Despite that questionably-safe combination, it's not what kept my mind in a pensive and partially-melancholic state - both then and a week prior when a mental episode occurred. What made this combination even more chaotic was the constant playing of one certain song.
The end result? Well, you'll just have to read on, I guess.
Confused? Well, so was I - until now. (Honestly, I'm still confused, but not as much.) Just read on and maybe you can get some more insight into my mind and dreams (and maybe pitch your two cents in while you do). And no, you don't get any handy link to skip the pre-blog stuff this time. Muahahahahaha.
*munches on the gas station burrito*
CURRENT MUSIC:
Halestorm - "Familiar Taste of Poison"
Halestorm
I've listed a Halestorm song twice before in my blog (with "Familiar Taste of Poison" already receiving some of the limelight). Generally, I dislike listing the same piece of music twice within one timeframe, but I figured that it's been enough time between then and now, so here I am listening to it again.
Having heard it dozens of times before in an attempt to find the meaning of "Familiar Taste of Poison" in the past, I decided to play it once more. I needed musical inspiration, and since it's my favorite Halestorm song[1], I figured, "Why not?" I wouldn't regret it, because after it finished I was left in shock. Despite being a song that describes a potential romantic situation that could prove to be metaphorically poisonous to both parties (and a murder mystery in the song's official music video), it held a different meaning as I typed on and on. That meaning ended up fitting the tone of my all-nighter dead-on.
As such, I felt that "Familiar Taste of Poison" deserved to be honored in some way today, so I chose to reference it in the title. (In the event you had no idea where I got today's title from, you now know.) So, thanks, Halestorm. Love the album, love the music, love the soul each song possesses. You've helped me today in combating a demon residing within me.
"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
- Walter Wellesley Smith
Some people have told me that good people - no matter what their profession or craft is - usually don't come from happy childhoods. As such, they have numerous experiences to draw upon and mold them into what they are. In the case of writers, they draw upon these past moments in life and let them guide the pen(cil) or their fingers as they write/type. That, or talk about the latest thing that's pissed them off.
Today's case is a bit of both. As such, it's all words that were put together with the appearance of a rant. Hence, it was easy for me to write this. See? Anyone can write! (But writing well is another different story...)
Hello, everyone. Welcome to another entry in the White Knight Chronicles.
If you're here because I
So far, July's blog quality has been... squiffy. While the first two entries were lengthy (and therefore, "good"), the next half-dozen or so ended up being... not-so-lengthy. While that may be a good thing for some of you, it's not that much of a good thing for me. I like quality and I like writing; I like having fun with the two - especially when the menagerie combines intelligence and entertainment into beautifully-written prose that people somehow end up enjoying as they read.[2]
I theorized that it was due to the summer heat wave, and I have to support that hypothesis with what I know so far. Getting beat down by the summer sun's rays can create a large amount of lethargy in someone. Most of their energy is spent finding solace in the shade or some building that boasts functional air conditioning. However, with that theory floating around (amongst the other theories I have for other reasons), it got me to think back on past events and led me to making a whole 'nother theory of my own that ended up influencing a sort-of life decision that I have to hallmark somehow.
Since Halestorm has proven to be quite the influence for this entry (what, with the title and the "Current Music" section), I'll be dubbing last night and this morning as "The Night of the Romantic Halestorm."[3]
Now, this life-altering theory that led to The Night of the Romantic Halestorm isn't the happiest of topics, so that means two things:
- I'm going to be deathly honest with you. Too honest, maybe - allowing myself to be open like this is something I've never treated lightly. Why I haven't censored myself yet and stopped typing this entry is still beyond me.
- I'm going to type. A lot. There will be a smorgasbord of written words that will equate to (hopefully) meaningful prose. There will be so much text that, if words were rice, I'd end world hunger.
