurt and anger onto the page and the pages sold. Publishers were calling, magazine editors wanted me to contribute. The closer I came to bottom the higher and higher my career would fly. I treated my women like whores and they loved me for it. I never spent a weekend alone. I tried to saw them in half, stroking into them viciously and calling them every dirty, demeaning name I could think of. And the deeper I got the more like animals we would become. Spitting, swearing, hissing, scratching. Come Monday I would be bruised and bleeding and the women always called back. I was a broken man, six steps from the gutter and I was being rewarded for it -- spoiled as richly as any sultan that could ever have lived. I never wanted my despair to go away. I would even call my ex-wife regularly just to keep my torment fresh. It was the best time of my life.

But, alas, all good things must end. Eventually, I began to feel better. I even laughed once in a while. I was able to walk in a crowd of people and not be filled with contempt for the masses. I smiled more and drank less. I quit smoking. I lost weight.

The publishers, editors and women have stopped calling and I can no longer think of interesting things to say. I have a decent job. I’m a member of a gym. I keep my video store fees up to date. I get home on time to watch the news. I sleep well. I’m 35 years old and I don’t feel anything. All around me all I see are the blank faces of the passionless and I slowly start to realize that I, for the first time in my life, am one of them.


Tomorrow: "On Fiction"


Author's Note: I want to take this small opportunity, at the same time, to thank those of you who have already begun leaving me comments. Your positive feedback was greatly appreciated. All the rest of you, don't be shy!

rm_jayR63 59F
1884 posts
5/10/2005 5:40 pm

You are many things but you are not lacking passion. I think you are looking for a purpose. You are young, many unexpected,even unimaginable, things are yet to come.
My financial situation is dismal. I am currently unemployed. My health is good. I am, for reasons I can't even explain to myself, happy. Just happy to be.
You too will be this way.

rm_TappyTibbins 40M
22 posts
5/10/2005 7:09 pm

Thanks for the great, compassionate feedback, Jay. I appreciate your concern. This blog entry was "fiction," but for a longer, more honest explanation, check back tomorrow.


5/10/2005 7:14 pm

It a hard journey down the road to finding ones self, The path takes many twists and turns along the way, and hopefully you will find a bend in your road that gives you peace, good luck


rm_jayR63 59F
1884 posts
5/10/2005 7:47 pm

A job well done. I was truly concerned about that fellow but from your profile I am concerned as well. I have experience on the path you describe though I am no longer there. Some parts of it are quite humbling if not,how do i call this?, less than dignifying. Is that fellow a fiction also?

rm_TappyTibbins 40M
22 posts
5/10/2005 8:14 pm


The short (albeit incomplete answer) is no. That person is very real and very dear to me (well, I should hope so... it *is*

I am new to blogging, and posted my first 2 entries before reading others and seeing what "standard" blogging is like. I have been approaching my blog not as a collection of individual blogs, but rather as a continuing series of collective exploration. Only now do I realize how unconventional this approach may be.

My entry tomorrow, "On Fiction" will be an exploration into EXACTLY the questions that you are asking me here. I have been thinking for a long time about the dichotomy of Fiction vs. Non-Fiction (and all other hard dichotomies, for that matter). My blog tomorrow will be an answer to your question, and was always intended to be a companion piece to today's blog and a framework for many of the blogs to follow. I hope that as few of my enries as possible will exist in a "vacuum", but rather will work together and support each other to create an overall tapestry.

Well... that's the plan, anyway. I'm just getting this whole ball rolling, so I both understand and apologize for any confusion I may have accientally caused....

Hope to read you again tomorow!


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