End

it's over. I never thought that it could be, really, that the end would be so messy and sad and horrible and that neither of us would want it at all.

but we couldn't go on the way we were, and we can't change who we are to that fundamental a level to make things work how we wanted, so it had to end.

it's not been a waste of time. when it was good it was so, so good, and we can always remember that. but now it's done.

and we have to move on.

We are wandering and we are lost never considering the final cost

And we are desolate yes, we are here but as we scream aloud we slowly disappear

Take the axe and make your mark cutting deeper in take the axe and tear apart what would have been the end

We are crusifying our last remarks tounge tied and suffering from broken hearts

And if we try to fly the rotten core will pull us back down from the sky become another fool

Take the axe and make your mark cutting deeper in take the axe and tear apart what would have been the end

As we reach for stars our dreams have all been burnd within our suffering our lessons have been learned

this is the end this story's old but it goes on and on until we disappear call me and let me taste the salt you breathe while you are underneath i am the one who haunts your dreams of mountains sunk below the sea i spoke the words but never gave a thought to what they all could mean i know that this is what you want, a funeral keeps both of us apart you know that you are not alone, need you like water in my lungs

this is the end

I think it may actually be the end of my mom's three year relationship.

Considering the fact that I feel a chlamydia-like-burning-hatred toward him, I should be happy.

But I'm not.

In fact, my stomache is killing me and I want to just throw up and cut. Maybe both at the same time. Sounds like ultimate relief to me.

But I won't.
I won't do either.

Anyway, the whole thing makes me want to write a book. I'm sure it's been done before.

"I hate my stepdad, wah wah wah"

Whatever, maybe I can be more interesting than those people.

And if I can't, fuck them.

My final assignmet handin is in one week exactly. It will be my last handin at university, all going well and I haven't unexpectedly failed anything. By June I might have a job halfway across the country, far from the friends I've made here.

But you know what? I might miss it from time to time, but I'll be glad to get away from here. Uni is like Neverland; nobody here ever changes, they never grow up until they leave and enter the real world. They're away from their parents but they don't have to pay rent or utilities(generally paid by student loans), don't have to pay council tax, they can lie in bed all day and skip lectures and nobody's going to shout at them to stop fucking about. They can bring people back to fuck and not have to worry about dodging parents, they can drink as much as they like cause they're old enough to do it legally now, they can fuck up and fail a year or two at uni and still be covered by loans - there's no growing there. Uni students are just teenagers with a license to do whatever they want. And it's cool for a year or two until you realise that teenagers are a petty, stupid and boring bunch on the whole.

I want to move on now, I'm finished here. The real friends I've made will be with me even if I don't get to see them every day; the manchildren will stay behind with the uni itself and fade away. This summer is the end.

As our time here comes to a close I look back on the two years we have spent in this place. Some leave here much the better. They have gained knowledge, maybe wisdom, and most importantly friends. For others, the end looks much like the beginning. They are alone, though this time it is by choice. Sure, they might have acquired the same knowledge as the rest, but the relationships they began have now been tossed aside. All those who cared about them have been discarded, replaced by selfishness and pride. I pity those who have nothing else but their pathetic insistence that they are superior. I feel sorry for those who have nothing left to them but the act of complaining about anything and everything. And yet, I cannot feel sorry long, because I know they themselves are to blame. What a waste of two amazing years.

At least I can look forward to the end without feeling that it was all in vain.

I worry that my end is closer than I would like.

The beginning of the end started in the last part 1998. It was the end of what I felt was my purity, virtue, and a lot of my general understanding of happiness. I became a person that I hated, and took too many people down with me. It took five years to feel again, any raw emotion, I became an expert of living theater, my whole life had become a complete facade. I simply went through the motions of my daily life. After moving away from my home town and all the people that I knew and had to be a certain person for I found that I could be anyone I wanted to be, again act as I was someone else, I became a chameleon. I changed my personality, my dress, my thoughts to fit in with different people, I was good at it, no one knew that I was completely different at different times of the day, I made friends easily, everyone like me, because I was nothing more that an outward representation of themselves, what the saw and liked about me was I was mealy themselves. Then again I moved, and was bound and determined not to be a chameleon again, I was going who I was, just me, but I had a hard time remembering really who I was, I started to forget which bits were made up, which parts did I play and what was real. It took a while but I finally got it about right. Then I had to come back and well, I found out that the friends that I had made over the past 1.5 year didn’t really fit anymore, things were too different, everyone was saying how much I had changed, it was hard to keep most of the people that I regarded as my close friends when I came back, they never really liked me, they liked who I pretended to be. A few of the people from the then are still close, but things are still a little strange. All and all I’ve found how to be a real person, have my own opions and act in my own way, but old habits die hard, I find myself slipping in with people and faking who I am at times, just to get along with them. Then finally I disengaged myself from the one person holding me back, with him I was too afraid to do anything, to afraid to leave, that I wouldn’t be able to find anyone else, he was good at helping me feel this way for nearly 3 years. Ah, Fin, done, the end, a chapter closed in a book that should never been read.