Well, then... let's begin. (No, not like that! ...okay, fine. You win this time, Dudley. *dances*)
DISCLAIMER:
Just a bit of forewarning that this entry, despite being serious and heartfelt (and in the end, optimistic), will also take a very deep dive into a pool of melancholia. Read on if you have yet to fill your "emo" quota for the day and want to see rays of hope shine upon a friend. (although I'm pretty sure I've gone on from that and just had a slight setback)...
An Introduction to the Ordeal
So about a week ago I suffered a bit of a nervous breakdown at work. Not everyone saw it, and those who did have been told by my PR guys[4] that no such event occurred. It was... well, it wasn't happy. I can tell you that much.
For years it's almost been a "tradition" of mine to over-analyze some aspect of my life sometime during the first two weeks of July. During the over-analytical period, I may delve into one topic or several (heaven forbid I go all out and delve into everything), but generally speaking: I end up thinking too damn much. When this happens my mind ends up spiraling downward into a quagmire of depression, discord and despair. During the time frame, should I end up in this state I end up becoming everything but suicidal.
It scares me that I allow myself to go through this emotional meltdown every year without fail. It's not that I'm a perpetual pessimist or anything melancholic like that (I like to believe that I've vastly improved over last year...). I'm simply a man of tradition, always doing certain things and operating on planned events like clockwork (assuming I have total control of the situation, mind you). With that in mind it could be said that I could be crazy enough to allow myself to do this to myself.
(Roots of) The Incident
So what caused this psychological landslide, you ask? It's a word I've considered both taboo and mentionable at the same time.
"Love."
Yes, I said a forbidden term. That a four-lettered-word would spawn so much strife and heartache would seem unnatural, for it boggles the mind and torments the soul, taunts your dreams and guts out your heart. I loathe it, loathe you, and I - *blinks*
Uh... *clears throat* ...sorry. Went a little angsty there, but honest to God, I sounded like that. Not a goth poet, mind you, but... emotional, raw, and... to be fair, pathetic.
The reason I sound like this (and why I sounded even worse in the past) is quite the opposite of pathetic, because... *deep breath* ...I'm a hopeless romantic. Yes, I have dreams of getting married to a beautiful woman and raising a family. Yes, I hope to find someone who I can call my true best friend, share an amazing life and grow old together with (barring a potential heart attack that might result from attempting to cook and consume something shown on Epic Meal Time). Yes, I want her to be tolerant of my quirks as I'm sure to be tolerant of hers. Yes, I'm aware that this paragraph makes me look like one giant pansy, but you know what? I don't care. At least I'm honest about myself. I can't say the same for some other "men" out there in the world.
I'm prattling on there. Anyway, what happened was that last week a friend and I got into a pretty big discussion about romance and other related topics while we were working. Despite my lack of knowledge in the department, I was able to hold my ground in the conversation and contributed. What I failed to note was that with each passing minute of conversation, I was unwittingly exposing myself, and my subconscious was closer to erupting in an outrage as a defense measure. Sure enough, it did - I abruptly ended the conversation and threw up an icy wall to blockade any further talking.
Geez, I'm such an asshole sometimes.
Origins of Heartbreaking "Pain"
Now, the reason this happened stems back to the personal history that caused these deep-seeded insecurities to take root. Though limited in quantity, I've had my fair share of romantic experiences. I metaphorically see my romantic history as if I were a military fighter pilot. Each romantic storyline in my personal history was its own sortie. I took off into the skies, found a target and hoped for a successful mission. Most unfortunately, each campaign would prove to be unsuccessful (and in some cases, heartbreaking) and I would get shot down. Obviously I would somehow be "rescued" and brought back to a friendly hangar (often by the whole "friend(s) offering clichéd advice that still cheers you up" gig). and when I fully recovered, I would take off into the skies again and search for a new target.
Things like that... romance and pain... it can leave someone quite vulnerable if left open in the wrong way. Each time I exposed myself in the skies, I ended up paying for it.
