Webcomic

I miss looking at the stars from my window. From here, the sky is just black.
I truly miss the stars.
Just like I miss the snow.
Will I even be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of white snow slowly falling to the ground?
It would surely help.
I need it.

My heart has exploded. My brain is numb from the meds, the alcohol and whatnot, everything that keeps it from sabotaging me more than it already is. My guts? They're about to give.
There is not much beyond praying for time to show up, but it looks like it can never happen soon enough when you need it. Yet it's always here to snatch the good moments away from you when you stumble upon one.
Time is the worst son of a bitch of them all.

I still long for tomorrow. I mean, you've got to, otherwise what's all this been for?
I'm dysfunctional. My head was not wired for this world. My heart was born prematurely, it misses the layers that are supposed to give it a handful of extra lives. As a result? Scarcity.

Yet I'd like to believe that out there, somewhere, at that exact moment, there is someone who's given up as well. That she is here on her bed thinking that she will never complete the puzzle.
I'd like to think I hold the missing piece.
But if there is one important thing I've finally understood, it's that
I'd also really, really, really like to think she holds mine.

I'm tired of this zero-sum game. I'm dying to give, but in the end maybe there is someone who can give in return? Somewhere, out there?
I might never come across her. But dreaming is free.
And it is basically the only thing stopping me from overdosing on despair, sadness and benzos.

I've always been a dreamer, have I not? And it's always come back to bite me in the ass so far.
But if there is a small chance for me to find someone for whom it's not a deal-breaker

Well maybe it's worth going forward,
And hoping for snowflakes to fall come Christmas.

***

"Ne pas aller vers l’autre, ne pas le rencontrer à mi-chemin et ne pas s’attarder, c’est prendre le risque de vivre dans sa propre ombre, de perdre l’opportunité d’être surpris, de découvrir et de se découvrir.
Aller vers l’autre, c’est prendre tous les autres risques."
-monboubou

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MneRtx7x2vs&index=2&list=LLuDOPgKOCIHjDvocYlryqkA

Thanks giving

It seems pointless to attempt to understand where or why it went wrong. I have a few pointers at my disposal that lead me to a handful of worthy candidates., yet what would be the point to point at the exact point everything got awry?

Repetition, just like the impulses my brain seems amenable, if not adamant to inflict on my chest. Every single last detail of what allegedly happened taking life in the back of my eyes, and I am powerless to stop this phenomenon. I've been doing a better job distancing my ribcage from the immediate damage on impact. The sharp pain remains identical, yet I've managed to shelter the relevant parts so as to only subject them to the kickback.
So it hurts still, but at least there's some sort of numbing sensation that helps coping.

I still don't really know what now. I had pretty much planned everything around you, around us. And you did not exist in the end. So that means that us has always been me, and just me. Which is contradictory though, because if I had been by myself all along, I would have made a great many different decisions along the way. So now what? I guess it opens up my options. I am free-er, in a sense- which is the perk of being empty, because there is not much you could do to lose something that you don't have. Regular case of the loser's trophy.
But I don't really know, because I still miss you - or whatever I lived with for 8 months to the day - like hell.
It's not hard looking at the bigger picture. As a matter of fact, I've been doing that for months now, because I am not an utter imbecile. I did not fathom the killing blow however.
So I'm still looking at the same thing, except sans perceived lifeline anymore.
I'm still young, or so I've heard, and yet I'm at the crossroads between adolescence and adulthood. I really don't feel like making a choice. I am comfortably numb and rejoice at the idea that time is taking over my duty and I can rest for a while. I guess it's being overly optimistic.
How unlike me.

But some rest might be well-deserved still.

_______________________________________________________________________________

When you are drowning, or being drowned, there is very little you can do. Struggling will only accelerate your demise. Staying still will be the easiest path, but you won't be given a chance to pick the outcome in this scenario. Swimming sounds clever, but that equates to wasting much energy. and the air is rarefied.
The meds are useful to ease the anxiety, but ultimately, they're mere illusions draining the life away from you.
It's unlikely that a lifeguard will be here, let alone on time, when you're at large. No miracles in real life.
But there is a way.
Through the little things.

