He is asleep, it is something that he hasn't done much of in the recent months. The months you've been killing him slowly, but for now he is asleep. While I've gotten him asleep, and it took a whole lot of alcohol to do, I am going to write this down for him. In fact, the only way I've seen him sleep in the last three months is either getting him black out drunk, or just finally becoming so exhausted that he collapsed. This is what you've done to him, I hope you are enjoying it. What makes it worse (in my opinion) is you know you're doing this to him, you know what it is that is keeping him awake at all hours of the day and night, you know what is gnawing away at his insides like a dog at a bone, and yet you refuse to give him the truth. The answer he knows, but still somehow needs you to confirm in order to move on with his so-called life (his words, not mine). Of all your crimes, and he has told me about them make no mistake, this is your worst one. I can only hope that it is worth it and that you are proud of yourself.
Given the stories about you that he has shared, and the things I can suss out for myself, I am convinced you are proud of yourself. It is what you do. The thing(s) you did to him that is. He is overly fond of the expression "if people were horses, I'd be rich", but I truly think that his prediction of you is accurate to an amazing degree. However, that is his story to tell, this will be mine. You won't enjoy either one, and that is ever so fine with me. I don't want you to enjoy them, I want you to "suffer" for your crimes, we are not friends, we will never be friends, and I don't think, even if the chance presented itself (which it won't) we should ever meet. I am not exactly a member of your fan club, just to be clear. There are people who are (you know), members of your fan club, people you've bamboozled into thinking you're the kind hearted type who loves her mother, Jesus, and America, and are the dutiful employee/daughter/friend/lover that is above all the dirty little secrets that seem to permeate your environment. You're not, and from what I can tell of his, mostly drunken, ravings there are a surprising number of people who agree that you are not the saint you externalize. Few of us are, but you seem to take a particular pride in attempting to occupy the moral high ground. Just make sure the moral high ground doesn't turn into a "hill to die on." Things look different from higher up, or so they say, but it is from high terrain such as the moral high ground that a lot of people fall, and the higher the ground the further the fall.
It is from those drunken ravings of his that I have gleaned most of the information I have about you, watching him, the person I now know as the Romantic, desperately try to explain to me (an almost stranger) that "he's going to kill me you know, he is going to murder me" was very difficult to understand, and as I began to know him better, very difficult to hear. Of course, he was raving drunk, and going on about the Rationalist, the one he thought was going to kill him, but even his amazing ability to predict people isn't infallible, and he didn't realize the identity of his killer would be you. We can't all be perfect, but I suspect you know that already don't you? The biggest problem with that particular rant is that it was in public, and getting his drunk ass out of there was a task that I did not particularly enjoy, I blame you. Not that I suspect you care, sure you told him you did, you told him how worried you were about his not sleeping, and you knew him well enough to see him unraveling before you, but I just don't think you cared enough to help stop it. I am fairly convinced you could have, stopped it that is, and it is a bit of a puzzler to me why you didn't just tell him what he wanted to hear, and move on with your story, it would have helped him move on with his.
Instead, you kept silent and now his story seemed to be stuck in some sort of self-destructive loop. Many people have told him to stop kicking the shit out of himself (me included), but as far as I can tell not one of us (me included) have figured out a way to make that unhappen. He is, as you and others know and like to point out to him, his own worst enemy, and the biggest explosions generally come from the inside rather than from an outside source. You might be the fuse but, the jumble inside his head is the dynamite. I can see that you know? I can see him when we are out having the drinks required to get him unconscious the moments when he 'disappears' inside his own head. He thinks he hides it well, but then again why wouldn't he think that? It is a certain far away look that appears in his eyes that give away the fact that he is trapped inside his own head tearing the mental furniture to shreds, and engaged in yet another vicious battle in the war against himself. The problem with that war, the war that is probably still raging in his fitful sleep as I lie next to him, is that the only loser possible is, in fact, him. That is tragic to the rest of us, but for reasons he can only explain, he seems to find funny.
He likes to think the lack of sleep has made him numb, he's wrong but I don't have the heart to tell him that. Maybe if I had your ability to walk away from disasters of my own creation I could tell him, but I have yet to figure out that skill. He's not only not numb he's emoting like a godsdamn 15 year old schoolgirl, it is (so I've been told) quite unlike him, and I don't know what to think/do about it. Perhaps all those emotions just need to come out like the water behind a dam, and when the flow stops, he will be back to as normal as an emotional cripple like him can ever be. Or maybe the flood will drown him, and anybody in his path. I rather hope the latter isn't true, because I am, clearly, in his path. I can see what a number you did on him, and the hard landing he is trying ever so much to soften has, as he likes to put it, "broken the springs of his soul." But you know that already, because he told you that. He has to turn you into a monster in the hopes that eventually he can heal himself. I am not sure the world is sweet or tender enough to allow that to happen.
He's muttering now in his sleep, and most of it is utterly nonsense, or too unintelligible to understand one of the only words I can ever hear clearly is your name. Have you ever had a man utter another woman's name while in bed with you? Even if I know the reason(s), even if I understand it is a by-product of the struggle within, it still smarts. Maybe you've never had that experience, though for reasons I'll not share, I rather expect you have. If you have (and I rather hope you have) you will know that it doesn't endear you to me, I don't hate you exactly because hate is something best reserved for people that have wronged you in some major way, and in theory you've done me no actual harm, but I can certainly say there are several not so nice words I would like to say to your face.
It is a tribute to your destructive skills, that I am able to even get to write this, his control (which people have told me is iron clad) is slipping so much that I gained access to his computer because I found him passed out in front of it. He had written some half of a blog post before he drifted off to sleep/passed out, and so here I am with unfettered access to the kingdom of him. He will probably be furious when he finds out, and I will probably get a slating, but I felt the need to write these things down on his behalf, because he could never bring himself to do it, and it needs doing. Not for you mind, I don't care one little whit about your feelings (if you have them), but for his sake. The sake of the fellow you left behind to do what it is you're doing. Make no mistake, he knows what you are doing, has known, and that is the rub. It is the awful realization that he was right that is tearing him to shreds. I can only hope that when he is done, there will be enough of him to put back together again. However, that, as he would put it, is "a J___ problem" and it need not worry you overmuch. I somehow doubt that it does, but I thought I'd be polite (this once) and let you know that your input in the rebuilding is not necessary.
Morning is kicking in the door on this new day of misery for him, and my time in control of this blog is drawing quickly to an end. I am not the wit he is, I don't think I have the pithy ending that would both sting you (which I would very, very much like to do), or make you feel some sort of guilt for what you've done (maybe you do, I doubt it). There are many, many things I'd like to say to your face about this, but I know that will never happen, and isn't a good idea even if I had the chance. I can only hope that he survives this, he's a lot stronger than he thinks, and other than me he has some really, truly awesome people in his life. It was his mistake (and he would say that it is his mistake, let him make it) that for a considerable length of time he thought you were a different kind of horse.
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