Each time I was shot down, my morale began to dwindle. The mere idea of getting shot down can rattle the nerves of even the best of pilots, so it's no surprise that mine was all but annihilated. What I failed to realize was that each time I was gunned out of the sky, I lost part of my will to keep flying - the will to stay in the game and be on the search for that one special someone. It kept happening and happening until I ended up turning in my wings, and that brings us to roughly two years ago where I officially proclaimed that I gave up on romance.[5]
Every person can define one particular combat sortie in their romantic history as the worst heartbreaking moment they've had. No two are the same. If we were to take our "worst" experience, it will measure differently to someone else's "worst" experience due to a variety of factors. Mine probably pale in comparison to some others, but the pain still exists - the pain of rejection, of getting torn up with a horrible glass shard they lodged into your heart, of the hopelessness and alcohol consumption that follows in the hospital facility as you recover. How one chooses to deal with this mark of personal shame will vary from person to person, but the more psychologically-scarred will try their best to bury the trauma as deep within their conscious mind as possible. The conversation I had with my friend somehow struck a chord that resonated into my mind... right into that tucked-away moment.
Not fun to look at again, but maybe there was a reason for it.
Toxic Realization
A day or so after the conversation, I began to reflect on the original topic that caused me to flare up this year. (Yeah, the "L" word.) I realized that there was no way a mere conversation about love could have gotten me to tumble downhill so badly and so roughly. I began to brood upon it some more, and that's where last night comes in. While I was at work, I narrowed it down only to realize that I couldn't pinpoint the exact root on why I was like this - especially when it came to romantic matters. I figured that while years of failed sorties would make someone end up like this, it wouldn't be the root cause for last week's incident - but taking a careful look at myself back then would be a great start for my research.
So after I came home from a long day of work (*tired woo*) I fired up the laptop and looked at the social networking sites I've been on the past few years of my life. I looked onto my Facebook and MySpace (holy crap, the place still exists?) and began a painstaking dive through all the lovelorn entries I wrote in the blog sections. As I looked back at these old posts on MySpace and Facebook where I broke down and admitted to failure of some kind, I thought to myself, "God... was I really THIS pathetic in the past?" My friends can easily answer this with a "Fuck, yeah, you were. Jesus, you were almost as annoying as [insert thing that annoys them most here]."
I eventually found the post where I threw in the towel. I read it and then I re-read it, and then I found myself disgusted as I (re-)read all the other Negative Nancy posts I had. (It's a lot to sort through.) It disturbs me to find that I was this lame and emotional back then. I mean, I can still be (like I said, I'm only human), but I'm quite sure I've toned it down considerably. It was such a grotesque act to watch - at one point I found myself developing nausea and almost rushing to the bathroom to hurl.
It then hit me: the whole pessimistic outlook... the lack of wanting (to be) love(d)... the sheer amount of self-pity and loathing that drowned out any opportunity to be rewarding and hopeful...
...it was all POISON.
These toxic thoughts that I've allowed to fester and mutate within me have brewed a sickness so ghastly, any normal person would be emotionally dead - or succumb to it even more and then become physically dead. It makes me wonder how I still have my sanity (and more importantly: my life) at the present.[6]
As the familiar taste of poison spread through my mind, I had to force myself to stop reading those old, depressing blogs, temporarily stop typing this entry and go to sleep.
Murderous Rebirth
(Author's Note: Rather than explain more things with "boring" text, I'll instead explain what happened in the dream I had whilst sleeping. As fictional as it was, it was indeed metaphorical and does not constitute nor approve of any form of actual murder or suicide. Just an FYI if this post is freaking you out for some reason. Plus, I'm a writer. I wanted to make sure you weren't wholly bored with this entry, so here's storytime!)
I awoke and found myself standing inside a crowded arena. In the stands were all my friends, chatting amongst themselves or on their cell phones and laptops. They apparently had no idea I was there... or if they did, they were ignoring me. Before I could ask for their attention I found out why: in the center of the arena field stood a black-cloaked man with a microphone blathering out... well, it was depressing crap. It sounded familiar... too familiar... so I walked up to the man to find out what was going on.
