Happiness for me is a fool's errand. Even when I'm happiest, I'm still profoundly insane. What am I supposed to do with that? If a woman were to love me, I would still be schizophrenic. I will still slip.
Every day, I would wake up happy, look at her, and tell her how much I love her. I don't think that would ever change. What would change is the rest of me. She would have to wake up in the morning, deal with staring me in the face, and still want to be near me. The whole time, she would know that me today is better than me tomorrow. I'm getting worse; how many people do you know who could love me as I fall? How many can live with a man who is less himself every morning, and every evening changes for the worse?
Everything is going at a faster rate all the time. My thoughts betray me at every step: I can't reign them in any more. As the life trickles out of me in little droplets, my tomorrow becomes obviously harder than tonight. There is no time table for improvement. There's no certain end to my suffering. I just get to watch myself become less and less of who I was. I can't ask anyone to be in here with my pain: it's selfish. Another person's misery is not an acceptable loss to gain my own happiness. Nothing pains me more then this: I will be alone, and that's the best thing I can do for the people around me. Before you try to feed me a line about love or happiness, just ask yourself a few questions. Can you talk to me every day as a friend? Can you stand being close to me for more than an hour at a time? Would you answer a call from me at two in the morning, and be happy to speak with me? I know it's hard to even be my friend, so I also know that it would be impossible for someone to be more.
If someone says she loves me, I know better now than to believe her. "I love you" becomes "I know." "I know" becomes "you're just my friend." "you're just my friend" becomes "I'll call you next week." When next week comes, all the words in the world become silence. Silence becomes misery. Misery becomes a realization: I am alone. Friends are ephemeral; love is a lie.
Look at the comments on this blog. I've lost you all, haven't I? Don't comment right away just to be contrary. Think it through. Do you want me around, or do you just want to not feel like an insensitive, empty tundra? Every word counts.