Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

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As I lay there I realized my pillow was wet from my tears.

Why this seems to always come to my mind when I’m getting the store’s money out of hiding for the register I can’t say. To die silently in my sleep that night seems as good a future as I can expect.

That Charles might be the last nelly gay guy in my life was what I’d been thinking of before I found myself silently crying. The gestures, the voice that so many despise. Guys more feminine than women. Thank all of you for having been alive.

That this form of wonderful androgyny had passed from my life wasn’t necessarily what had me crying. Part of me cannot recover from Charles’ death. Partly it may be the masculine vanity of feeling that not saving him I’d somehow failed.

Mostly it is likely that I’ve never been good at being able to stop loving those I’ve once loved. Charles was one of the worst choices of my life. We’re sadly both better off that he’s gone. Maybe one day I’ll be able to wake up and feel that.

Right now I feel as if something has been ripped out of me and hope is something that will never again be a part of my life.

Maybe if Alex could stay here with me.

I’m so tired of getting up without feeling that I really want to be alive. Thankfully simple programming gets me to work. Often I feel I could sit on my couch until I waste away.

It is as if I no longer have the skills to manage my emotions. I’m too vulnerable to be able to face life without those.

Ever since I was on the verge of young manhood I’ve mustered what I can to evade the chaos. So many times, I’ve failed. So many years wasted.

But a sense of being blessed - in a private secular sense - has kept me happy.

Now I feel that I’m dying, trapped somewhere between apathy and despair.

This shames me deeply.

No one can really master their heart. But without the skills to evade the pain …

I have to hope that my essential sanity will reassert itself and life seems worth the effort.

Hopefully when Alex is back I can recover my strength.

I’m not really fool enough to think that I’d be better off dead.


i’m so sorry to hear it. i have no doubt it will pass. twenty four little hours. sometimes that’s all it takes.


I was making the rounds of the bookish blogs I try to read from time to time when I came upon your post. I feel the greatest empathy for you. I know what it is to live with pain you can’t ever fix. One dwells on what is now the unchangeable past, while trying to negotiate how much more damage one can sustain before it’s just too much. I was thinking about death too on Tuesday night, tormented by thoughts of someone I have loved for a very long time — and quite hopelessly. I think about death because I know that will be the only release from what I feel — I’ve proven quite incapable of tearing myself free. So what words of comfort can I offer? I’m not sure, but I do want to offer them. For myself, I hold to the hope that as long as I can feel anything, the possibility exists to feel not just pain but joy again as well. Sometimes the bad days last a long time, but then something very simple will creep into your heart, some memory, some sight or sound, and the ease is just enough to keep you going. My very best, heartfelt wishes go out to you.


It has been more like 24 days. It took me a week to get up the moxie to write about crying in the middle of the night.

I’m very weary but my faith in myself is still intact.


Yeah, there’s not much you can do or say to help someone when they’ve fallen into this pit. Though good friends always help if only by existing.

My days aren’t all black, though it seems like it some time. Hopefully I’ll eventually manage to get a grip on myself again and be able to really enjoy life.

Thanks and the very best wishes.

Even though that was a sad post, its nice to hear you havent quit :)

I’ve been silent because this has been about the only thing I’ve thought of to say.

Hopefully happier days and entries are on the horizon.

Words have failed me for four hours.

Just know that I love you and I know most of these feelings myself in one form or another.

As much as I hate seeing you like this I can’t help but feel there is something here that in a way I have no part in. But in my honest thoughts I think Charles was deeply uncomfortable with life and wanted to be someplace else.

I’m so glad I told him the ways that I admire him and that we parted on the best of terms. Perhaps more design on his part than chance than anybody realizes (I really don’t know)?

You did everything within your power to empower him, almost broke yourself in the process. I am almost ignorant to the ways of the mourning but I know Charles wouldn’t want you to feel like this. And then there is me. So your happiness is in the interest of all three of us.

I love you my pretty one. You give joy to my life.

Some how, some way I’ll pull myself out of this.

Thinking of you.


I don’t know, but sometimes just the public writing about these difficult emotions can help to disperse them. I had cancer last summer, and kept a journal about my reactions and feelings leading up to my surgery on a BB that I’ve been a member of for many years. It helped me, as I hope your journaling helps you.

Take care.

It does. Exactly. My only justification for whining in the face of infinity.


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