"Excuse me," I inquired from behind him. "What's going on here?"
The cloaked man stopped talking and turned his head ever so slightly. I couldn't see his face, but for some reason, it felt as though I knew who he was anyway. He coolly replied, "I've been annoying your friends with pathetic-sounding banter and emotional one-sided conversation."
"...I see. So, why're you going on about this? You realize nobody's listening to you, right?"
"Indeed they aren't, and that's exactly what I want for myself." The cloaked man turn around to face me, and as he did his arms raised up to a "Welcome!" stance and his hood dropped. I took in a sharp breath of surprise and alarm.
It was me. Rather, it was a demonic-eyed, shadowy version of me. I gulped in a breath of air and stammered out a question. "W-What are you...?"
He let off a sinister laugh that made my sinister laughter look like I was merely frolicking through daisies.[7] "Brother! I'm you! I'm your shadow!"
I gave him a flat look. "You're not Liquid Snake. Metal Gear Solid reference aside, what the hell are you doing?"
"What's it look like I've been doing?" He pointed to the stands of friends. "I've been prattling on and on about depression and how my love life sucks, and they in turn have begun to stop caring about you in general because of how annoyingly sick it all sounds. You should know how bad it all is." He dropped a fanged smile. "I mean, after all... you did read my speech notes quite recently."
"Your speech notes..." And then it hit me like a brick: my past blogs. The self-loathing and depressing crap that I had the audacity to call blogs... "...that was you?"
He nodded. "Indeed. I've been manipulating you since the beginning of your 'depressing' teenage years, fueling you with angst and feeding off of your emotional pain for all these years. It wasn't enough, so I decided to up the game and furthered my plans about two-and-a-half years ago."
"Two-and-a-half years ago... when I threw in the romantic towel!?"
"Two points for Slytherin!" He mock-applauded me. "Since then, I've been having so much fun feeding off of you. Think about it: since that day you've been feeling even more emotionally distant and hollow inside than you ever did before. That void you always say you felt within you? Oh, that was me. I've been your dominant persona, boy, and I've been loving it."
I was blanching over this. How I missed this, I didn't know.
He tilted his head and gave me an innocently sinister look[8] - the kind you'd see in a cartoon or anime where the murderous, naïve girl finds herself confused about her victim's desire to live only after she drives a knife through their chest. "Though I have to say, Josh... I've grown a bit thinner over these past six months. Not much dark emotion to feed off of. What, you suddenly tired of being a Negative Nancy?"
I gritted my teeth. "Yes. I got tired of it. It was pathetic. I was pathetic."
"I know. And I've been loving it. So what are you here for? I wasn't expecting company for another year or so... and I was sure I'd be meeting you in Hell. How did you manage to find this place anyway?"
"'I'm you. I'm your shadow.' Not that hard to track myself, really - I have a telltale trail to follow. Besides, your speech notes were trailed all the way behind you. Quite easy to follow, really."
He let off a low growl.
I continued: "For over two years I never saw how pathetic you were. Too long have I been poisoned by your filth and trash that when I finally begin to recover, you attempt to consume me again with one last dose. I'm tired and I'm done with that." Dramatically I point at him. "I'm done with you, 'Josh.' Your reign of melancholy has cost me my friends and my life. I want them back."
He let off a bemused chuckle. "Well, now this I wasn't expecting. I should've placed a bet on you growing a spine." Dark energy crackled behind him as he reached behind and pulled out a nasty-looking katana and pointed it at me with one hand. "However, I don't come unprepared. You recognize this blade, do you not?"
I grimly nodded. "When I gave up on love all those years ago, it felt as though someone lunged at me and pierced my heart with a blade." I gazed at the blade and found that it was covered with dried blood. "Let me guess: that was the metaphorical sword that ran me through?"
