David Everett Fisher


March 4, 2013 introspection

Emo Blog II or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Isolation

Well, kids, it is back to the emo rants. I’ve done it again. I have been dumped for my inability to express emotion and be affectionate. Every day I had every intention of overcoming this lack of feeling, but when it came time to act, I felt dead inside. I felt empty and lacking and lost. I felt like I was a stranger to myself and wish I knew myself better. Now I have to go through another break-up and deal with the aftermath that is me.

I saw the movie Snitch. I thought that every movie with Duane “the Rock” Johnson would be an epic action movie, but this movie was having us watch “the Rock” do what he is least capable of: act. He wasn’t even an ass kicker. He wasn’t ex Special Forces, ex CIA wet works specialist or even a cop. He was a fucking construction worker who is emotional for an hour and a half about his son going to prison. They could have had anyone with a better acting resume play his part. He produced the film.

I go to therapy. I have been dealing with the deadness inside for quite a number of years. If I could just stop it and change my action I would, but alas, nothing is ever easy. I’m fucking broken and continue to be broken. I’m fine with being broken. I can deal with broken. I have spent my whole life being a foggy window from being normal and I wouldn’t know how to handle being inside by the fireplace of normalcy talking kids and mortgages.

The pinball bug has bitten me. A week ago, I got pinball. I finally understood that it wasn’t just hitting both flippers at the same time every time the ball came close. I realized the strategy and the methods. I’m hooked. I spent about four dollars today on Medieval Madness. I even played four games with Jo who I beat once, but she had a very bad game. I almost stopped by a bar near my house to see what games they had.

A friend of mine asked me what I wanted in a relationship. I put my hands together and took a deep breath because I was about to expound on a long explanation about what I wanted in a relationship and all my philosophies about relationships when I realized I hadn’t the slightest fucking idea. Damn if know. I guess I should know this before I go barking up some tree and find myself needlessly hurting someone again. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

Why are there no strip clubs in Southern Washington?

A regular and I discussed rock albums that had shook the world of music. We talked about the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles, Tommy by the Who, Fragile by Yes, Aqualung by Jethro Tull, Led Zepplin’s fourth album and a bunch of other rock albums from the 60’s to Nirvana’s Nevermind album that came out in ’91. We couldn’t think of an album that came out after Nevermind that was explosive and catapulted rock to another level. Maybe someone will comment and prove me wrong. I hope so. I almost claimed Weezer’s blue album, but it didn’t seem right.

It is a lot easier to get through a breakup when I’ve been hurt. It is a lot harder to feel my way through when I was the one who blew it.

Next Sunday is Daylight Savings time. Ben Franklin, you are a fucking dick. Actually, Ben was just making fun of Parisians when he came up with changing time. It’s that blasted Kiwi, George Vernon Hudson’s fault.

The self-caused pain has been terribly motivating to my writing. I spent several hours last night working on a short story. I even reread it and liked it. I’m scared to work on it again.

I want to walk out of the fog and into something I feel like I belong to. I want to feel apart of people’s lives. I just keep getting further and further isolated and further into my own head that it becomes harder and harder to reach out and ask people to hang out and try to join their lives. I want to be a friend. I want to be a son and a brother and an uncle, but goddamn I feel awkward wherever I go. I can’t shake being different. I want to love and be someone’s rock and light up a room with my humor and compassion, but I enter a room and I feel like I’m 10 minutes late and everyone is a chapter ahead of me.

I like myself now more than I have ever liked myself before. I don’t mind being alone and reading or writing. I am spending more and more time by myself. I don’t get jealous of people’s social posts on Facebook anymore. I just wish I could feel like I’m on the same page and chapter as everyone around me.

I’m 36 years old and I never felt like I was home.

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