All Rung Out...With bad Tattoo's

I think I may be done. Not done in the way that ya'll need to call an ambulance and have me put on a 24 hour watch. But done as in, I think I may have reached my limit.

Look... It's been close to 2 years now, and I still have yet to recover from the last blow. I still hurt, I sill doubt myself, I still ache over it all. I'm still just basically fucked up. (Side note: All you mother fuckers that were there, and/or participated in this whole debacle, listen up....Here's from one of the collateral damaged; a result of your debauchery,.. from which this one is not getting back up) I just have lost the will. I just don't see the point. (again... not suicidal, so relax) I just can't find a reason to continue. A reason to try. There's no point in me trying to find a partner anymore. Shit I'm damn near 40. If it was to happen, it would have happened by now, and the last chance I had, got wasted away by a lot of bad luck and even badder  friends. (badder... didn't think I'd ever be able to justify that word) Shit I still have to deal with the asshole who won out,.. rubbing my face in it every chance he can get. Fuck! I'm still wearing the clothing of the wolves that infiltrated my most personal of depths.

Some of us were just meant to die alone. There comes a time in your life when you just have to accept that which you can not change. I have had some really great loves in my life. 3 to be exact, and I believe that a man can't ask for more. For me, it wasn't written in the cards for me to actually keep any of them. Guess the wind blows the way it chooses and there aint a damn thing one can do about it

I've had a good run. I've seen things that people who may live 4 times longer, never get to see. I've built stories that have pushed themselves well beyond the point of believabilty. I've earned every story tattooed on my body. So don't feel sorry for me. I made my bed, and I plan on sleeping in it.

I was foolish to believe that I would end up settling down with someone to share these life experiences with. Maybe I allowed myself to wish for a little more than I really knew I would ever achieve. But I chose this life. I chose it long ago. In the foothills of some town not quite forgotten by me, and definitely not by itself,... Long ago, on a starry night in my 18th year. Sitting on the hood of my old pickup, looking out on the lights of an unsubstantial city. Listening to a boy/man, that I would one day outgrow; a boy/man that would abandon me in a city of the most fierce cold,.. tell me a story that I would never forget,.. and be doomed,  from that point on, to live. That each of those lights out there represented a family... A man who decided to settle down and have a family... A man that decided that the road was not for him... That finding someone to grow roots with was the means to happiness... I listen to my friend tell me " Me and you,... We're not meant for that sorta life. We'll always search for more. Our lives will never be summed up by a light lost in a multitude of some suburban night."

So here I am... Some 25 odd years later, with a heart smashed all to shit, a pocket full of stories, and an empty room with nothing but this keyboard to keep me company. While I ache over what I've lost, there is still a part of me that is proud to know that at least I am not some porch light lost amongst a plethora of a million other lights. I'm alone, yet I knew that this was where my path would lead me. I'm not some failure that has no future. In fact, in many ways, my future still has more brightness coming that most would only dream of. It's just a brilliance that I have to endure alone. Something that I would do better by excepting sooner, rather than later.

I suppose the point is, pretty much the same as when I started the rant, I just need to learn to except the things in life that I have no means to change. Maybe then I can once again find happiness in my solitude.

I'm just saying...