I am lost.
I am all alone in a crowded world.
A cold world for sure.
It’s not like it was during my youth.
Society has changed. The people haven’t, but their ‘society‘ has.
So, I am left to ask you, the total stranger, am I finally broken, never to be repaired?
I blame most my demise on the era I went through my puberty in.
That sliver of time between the 1950’s and it’s gospel /bluegrass/country & Western musically influenced attitude and the 1960’s Dawning of Aquarius/LSD/Frank Zappa cultural shock era.
I embraced the latter lifestyle tightly. I still do to this day. Peace, Love & Hippie Dope – the artist eccentricity creating chaos in my heart.
My choice to bear the weight being a vagabond twelve year old hippie nomad led me into a world where feelings were real and emotions ran free. Everything was black and white.
It is what it is. Never sugar coat reality.
I was always partaking in one or more exploratory excursions into the expanded conciseness mindset.
The artist within me caused an eccentric side. I loved too honestly. I angered too deep. I was a nonconformist.
I was walking counterclockwise in a clockwise world.
My analytical side over examined all and everything within my realm of life.
The ten years of chasing Her Majesty, The Black Dragon, across her tinfoil highway did not help.
I have lived over six decades so far.
My life, or lives, has/have taken five autobiographical books thus far to enlighten ‘others‘.
I certainly have not lived a ‘normal‘ set of lives.
In a confessional way you could say that I have lived a tragic and chaotic youth.
Yet, from these sixty-one year old clouded eyes, I would confess from my standpoint that I merely ‘lived’ my life.
No one sees their life as it is perceived through the eyes of others.
“What is my greatest regret? you ask.”
“LOVING TRULY, MADLY & DEEPLY”, I must answer.
I was a liar, cheat, thief, punk, gangster and killer in ALL aspects of all my lives – EXCEPT WHEN IT CAME TO LOVING SOMEONE.
I can go to Helheim or Valhalla knowing that in the matter of love, I was devoted one hundred percent into staying faithful, loving truly, madly, deeply and I never held back from confessing my love to my beloved.
AND BY DOING SO I HAVE LIVED A LIFE OF TEARS. I HAVE LIVED LOVE LOCKED INTO A FANTASY I PRAYED WAS A REALITY.
A falsehood created by overthinking and over loving.
I only had a few true loves in my life.
All of which I dove heart first into.
My eccentric artist side painted fairytale portraits of family bliss on the canvas of my emotions.
My first true love being my teenage sweetheart of eight years.
She destroyed my heart by giving away my first born son and then cutting her own throat. Causing herself severe, irreversible brain damage, while I sat in the discomfort of Her Majesty’s Super Maximum Penitentiary.
The nerve of me to pay my debt to society!!!
Then there was my first wife.
I paid her mother fifty dollars for her.
Six weeks later we were legally married.
To each other.
Eight months later we were divorced.
From each other.
My Mother being horrifically murdered was more than her snitty self could handle.
I loved thinking we had been in love.
Number three lasted thirty-two years.
It was true love. No lie.
It became tainted by my rebel ways, my eccentric behavior and my constantly venturing into the Dark side.
This led to our growing apart from our original selves.
Not to say we didn’t have a good run.
We had many, many good years.
In today’s world it takes but one or two bad years to bury thirty good ones.
Unfortunately, my becoming a victim of a tragic industrial crippling accident was the catalyst of a ripple effect that ripped our family apart.
Our love for each other lost in the typhoon of modern life.
Again, the artist within had painted many a lifescape and my hands molded sculptures of everlasting bliss.
This lay cause to becoming greatly damaged emotionally upon the marriage disolution.
Then came my greatest and most cherished love. I am so deeply in love with her that I hurt.
I believe she strongly loves me, also.
But, she cannot express or confess the trueness of her love. She is robbed of enjoying the escasty and bliss of being truly loved. It was stolen by her being the victim of an expert manipulation of a Narcissistic Meth Head.
His brainwashing cut deep wounds across this beautiful soul’s heart.
My artistic eccentricity is causing me to self destruct. I have been living in a self potraited fantasy of living the rest of my life wrapped in the warmth of loving only her.
And she is brainwashed into believing and living in the shadows of fear planted by a sick excuse of a man.
My heart is hers – I call her “Mi Corazon” – for she is my heart. Each beat whispers her name.
I am trapped in my desires to be her man so badly that I cry.
I have to love her one hundred percent.
I am hurting myself loving her.
She is not capable of dropping her past abuses and allowing true love into her life.
A life she would honestly enjoy. If only she were capable of accepting affection.
I have been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
And I cry at the minimum of twelve hours per day.
Not over dying of cancer.
I cry because the kind soul buried deep within me cannot find the resources to show my truest love how to allow herself to be loved truly and faithfully.
I do not wish to die knowing she will live her life afterwards full of unretractable regrets.
She deserves a far better life than she has ever known.
I have earned my chance to finally be a real man and love the way love is portrayed to be.
Am I living a fantasy brought forth by the eccentric hippie attitude within?