Mike who takes me to the Lucky Moose for too much poutine.
Auré who pours me a coffee.
MST who finally comes to see me despite her being sick.
Trying calligraphy in Chinese class.
Finding solace in the fact that the new season of Rick and Morty might be there by year's end.
Enjoying replaying a game.

Laughs.
A lot of them.
An awful lot of them.

There is no remedy. You don't heal, you adapt, you accept. I've lost, I have to acknowledge it. There is no way around it. You can't get out of the water unscathed. There is no cure for a wound this large. It changes you, for good, for better, for worse. Whatever.
This is life's natural course.

But the little things are what compels you to still get up in the morning, what gradually gets you to believe that the sun does still show up . What makes you smile, for lack of laughing.
Because the little things, they are genuine. They are not fake. And they do help a little, even if you don't always see it.

Because if they can't help keep you afloat,
They at least keep you breathing.

Because if they do no save you,

They keep you alive.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wipdWDZpZTY&list=LLuDOPgKOCIHjDvocYlryqkA&index=22

30

I'm not actually functioning.
I don't get out of bed unless it's absolutely necessary. Even when I need to, it can hardly be described as a success.
I mean, come on, an hour ago I found it in me to go out grab some food; I did not even have the courage to get dressed properly.
I just put some clothes on top of my pj, for fuck's sake.

Now I have to live with the never-ceasing images and sounds of what you did, or at least what I imagine you did. I won't describe it as pleasant. Not for me, at least. It comes back, whenever I feel like I might enjoy a moment of respite, like a long needle. But not one that stings swiftly. No, the kind of needle that a bad nurse sticks in your arm, and that keeps on moving around, butchering flesh along its circular wreckage, until there is just dead meat left there to rot away. The pain is, indeed, a pain to withstand.
But if it were just for that, I might be able to cope.
The hardest part is my inability to understand. How you could fake all these times. I do fathom it was just a game for you, yet I struggle, for these moments were real for me.
I never felt more alive than during some of the times I had with you. The little box you gave me, the avalanche of texts laying out all the plans you'd made for our place, how excited you were. The day you smiled while unveiling your mug for the appartment. The time you told me that we needed to buy some grown-up sheets. The time you insisted we come and took some measurements. The time we came back home after this terrible 24 hours of non-stop fighting. All these times you put your head on my chest and told me that you couldn't live without my smell. When you told me with this frail voice of yours that you'd die if I were to ever disappear from your life. All these times you swore you'd never, ever cheat on me, without my asking.

So much for that last one, I guess.

Because yeah, the toughest part of it is not to live with your betrayal and all the lies, or even the fact that you did everything to make me miserable.
It is torturing me to look back on all these moments that made me believe, despite all you had put me through, that us was worth fighting for.

Why didn't you give me the chance to fight for us? Because you were not who you had me believe.

I will not lie. I am miserable. Nothing takes my mind off of you. The all too rare glimpses of hope and relief are balanced by the oft ill-advised instants of self-delusion during which I enjoy believing that you are still here by my side and all of this is a bad dream. How many times today did I have to fight against my urge to text you and tell you how much I love you? How many times have I resisted the impulse to call you and ask you to start over? How many times have I hoped that you would knock on my door and tell me it was all just a big misunderstanding?

I still check my mailbox everyday to see if there isn't some letter you left there when you dropped the key and that I would have missed. I know you didn't, and I know you can't, or more accurate yet won't, leave anything there anymore.

Leaving me at once was enough I guess.
Your last text told me how hurt you felt that I gave you the box back. But how am I to believe any of the notes stored in it now? They were written by someone I don't know, imitating someone I made up.

I'm conflicted, because these moments were real to me while you've never been true to us. I can't be like you and already be out there all smiles and banging around, telling the next man how he's the one, because I, for one, no matter how dysfunctional we were together, no matter the hardships,
I did believe in us
And was willing to fight for it
Why would you not let me?

