Something Wicked.

An Excerpt. Enjoy.

This is not a success story.
This is not a story with a happy ending.
This story has no ending.

Yet.

This is a wake up call received 29 years too late, but nonetheless received.
This is a story of tragedy turned into viciousness.
There is no moral. There are no answers.
There is no right way to do anything having to do with emotion, or love, or hate, or coldness.
This is merely a short story of how one person went from feeling significant and satiated to insignificant and motivated. How one person went from thinking he was the king of his realm, to falling, at an alarming speed, and hitting the lowest low he never could hav¬e imagined.
This is a story of how rock bottom leaves you bloody.
Unconscious.
Contemplating the unthinkable.
How rock bottom leaves you empty, soulless and pitiful.
Disgusting, and vengeful.
This is a story of how one hand in the dark reaching for you, a quite unexpected one, is all you need for a second chance.
A story of how the hands you expected to be there for you, will always leave you when you need them most.
This is a story of will power, and the discovery of such a thing.
The sheer determination needed to change your life.
The sheer hatred fueling you into becoming who you, nor anyone, could have ever imagined.
This is a story of someone.
Someone who was everything but had nothing.
Someone who became nothing in order to have everything.

This is you.

1.

Thank you to the 6 people on this earth who have shown me that nothing is permanent. Thank you to the 6 of you who will forever be grouped into a year that will never be forgotten, however many attempts are made.

The full consummation of pain realized, that is felt throughout a body as love rips its ways out is hard to describe. A lumbar puncture, birth, passing multiple kidney stones, or even an amputation seem to pale in comparison at the complete and total annihilation felt by love lost. This is something that the author has yet to be able to fully understand. We have either been through it, or know someone, or even been through it multiple times. The feeling of no light, complete darkness, exhaustion, suffocation and helplessness are but just the surface.
You scream, and no one hears you.
You long for, and no one is there.
You replay vivid memories that were, one day, destined for a scrapbook of happy times, over and over, retracing your steps trying to figure out what went wrong.
You begin to hate their former lovers, wondering if they’ll be on the agenda now that you’ve been discarded.
You think of every little thing you ever did to make the others life easier, ever dollar spent, every bus, train, plane ride. Every now insignificant material object purchased, tiffany necklace, black dress, camera, it all becomes an unfortunate waste of money.
The hours, days on the phone answering every request, calming every nerve.
Gone, only immortalized on an electronic phone bill in the depths of your inbox.
You shut yourself off to Social Media used by the other, in hopes of disappearing.
You hate the fact that you shared friends, and start to remove yourself from most of their lives.

But most importantly.
You begin to hate yourself.
You begin to hate yourself so much that your eyes sting at the sight of anything reminiscent of the past.
You begin to swallow the venom, and it begins to poison you, slowly. Songs, movies, colors, pictures, ideas shared become ulcer causing agents that you start to systematically destroy on sight.
But you still have self hate.
Some people wallow in it.
The author decided to use it to change.

At the age of 29 the author found himself out of a career, and without the one thing he thought would last forever. Her.
At the age of 29, the author found himself the largest he had been in 7 years, with a very unhealthy lifestyle.
At the age of 29, the author found himself making very little money in a part time job.
At the age of 29, the author found out that at the end of the day no one cares about you if you don’t.

This is not a success story. Yet.

To Be Continued…