I always knew that at some point one of my girlfriends, or ex-girlfriends, would die. I mean, of course. I have hundreds.
I always envisioned it going something like this: me, in my nursing home, learning about the death of… I don’t know, Anne Hathaway, of natural causes- IDK, of cancer, diabetes, whatever, and of me, the unnaturally young-ish wizard, smiling at what we had, wishing her well in the afterlife, and wondering who next would pass on.
Or, in my darkest moments, I imagined killing myself before meeting that eventuality. Not because of fear of it, but of… well, just read the blog. Other stuff. I think I’ve threatened suicide on here more than once, a long time ago, lol.
But this… was not what I had imagined, or wanted. That the first death would be essentially a suicide borne of sadness and dissapointment was not what I had envisioned.
I yeah, there’s that word again. Suicide. I’m back to it. I mean, she knew what she was doing. She saw it and lived through it, twice, with those she knew. She knew what she was doing and where her path would take her, at least subconsciously. This post has no room for platitudes.
Last night, I listened to her new album. Wow, ouch. If she wanted to hurt me, well, good job, Cady. Yeah, that would be the way to do it. I mean, good album, but wow. Suicide can be quite a weapon if wielded well. It wounds deeply and leaves no room to respond. It hurts with no resolution except acceptance of failure, and of the pain of others left behind. It cuts with no possibility of proper healing.
This was not what I wanted. Of all the people I dated, she was the one that needed to “make it”, to overcome her problems, since she was the one that had been wronged the most by the industry. Her failure to find any kind of happiness in life as a “normal” person after flunking out of the celeb life seems almost do be a confirmation of my worst fears. To have tasted that lifestyle and to have just… missed it seems to be the worst outcome.
I don’t want what happened, because I want to believe in the idea that deep down, people can be happy regardless of how famous they are.
But after this… man, I don’t know. My unhappiest girlfriends and exes are all the “normal” ones. The non-celebs, or the barely famous. The Z-listers. The ones who tried and failed.
That is not what I want to see, because I really want to imagine that fame isn’t important. Because if it is… that doesn’t say good things about… anything. If fame is your only real measure of happiness, than the philosophers are all wrong. So, frankly, is everyone, including the celebs themselves.
I reeeeeally wish this wouldn’t have happened.
I wonder if I did things right with her. I probably always will. Maybe… I did, which when I think about it, would be, ironically, the worst case scenario, because that would mean that she truly had no chance. If I did improve her life with my magic, my power, and she still found no hope and still needed to die, then… there truly was no way for her to escape her fate. It was sealed the day her brother died because of his own addictions, first. The part of her that she needed to live died that day as well, along with him. All I did then was delay the inevitable. To give her a brief respite from pain.
And if I did her wrong, that would also be terrible, of course. For other reasons.
I don’t know which is worse.
Sometimes, maybe often, I hate this country. I mean, I really, really hate it. What is has become; what is stands for. What it has done.
That is another essay, though. It’s just… I don’t know what to say to this. Even a day after learning it I just don’t know how to resolve this, or even what to make of it.
Did I… kill her? Maybe it was my own sadness that did it. I mean, reference above, and my own threats of suicide. I mean it couldn’t have helped.
IDK. I guess I could sit here forever, thinking about this.
It’s not hard to hate how this country has ended up. All of our “leaders” are vile, noxious monsters. We have no society to speak of anymore, and few look forward to the future. Many live in fear, sequestered in their homes, terrified of what’s out there, out in the cursed outdoors. And they can’t brave the thought of leaving without being numb to their fear, whether it’s narcotics, like Cady’s dead siblings and me, or concentrated alcohol, like Cady, or… a milion other things. This country is frightening, and ugly. And evil. And its people live without hope.
Except for maybe the celebs. My girlfriends. They seem happy. As a class, they might be the only ones.
The rich, at least, live well. At least, they are not afraid.
I guess that’s the draw.
I don’t know.
Sorry, Cady.
Though I do plan to hold you to your promises one day. You know, all those lyrics.
Count on it.