"Quite so, but you're mistaken on one account. This isn't a metaphorical sword, and in this dream, metaphors are no longer words describing events in an eloquent manner. This is real. I cut you down here, and it won't be just your love life that is dead."
I heard a voice in the stands: "Hey... hey, guys: look! It's Josh! And he's... he's fighting with that other Josh!" The crowd of friends began to focus their attention on me and my doppelgänger, murmuring to each other about what was developing.
"Oh, really?" I chided. "Then why are my friends beginning to take note of this?"
"Because they're about to witness your death by me. Metaphorically speaking, it'd be an emotional death by your own hand, and that, Josh, would be quite pitiful, don't you think?"
"Yes... but with the mental improvements I've made on myself and my outlook, I'm not quite sure you've got the right idea on why they're suddenly fascinated with this standoff."
Without warning the crowd began cheering for me.
"Go, Josh!" "You can take this punk-ass bitch!" "We believe in you, Josh!" "Your time is now, man!" "Kick this 'Josh's' ass and bring yourself to life!" As my friends chanted their support, I began to radiate white light for a few moments. When the aura subsided, I was clad in gold-and-white armor[9] and held in my right hand a Colt Single Action Army revolver. The crowd only cheered even louder as they took note of this transformation.
Doppelgänger me began looking around the arena in confusion, and when he settled his eyes back on me, he gasped in terror. "What the...!? What the hell is that!?"
I coolly looked at the surprised demon and casually gun-twirled the revolver in my hand. "You mean you don't recognize it?" I looked down to my chestplate, and in the center was a bloodstained hole carved by a katana piercing through the armor - right where my heart is. "The noble armor that your cursed blade punched a hole through all those years ago when I gave up on love."
"I-It can't be! I made sure to finish it off - to finish you off!" He began backing away fearfully.
"But you didn't. Now you've allowed me to make you pay for your transgressions, demon." I stopped spinning the revolver and pointed it straight at his heart, cocking the hammer back. "Time to feel the familiar taste of poison, bitch."
I pulled the trigger and the dopplegänger me fell down to his knees, his chest blossoming with blood. Almost immediately after holstering my guns, the crowd rose up in thunderous applause. Roses were thrown down on the arena field and spotlights began to follow me around as I walked to the center, ready to address the enthusiastic and supportive crowd.
Where Dreams Blur Into Reality
Ladies and gentlemen, for far too long I have forsaken the noble art and beauty that is love. For years I put aside any hope of a love life and focused instead on pure survival - making it through whatever trials I had to endure and keeping myself as emotionally distant as possible. It worked - too well, I'd say - and now I'm known as all but optimistic.
Two-and-a-half years of my life were wasted taking in dose after dose of toxic thinking... all in the name of avoiding heartbreak and vulnerability. As I sampled the familiar taste of poison a doppelgänger took over as my main persona and fed us all with lies and pessimism.
I say to you, "No more!" I am done with the familiar taste of poison!
Cue the cheering from you guys and gals.
Footnotes:
1 ^ [Current Music] WinAmp currently reports 86 playthroughs and now says "Familiar Taste of Poison" is the second-most played song in my collection (with Muse's "Uprising" at 105). That's a lot of playthroughs. I guess it's safe to say that Halestorm's one of my favorite bands now. (Lzzy looking gorgeous in the music video helps, too. =3)
2 ^ [Introductory Paragraphs] It's not like I write up boring and tedious psychology dissertations about the inverse effects of ADHD without the presence of caffeine. I make an effort to reward readers with humor - especially if it's some op-ed piece that I want to make satirical or something boring that needed a huge amount of pizzazz. Still, though, not everybody enjoys reading. Shame, really - I'm not all "lame shit to discuss" and what not. At least I hope not. I'm a fun and entertaining read, right? =D
3 ^ [Introductory Paragraphs] Some would say that "The Night of the Romantic Halestorm" would've been a better (and more badass) entry title for today than "The Familiar Taste of Poison." Three things stopped me from swapping the titles out, however:
- Most of the HTML for this entry had the tags already written out as "thefamiliartasteofpoison" - and I am not willing to scroll through my blog and code to switch everything.