So now I'm here and I've been through hope, anger, despair, delusion, and all the stages of grief way too quickly. I have not had time to take them in, and I don't feel lighter.
Because you had never been the burden to begin with,
The burden was our broken relationship

And now it will never truly disappear, because the only way there was to make it right was not to put an end to this
But to make it right.

Now there is no way back. I willingly locked myself into the aftermath when you screwed up, because I knew back then that I only had so much time of objectivity, I only had that precious window,
To thrust me out of something that would have destroyed me to the point of no return.

So sure, I can be grateful for that. Because right now I'm dying to rekindle. But you either don't give a fuck, or are waiting for just that to toy around with me a little more.


I knew what I was getting myself into with you. I don't regret it. If I were to do it again, I don't think I would pass on the opportunity. But at some point I started to believe we could turn this mess into something good.
And at that exact moment,
You got bored of your new toy and started pursuing the next one.

I will remain a number in the long list of your victims. I am not any different, you won't remember me more fondly than the last, you will certainly tell people how I was the one who was terrible in the relationship. That's who you are, and that's fair enough.

For me you will remain a little more than that.
And even if hindsight is indeed 20/20 as they say, I really, really believe that we are, and will forever remain,
Unfinished business.

There was more to us than you gave yourself the chance to see and than you gave me the chance to show you
There is more to us to write in life
But now we'll never know

And while you are gone, I'm still here.
And the appartment feels almost too empty to bear.
Because your stuff is not the only thing you dragged through the door and won't ever bring back.



You're lucky you were never born Noah. But that does not mean I won't miss you buddy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9tGoNcd4CY

Rapeture

J'ai passé 8 mois, jour pour jour, à vivre aux côtés d'un fantôme.
Maintenant que tu es partie et qu'on m'a fait ouvert les yeux, je vois. Et je n'arrive pas à comprendre ce que je vois. Tout le long, je pensais que tu avais injecté des couleurs dans ma vie. Mais tout est rouge.

Je pensais être avec quelqu'un qui m'aimait, malgré tout ses défauts, malgré toutes ses différences,
malgré tout.
Mais aujourd'hui je compris que je n'étais qu'un jouet, une poupée. Tu as testé tes limites, tu t'es amusée, et quand tu en as eu marre, tu m'as jeté, et tu as trouvé un autre jouet. C'était comme ça avant moi. Ce sera comme ça après.
C'est ce que j'aime appeler le complexe du héros: tu ne mens pas au début. En réalité, tu préviens même de ce que tu as fait, de ce que tu vas faire de qui tu as été, et tu montres un côté fragile qui pousse à se dire qu'on peut être celui qui changera les choses.
J'y ai cru, même quand c'était fini. J'ai voulu croire qu'avec moi tu pourrais guérir, changer. Pas tout de suite, j'ai été méfiant au début, mais petit à petit, j'ai commencé à envisager que c'était possible. Que ça pouvait fonctionner. Et à partir de là c'était terminé. Tu as pris le contrôle et tu as fait ce que tu voulais.
Pourtant tu me l'avais dit au téléphone ce soir là. Tu m'avais dit ce truc bizarre. Que tu allais me faire du mal, quoi qu'il arrive, et que tu étais désolée. J'étais prévenu. J'ai foncé dedans quand même.

Ce n'est pas la réaction de colère typique, pas la déculpabilisation que tu maîtrises si bien par la théorie comme quoi l'autre n'était pas assez bien. Parce que tu étais largement assez bien pour moi.
Dans ma tête.
L'image que tu as crée, que tu as renvoyée, elle était idéale, façonnée sur mesure pour mes besoins. Tu as le don de creuser jusqu'à découvrir ce qui manque chez quelqu'un, puis de créer une personne qui arrive à remplir parfaitement ces vides.
C'est comme ça que tu peux faire tout et n'importe quoi sans qu'on parte.