What brings on the end: I’m tired of people asking what’s going on between me and someone else, and generally even more sick of never knowing the right answer. I’ve found that it is what it is what it is, and not asking is the best way of not losing what you never had.

I had finally reached a point where I considered myself experienced in the dating scene. I had only had two official girlfriends, a lover that I was extremely close with and briefly lived with, a long-distance lover, an a couple friends that I had sex with. I felt like I understood the ins and outs of being in all sorts of different relationships with people. And the enlightening and traumatizing experience of dating / living with a dominatrix who was brilliant in all aspects, especially in those of mindfucking me, served as an ultimately therapeutic shock to my system that prepared me for a lot in life, especially the few relationships that I've entered into since then. I felt like after having my dignity and self-confidence destroyed (through a combination of her efforts and mine) I had finally rebuilt myself into a stronger person. I guess in a lot of ways, I have. But the circumstances of our breakup have left me with unhealthy inclinations and lingering insecurities even now, years later. I was in love with her. Head over heels in love with her. In an unspeakable, profound way, she was the final piece in the jigsaw puzzle of my life. This older woman completed my need for a mother figure, a lover, a guide into the business world, and someone for me to connect intimately with on an intellectual and artistic level. That love was shaken, however, when little things that I did, upon offending her, would send her into a venomous, uncompassionate attack mode. I was in denial, though. She was still the person that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. We just need to come to understand each other. I just need to be more considerate. I just need to change. I'll change. I'll do what I need to. I'll do what you want. I'll do anything it takes. Anything in the world. Anything for you. What ultimately offended her was that, upon closer scrutiny, she had someone that was not in love with her. That used to be, but was forced out of love. But someone with all of the dedication and passion of love deceiving her into thinking that she still had his heart. She came to accuse me of deceiving her from the beginning, of never really loving her, of never really respecting her. I was a vile, evil creature pretending to be someone that he wasn't and tricking women into falling in love with him only to reveal that he never actually cared for them. In a series of three breakups, I left her, then she left me, then we more or less mutually split apart. I lingered in a relationship after it should have been ended because I was stubborn, and arrogant, and utterly convinced that if I applied all of the willpower in my being, I could see our problems to a peaceful resolution and get back that wonderful completeness that that woman was the key to. I wanted every memory of me making her cry fade away with her constant smiling presence in my life. And that, as it turned out, was stupid. It was the first and only time in my life that I've overestimated myself, and it broke the heart of a person who loved and trusted me. Even after I came to understand that she wasn't as good for me as I thought, I was still destroyed by my failing. My utter, spectacular failure that hurt someone that loved me. I was moved to put a permanent mark on my body as a constant reminder of my failure. Since then, I feel like her spirit stays with me. Her dignity, her inquisitiveness, her demeanor. A combination of that newfound dignity and absolute terror at the thought of hurting someone the same way has led me to start abruptly and permanently breaking away from anyone who gives me an insight into who they are that indicates that on some important level, I can't relate to them. I've stopped hoping for people to change. I've stopped wanting to change for other people. But I've also stopped giving people second chances. The kid that would have given his life to someone just to avoid hurting her is now abruptly informing lovers that they'll never see him again because they got angry and yelled at him, or used racist slurs, or said something profoundly closed-minded, or were a little too demanding of sex. I don't want to be that person. I don't ever expect to find an absolutely perfect person. I've got to unlearn this knee-jerk separation instinct. It's not the best way to avoid hurting people. It's just weak of me. I just don't want to have to fight someone to love them ever again.