- This entry is pretty much a tribute to "Familiar Taste of Poison." Why change it to look otherwise?
- In the future, the rare (but eventually likely) possibility that I go out with a girl who likes Halestorm that I end up falling for could occur. That, or I end up in some sort of romantic struggle and Halestorm blares through my speakers while I ponder the situation. Regardless of whatever situation were to arise, I'll have a much better title to use for that entry if I talk about it.
4 ^ [An Introduction to the Ordeal] In truth, my "PR guys" are you and me and everyone else. If I actually had PR, that'd be awesome. I guess my friends who have a Facebook will do for now.
5 ^ [Origins of Heartbreaking "Pain"] I think that subconsciously, I was attempting that theory where one finds love where they least expect it. Despite my negative demeanor at the time, you can't hide your true self forever - your subconscious ends up exposing bits and pieces of it whether you want it to or not. Moreso, it does this whether you notice or not - and in this case I didn't. Maybe it's a good thing, because I could've made some bad choices. *shrugs*
6 ^ [Toxic Realization] I ask myself this almost every day. Fortunately, it's in a humorous manner, so we get a laugh out of it in the end. They say that self-deprecation is some of the best forms of humor, because if you can laugh at yourself and your fallacies, you can find humor (and therefore, optimism) in just about anything.
7 ^ [Murderous Rebirth] My work friends and some of my other friends know how well of a sinister laugh I can pull off - especially if I just finished scheming something devious. Man, I should really look into voice-acting or something. Heh... ahehehehe... ahahahaha... MUAHAHAHAHAHA! *clears throat* Whaat?
8 ^ [Murderous Rebirth] If you want a good example of this "innocently sinister" look, I found a good example through The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya. Ryoko Asakura (the girl with the knife) has that look nailed down 30 seconds in. I mean, looking innocent like that while you're casually taking someone else's life... geez. (ALERT: Spoilers if you click this clip. If you haven't watched the first season of Haruhi Suzumiya, then be careful.)
9 ^ [Murderous Rebirth] I picture this armor as a cross between elaborate plate mail and present-day tactical armor. Fusion's always been a fun thing to toy with. Someone remind me to use Soulcalibur III's character creation to show you what this armor would look like.
So, what does this all mean, you ask?
Two-and-a-half years ago my friends saw that I threw in the romantic towel and turned in my flight wings. I declared myself done with that part of life and instead focused on other things. As I did, I began to intoxicate myself with the danger a heartless life would lead to
Six months ago I began cleansing myself in a psycho-emotional sort of way, and I've become quite a better person in almost all aspects.
Six days ago I began to confront myself because of a hated "ritual" I began years back.
Six hours ago I used that ritual to confront a demon that had been residing within me and realized just how pathetic he was - and how pathetic he was making me.
Six minutes ago, I killed him. A shot through the heart - a familiar taste of poison that he'd dealt to me all those years ago.
Six seconds ago, I posted this blog and began life anew... reaffirming my faith in love.
If you needed a TL;DR, then here: I'm back in the game. I think I'm ready to go back in this topsy-turvy world believing that love can happen to a schmuck like me.
Granted, I'll still be a tad fearful - these skies are still strange and dangerous to me - but I don't think I'll be fazed like I was years ago. Matter-of-fact, I think these shattered skies look beautiful today.
*smirks as he dons a flight suit and boards a combat-modified and custom-painted Sukhoi Su-47*
Lieutenant Josh D. Blanco, callsign "WHITE KNIGHT ONE," reporting for duty and ready for my next combat sortie. WHITE KNIGHT ONE, ENGAGE!
(Author's Note: Holy shit. This has got to be the longest post I've ever done here. *slaps on the "milestone" tag* I honestly think that if anyone is going to comment on any blog, it should be this one. =))