Et ça explique l'inexplicable. Ca explique qu'après chaque humiliation publique, chaque fois où tu m'as traîné dans la boue pour me montrer à quel point j'étais un déchet; qu'après les deux fois où tu m'as frappé, où tu m'as insulté et assimilé à ton violeur; même après que tu m'aies trompé plusieurs fois, avec plusieurs personnes, en quelques heures, j'étais encore là, à te pardonner. Parce que tu avais implanté dans mon cerveau l'idée que quel que soit le mal que tu pouvais me faire, je ne pouvais pas me permettre de perdre ce que tu m'apportais.
Peu importait que tu remplisses les vides avec du vomi,
moi la seule chose qui me faisait peur c'était qu'ils redeviennent vides une fois de plus.

Et c'est ça le plus grand danger, pas qu'on arrive pas à réaliser. Parce que mes amis ont tout fait pour que je sorte, pendant des mois, eux qui me connaissent mieux que moi-même - parce que ce qu'ils me disaient, je le savais aussi. Et je choisissais consciemment d'aller contre, en sachant très bien que j'allais droit au mur.
J'étais heureux de m'auto-détruire.

Quelque part, c'est fantastique que tu arrives à jouer un rôle avec le monde entier sans interruption. Ça demande une volonté et une intelligence phénoménale de placer ses pions et de les voir toujours bouger comme anticipé. J'avais la fausse impression de contrôle que tu donnes à tout le monde.
Et s'il était pas venu mercredi soir m'ouvrir les yeux, ce serait certainement toujours le cas.

Parce que lorsqu'on est pris dans tes filets, c'est tellement plus facile de souffrir pour toi et par toi que d'être heureux loin de toi.
Ta voix ce soir là, quand tu as compris que tu avais fait une petite erreur de calcul, cette froideur, ce mépris dans le timbre, l'absence totale de remords ou de regrets, et surtout, surtout, l'explosion de toutes les promesses et principes que tu avais établis, c'est là que j'ai compris, c'est là que je suis sorti.

Tu es toxique et tu es malade. Tu as souffert et tu fais souffrir les autres, voilà ta catharsis, et ça fonctionne, parce que tu sais ce que tu fais et avec qui tu le fais. Ça s'arrête pas avec moi. Et j'aurai pas la satisfaction de me dire que j'aurai enrayé l'embrayage. La seule chose que j'ai, c'est que je suis sorti.

Et ça fait mal de sortir, parce qu'il n'y a plus ce petit espoir du "et si", parce que tu ne reviendras pas demain en t'excusant et en disant que tu m'aimes, que tu es désolée, ou je ne sais quel mensonge. Pour mieux me refaire du mal le lendemain. C'est terminé maintenant.
Tu me laisses là avec des images dans la tête, des images de toi avec d'autres, des images plus claires dans mon esprit que psychologiquement supportables. J'ai les personnages, j'ai le scénario, j'ai le décor; et mes journées sont un combat permanent contre le film de ce que tu as fait.

Bien sûr que j'ai de la haine. Contre eux et contre toi. Tous les trois, vous avez décidé de me briser en toute connaissance de cause. Pour votre plaisir personnel, pour l'adrénaline que ça vous procure de mettre quelqu'un à terre.
Et vous avez réussi, je ne peux même pas me défendre. Je vis dans un cauchemar duquel je n'arrive pas à sortir depuis une semaine, et j'échoue totalement à contenir toute cette haine, ce dégoût, cette frustration.

Mais vous finirez par payer. J'en ai la certitude. Un jour vous paierez. Et si vous arrivez à vous en sortir encore et à passer à travers les mailles du filet, alors quand je me serai relevé, quand j'aurai repris assez de force,
c'est moi qui vous ferais payer,
Mais je ne suis pas inquiet, parce que la vie sait ce qu'elle fait, et un jour ou l'autre, tôt ou tard,
Vous allez tous payer.

Maintenant je dois vivre avec l'idée que j'avais prévu de faire ma vie avec quelqu'un qui n'a jamais existé, une projection de mon cerveau. Et je dois aussi comprendre comment j'en suis arrivé là. Comment j'ai pu rester à travers la violence sous toutes ses formes. A quel moment est-ce que j'ai perdu assez de respect pour moi-même au point d'accepter consciemment tout ce que tu m'as fait subir et d'en être heureux.
Comment j'ai pu croire avoir un semblant de pouvoir quand tu me tirais par des ficelles sans arrêt.

