Debilitating Deliberation

6.11.2017

I believe this existence is mostly meaningless. It’s by luck that we have consciousness, but that’s it. When this is over, it’s over. It’s both freeing and terrifying. I want to take that knowledge and use it to live a stress free life doing what I like, yet I still buy into the current system of which we are all a part of and find problems everywhere. I admit, I want a life for myself that seems to contradict most of my philosophical outlook. If this life is meaningless then I am free to do anything. Yet, the society we live in makes it seem so god damn important for us do what it wants instead. It’s not involuntary, but it’s pretty damn convincing.

Tomorrow the world may burn and I’m trying to make a dollar. That makes me sick.

A dollar that is meaningless unless one gives it meaning. I hate the dollar. I can’t imagine a world where it doesn’t exist, but god damn is it ridiculous.
It’s fucking paper.
No, it’s not even that anymore.

It’s a fucking number. Whatever.

I wrote an entry nearly a year ago about leaving Los Angeles and hitting the road. I felt stagnant, like I was part of a “Groundhog Day” situation that I wasn’t sure I enjoyed. That urge, fleeing, it’s returning with great weight this time. Not only am I making things I don’t like, but I’m worse off than I was this time last year. I’ve attempted many things to break the cycle but I ended up shooting myself in the foot. Both feet, actually. I’ve had a year’s long steady decline.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide the boredom and discontent from my face. When I am unsatisfied with a conversation or situation, I kind of shut down. As of recent, when people have conversations with me about topics of which I have no interest in, I don’t navigate it well. Instead of being the happy trooper and engaging in the societal norms of conversation, I just remain quiet until there’s an awkward ending. I just give up. It’s weird, because I do listen but all I can think is “Why the fuck do you care about this vapid horse shit?” It seems like the majority of the people in Los Angeles that I come into contact with deeply care about the most tedious and self-indulgent non sense. I can’t tell if I’m an asshole for wanting them to shut the fuck up or if I’m doing the world a disservice by not pointing out to them why they should. Either way, I think I’m in the wrong.

Obviously it’s not everyone or every conversation. My favorite thing on the planet is talking to people. When I find someone interesting or puzzling or even someone I can’t read right away, I get excited. I want to figure them out, understand who they are, and find out why they are different. Meeting someone worth talking to is like a breath of fresh air in a dark and stale room. It’s new. It’s invigorating.

So, that makes me wonder: Would I be happier on the road? I would definitely meet all sorts of people outside my “bubble”. Wouldn’t a new challenge and a new way of thinking be exactly where I would thrive? I could turn into one of those obnoxious traveling types that’s always talking about how travel saves lives, or... whatever? You know the type.

I still think my original idea of driving from state to state meeting new people and documenting it my way would be beneficial. At least for me. But that would mean I’m giving up on the system I still place so much weight in. Do I REALLY want to leave, or am I just unhappy with my current situation? What would happen if I got a job I actually liked? What would happen if I let down my guard and let people in? What would happen if I just left the house or stopped hiding from my friends and answered my god damn phone? Would I be happy?

I’m confused how most people can make decisions. I’m confused on how I should be living my life. The lack of meaning in life should be freeing but when I buy into the system it’s like there’s a weight on my chest every time I do something I genuinely don’t care for, which is most things these days.

The world could end tomorrow, but can I really live that way?

Sincerely,

-Matthew Deliberates

"Precious Cargo"

In a small country town, in an old-folks home on one of the few "major" highways, there are two small conjoining rooms that are of significance to me. Walking through the door numbered 108 with a name tag that reads “Opal Mitchell”, past the bathroom, one would see a couch, a recliner, a big window, boxes of photographs, a few folding chairs, a table with snacks and sudoku puzzle books on it, a kitchenette with a counter, a small coffee pot, fridge, some cabinets and microwave. But most importantly, one would see people. These people would be my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, my siblings, my father, my mother... essentially a revolving door of a very large and incredibly close family.

If one continued and walked through the door at the back far right corner of the room, one would find the second room to be a mirrored layout of the first –same kitchenette and floorplan. In this second room, one would see bouquets of flowers, an electric recliner, five more chairs (a healthy mix of wicker, wood, and those metal folding ones), a walker, a wheelchair, books, photo albums, a slideshow photo frame featuring images of a very large family, a photo of my brother’s wedding on the cabinet, a photo of a couple from the past, a hand painted sign that proclaims “Jesus is the only way”, and most notably, one would see a bed where my grandmother, the matriarch of my giant family, is dying.

