In which we have Internet, and Our Hero bewails his Birth

Good afternoon, Gentle Reader. I’m typing this on my trusty desktop, for once. That’s right, we finally have internet at the new as-yet-unnamed house. This means that I can get back to work, I suppose, besides my five hundred projects.

Yesterday, I turned twenty-eight. Although I eschew the traditional trappings of American success – I find them icky – I cannot help but feel that I haven’t accomplished nearly enough. I write, and write and write and write, and I sculpt and I play and I paint, and then in one depressive downstroke, I destroy my work. I never let other people see what I’ve done before erasing it in fire. Well, hardly ever. Needless to say, I have nothing to show for myself.

Fire

My best friend in the entire world, Miss Ward, returned to Washington last night, after a year in Australia, followed by another stint in Thailand, then Peru. I am terrified to see her. I’m not doing at all well, and have nothing to say for myself.

At one point in my life – the high point, in fact, when last I saw her, a year and a half ago – I was unreasonably flush with cash. I had innumerable friends, social rivals, openings and galas, karaoke twice a week, and a vibrant hum and throng of social activity. People liked me. When I reached the end of the money, in many cases I had also reached the end of the friendship. Since, I’ve been a bit of a charity case. I live with a few of my few remaining friends; and while they’ve never said a word, I’m certain that I’m reaching the end of their patience, tolerance, for my wicked, broken, ways.

Dissipation

Not only am I a wreck, I’m a dull one. I long for the days of my popularity, with some new intrigue on my lips, glorious drama backlit by the light that only comes during the cocktail hour. Without the aquarium in which I used to swim, I drape myself on my chaise. I have nothing worthwhile to discuss with my globetrotting best friend. I can’t even take her out for an evening to hear her traveling tales.

In short, I am both broke and broken.

About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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8 Responses to In which we have Internet, and Our Hero bewails his Birth

  1. mousegoddess says:

    Love you my dear.

  2. bern-ban says:

    You’re anything but dull.

    Many of these types of things tend to go in cycles. It’ll come back around. Meanwhile, sometimes people don’t need the time out somewhere with you, they just like to be with you….sharing tales. No matter where.

    🙂

  3. paisleyglen says:

    Thank you, both. I’m doing a little better, now.

  4. ekgo says:

    I know this was horrible for you at the time and I know it was heartfelt, but…I’m giggling at it anyway, not only because I’m cruel and heartless, but also because I’m old and am doing THAT thing that older people (who think they’re wiser but really aren’t) do, the whole “I have perspective” crap. Though, to be fair, by now, you’re also older and probably wiser and you may even be using perspective by this point. But, seriously, even in your states of maudlin despair, you have a way of describing your misery as…well, gleeful almost. It’s so big and grande and Victorian. Fainting couches and back of the hand over the eyes. “Oh, the HUMANITY!” Your sadness is flamboyant and somewhat piquant and I find it refreshing. Because I am cruel and heartless.
    I’m sorry you were sad on your birthday and I’m glad your most BFF came home and I hope your reaction to her re-arrival changed by the time you met up with her because let me tell you, when people weren’t happy when I returned Stateside, it pissed me off. Because, Dude! I am super important and should have been greatly missed. And also, I had terrible culture shock and needed comfort and friendship. Oddly, there were a lot of people who later expressed what you just expressed – they didn’t want to talk to me because I’d just had 13 months of grand adventure, my passport was full of visas and my totebag was full of global gifts while all they’d done was feed the dog, get a couple of oil changes, and buy some cute shoes on sale. And then I just stared at them, waiting for the Big Problem That Kept Us Apart and when nothing else came, I had to ask, “So…did you wear the shoes today? Because this story is stupid if you aren’t going to show me the shoes and then tell me what a steal they were. Also, how IS the dog? Next time, let’s get together at your house so I can see her.” So much awkward in this world.

  5. Tyler J. Yoder says:

    I *am* a bit of a drama queen, though I say it myself. It’s easy for me to laugh at these bouts of mine, when I’m out of them, but when I’m in the very throes of them – well.

    Of course I saw Miss Ward several times while she was here – the very night I posted this, in fact. I couldn’t take her out, so I set up faux karaoke in our living room. I got too drunk, and when we went to bed, sobbed all this out and more – I told her, quite truthfully, that I was only clinging to life for the chance to see her one more time.

    Her boyfriend, with long-term depression, had gone off his meds while they were in the middle of the Australian desert. While she’s been dealing with me and my issues for a decade, I have never had an three-month episode in a van in the desert. She understood, and promised to help me get some help.

    Naturally, after that night of catharsis, I was bursting with talent and energy and fervor. We had a marvelous time for the rest of her visit, and then she was off to Maryland, where she’s been living since. As for me? I enjoyed one of the longest upswings I can remember – although, to be fair, that was probably one of the lowest lows I’ve ever had.

    • ekgo says:

      I like that you are a drama queen because your dramatics don’t seem to be malicious, only big feelings, if that makes any sense.
      And I know that when you’re having them, they are horrible. Or ecstatic. Depending on the feelings being had. Gabe has those feelings, too, though his manifest very differently; yours seem way easier to read. I think you knew that already because you read his bi-polar post. But it’s like your feelings are in large print. His are in sanskrit. I’m becoming a translator.
      ANYway, I am heartened and happy to hear that you made a wonderful time of Miss Ward’s time at home. And wow, that woman is brave. I’m pretty sure I’d’ve killed Gabe and leave his body for the dingoes had we been in the desert situation.

      • Tyler J. Yoder says:

        Truthfully, if I remember correctly, he let the prescription run out and was all “Surprise!” but I might be inferring things that didn’t actually happen.

        Also, thank you. I’m in a good spot right now, but it’s nice to be validated – I’ve never been diagnosed, because of crippling anxiety, but the beloved bipolar folks in my life have pretty much confirmed my suspicions.

        • ekgo says:

          Yes, just from what I’ve read, it sounds like bi-polar – though I can’t tell if it’s manic depressive or bipolar II with maybe a dash of general anxiety disorder thrown in. Not that it matters; I’m not a doctor and can’t actually help you.
          It also sounds like you’ve actually put together a good network for yourself and that they’ve pulled you through a few times. It was wise of you to put that together. That’s your most important tool.

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