Il faut que je trouve assez d'amour-propre pour ne jamais plus accepter ça. Il faut que je brise cette boucle. Parce que si tu recommenceras à ruiner d'autres personnes pareil,
Je ne peux pas recommencer à me faire briser comme ça par quelqu'un.

Je vivrai avec tes erreurs, mais je crois au plus profond de moi que ça n'a jamais été moi le problème. Ma gentillesse, ma protection et mon amour n'ont pas à changer. Tu es juste incapable de recevoir ce genre de choses. Tu es une sociopathe gravement malade, aux sentiments inhibés et à l'admiration morbide pour ses cicatrices. Mais moi je t'ai jamais fait de mal. Et je commencerai pas maintenant.
Parce que je suis certain qu'il y a quelqu'un quelque part qui a besoin de ce que je peux lui apporter, qu'il existe une fille qui saura recevoir ce que j'ai à donner et m'offrir ce dont j'ai besoin, qui saura remplir les vides;
Et pas avec du vomi.

J'ai jamais été le problème,
Mais toi tu as un problème,
Et si toi et tes petits jouets vous avez réussi à me mettre à terre et que j'ai les dents éclatées sur le sol, je finirai par me relever, et je recommencerai à courir vers les étoiles. Et je finirai par être heureux.

Et c'est ce bonheur auquel j'ai droit,
Que tu ne connaîtras certainement jamais.

Parce que si tu crois obtenir des victoires en anéantissant les gens qui t'aiment, c'est pour fermer les yeux sur la vérité que tu as peur d'affronter, qui te rend folle à lier;
Toi tu passeras ta vie à être malheureuse.


Je suis tombé amoureux d'un monstre.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5h4yJ-BpL4

Harry Potter

So here it is.
We are finally through.

After weeks, months, of your watching me drown, in an attempt to rescue us from an all too certain extinction, you cheated  and called it quits.
You could have done it differently. With respect. With pride. With compassion. Like a human being.
I deserved that much.

Words don't come easily now. I don't know what to take away from us. Is there anything good left to salvage? The ship's sunk already. I don't seem to find much amidst the debris.

Your verbal violence, your physical abuse, your cheating. You hurt so much you felt the need to reciprocate how life had fucked you up on me. I've always been there, I've always been understanding, loving, forgiving.
I feel like I lost.
It feels like a huge waste.
I feel like a huge waste.

All those years spent waiting for someone to trust, someone who could show me the way. You did not have to ruin me. Not that way.
And though I am used to being over-dramatic,
It does not bode well  when chairs are flying around.

Through thick and thin, and let's be honest for a second, mostly super thin, I've been here. Sure I've made mistakes. I've had mishaps.
But I never tortured you.

Now I'm left here, and I don't know what to make of it. Stokholm syndrome and hyper-dependance, as well as a bad case of hero complex thrust me into this mess. I'm all tangled up.
How am I to trust again?
Eventually I guess. But never entirely.

Ultimately, you crashed us on the ground and I did everything I could to prevent that. But it was not enough. It was never enough for you to be loved.
You are haunted, you are troubled, and I've only been a recipient of your anger and the darkest corners of your soul.
Utter selfishness, morbid lust, manipulation. I knew all that. All the way.
And yet I still thought I could change you.

It has been the reason of my demise.

It's been raining non-stop for a week.
Donald Trump is President of the United States.
The woman I love and gave everything for came for another man.

What a shitty week it's been.

And now what?
I have a flawless support system in place. I have been through a broken heart before, I know how hard it's gonna be, but I know I'll eventually learn to make do without it.
I am the victim, for real this time. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm pretty sure I'm going there without you now.

The love of one person is not enough to mend two broken souls.
And once again I'm biting the dust.

But I guess it'll be okay one day.
One day.

It will be okay.

Bye Manon.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eMrTIW2LQk