I am fortunate enough to have been able to fly home and say “Goodbye”. It was heart wrenching, hilarious, sad, beautiful, stressful, peaceful, and incredible. I was taking notes all week, trying to remember everything so that I could breakdown anything that was happening later. I’ve never been one for verbally communicating feelings and I am notoriously bad at processing emotions in the moment.

Ask anyone who knows me.

I am now writing this from the Seattle airport where I am leaving the state, heading back home to LA. It was hard trying to find a time to leave, but I need to get back.

Most of the time I spent with my grandma was passed by watching her sleep. She was lying down, and her heart was beating fast and her chest showed every beat. She was growing weaker and weaker, and more and more uncomfortable... that’s the way it goes towards the end. By the time I left, she wasn’t responding anymore, and it appeared she was getting very close to the end. I need to get back, but it could be days of her sleeping.

When I first arrived, she was definitely responding. One of the first things she did was praise Jesus for healing her Parkinson’s for the end stretch. She really hated Parkinson’s, and had been suffering from the nastier aspects of the disease for some time. To my family’s relief, she found extraordinary comfort in the fact that the shaking was muted. She told me that my cousin, Bailey, had read her a passage from the bible that gave her immense peace. She often wanted it read out loud to her. I almost did, but started to choke up and just said I’m bad at reading out loud. This is true.

The passage read:
“Thank Me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still. Do not spoil these quiet hours by wishing them away, waiting impatiently to be active again. Some of the greatest works in My kingdom have been done from sickbeds and prison cells. Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of these very circumstances. Limitations can be liberating when your strongest desire is living close to Me.

Quietness and trust enhance your awareness of My Presence with you. Do not despise these simple ways of serving Me. Although you feel cut off from the activity of the world, your quiet trust makes a powerful statement in spiritual realms. My Strength and Power show themselves most effective in weakness. “

She often said that message humbled her. She said she was at first upset and not fully accepting the reality of the situation, but this passage gave her immense strength and acceptance. These words brought her so so much peace. It was beautiful beyond words.

Now, my personal beliefs contradict every single thing that is helping my Grandmother. She even made me a liar. She made me promise that I would “come to Jesus”, which is conflicting and kind of funny. On one hand, I blatantly lied to a dying and beloved figure in my life when I said “I promise.” On the other hand, I’m not going to let a dying and beloved figure in my life down on her literal death bed just because I’m a stubborn ass. Even in that moment, where it is so painfully obvious that the right thing to do is to just agree, I still hated lying. But I loved my Grandmother more. And it was kind of hilarious. I mean, that is a comically massive guilt trip for the situation. I laughed later.

I have to admit, though, I am so relieved (and almost jealous) that she found this intense comfort within her faith. What gave her so much courage to face death, was that she fully believed she is moving towards heaven. For she will soon be reunited with her husband, parents, family, friends, and anyone else she knows who is waiting for her in paradise. She even got her hair done “to look good for Vern” (her husband who died in the early '80s before I was born). The strength and grace this faith has afforded her has completely blown me away. I cannot stress that enough.

God bless religion in moments like these.

Pandora was constantly playing what sounded like a playlist curated for her death, but apparently wasn’t. It was a very religious compilation, where most of the songs were referencing "going home", which she found incredibly comforting. I kept thinking it’s eerie that someone assembled it, but I guess it makes sense. Or maybe it was a station?

“There’s power in the blood of the lamb...”

No one paid for the premium service, which annoyed the hell out of me at first. I kept asking, but for some reason it wasn’t a priority. What was she going to buy? Why interrupt the peace the music is giving for some asshat trying to sell a Dodge pick-up? Any time this harrowing playlist was broken with an ad, it became so "every day" feeling. After a while, it became humorous and my aunt’s took turns turning down the volume every time an ad played. We all cracked a smile every time it happened.

“Please upgrade to Pandora Plus, no ads, unlimited...”

<update: someone paid for the premium service> 

The amount of family and love around her has been incredibly beautiful and inspiring. I’ve been trying to find the words for the overwhelming sense of love, and I can’t. Her kids (and kid-in-laws) have done an amazing job making sure she knows she is loved. Her grandkids and great grandkids have come in droves to let her know how much they loved her. Her kids make her as comfortable as possible and stay by her side 24/7. Before she stopped communicating, they prayed with her, prayed for her, read her stories, told her tales, reminisced, and made it completely beautiful and warm. She, in turn, let everyone know exactly how much she loved them; immensely. She was sharp and quick witted, too. She often traded quips with my father and uncles.

The imagery of my mother, aunts and uncles caring for my grandmother will be burned into my memory forever. It is the most powerful example of love I have ever seen.

“Grace and Peace to you from God our Father...” Grace and Peace. Fitting.

When she entered hospice, they took away all medication other than pain management. She wasn’t able to stomach any food or water, so they had to stop any intake of that as well. Technically, she could have anything she wanted but didn’t want to prolong the inevitable or spend that time in any more discomfort. She was allowed ice chips and liked them when her mouth became dry. She even slyly convinced someone to give her frozen Pepsi chips, which was amusing. Huckleberry flavored chap stick was also regularly applied, to her content. She found joy in the little things on her death bed, cracked jokes constantly, let her family know they were loved, and faced the next stage with courage and confidence. As things got more and more painful, she admitted she would like to go before the First of the new month. That ignited some tears.

I feel horrible for leaving before the end, but I am.
“She is no longer responding.” I told myself.
But I’m honestly already regretting leaving.
I want to be surrounded by my family and that amazing love when it happens.
I wish I could offer any comfort I could to my mother and siblings when the time comes. I just hope everyone knows the decision to leave was hard.

I have a lot more to write about “Grandma Opie”, but I can’t bear to reminisce in this airport. I’m already fighting back tears as it is.

After she passes and I have time to process, I will share a fond memory... or a thousand.

She is a wonderful human who created an amazing family that I am infinitely thankful for. I will miss her very much.

-Matthew Leaves

You're Going To Die (Let's Go To Mars!)

9.28.2016

Today is the day after Elon Musk laid out his plan for Mars colonization. I am still freaking out a bit. I haven’t really been able to focus on anything because I’ve been fantasizing something fierce about a future that I won’t ever see. I understand I will die before Mars ever becomes an equal alternative to Earth, but one day it could be. And I got to witness a detailed presentation that showed the possibilities of how that may happen. That fills me with so much joy. Or, maybe it’s pride? Like, I can imagine how humans will one day do this and even though I’m not personally doing it, I’m proud of us who are alive right now because of what that means for the future of humanity?

Fuck, I don’t know! It’s a complicated feeling.

It’s literally the coolest possible future I could ever imagine for the human species and people right now are working on it. Although, sometimes I get ridiculously excited thinking about what humanity will do long after I’m gone. Then I get ridiculously jealous of future generations that will experience the things I can only dream of. Then I get sad thinking about how I haven’t heard one god damn person talking about it today.

Why the fuck isn’t everyone as excited as I am?
Why can’t I be having this conversation with a friend instead of a fucking computer?

I mean, I sort of understand...
I was waiting for this presentation for a while now, for I am a dumb person who is absolutely fascinated with the future AND space travel.
Plus, I have a giant Man Crush on Elon Musk and his sexy ass brain.

But what I legitimately don’t understand is why no one seems to give a fuck, time and time again, about the future. I get that we are all different and my interests aren’t going to be your interests, but this one seems like EVERYONE should be interested. It’s not just my future, it’s everyone’s.

I don’t think I’m in the wrong here or am I missing something?

As I was watching our Lord and Sav... I mean, "Elon’s" presentation, I honestly thought this would be the most newsworthy and talked about event all year.
And I’m fully aware that it’s an election year.

In fact, watching that presentation the day after the first presidential debate where Fuckhead#1 and the Lesser of Two Evils debated about America and all its policies, I realized how little people seem to think about the distant future in general. It seemed so much more important than the next four years, yet no one gives a shit.

What is that?

Does anyone else feel that excitement, that complicated feeling, that I feel?
Or, I wonder, do people just fear the future because that inevitably makes us think of our own death and we’re just not wired to deal with our own mortality?

If that’s the case, we all need to collectively grow the fuck up. We are all going to die.
Let’s not get hung up on that part.
Deal with it now.

Stop being an asshole.
Get excited about Mars, damnit!

But seriously, I often think back to when I was a child and how much I legitimately feared death. It was almost debilitating. I mean, I still fear death in the sense that I don’t want to die and I avoid it, but I thoroughly understand I will. I accepted my own mortality, which doesn’t make me a slave to it.

That may seem obvious, but I was raised in the Christian faith, so all I could ever fucking think about was how much I did not want to die. So many nights I would lie awake in my bed thinking about the logic of how everyone sins all the fucking time, hundreds of times a day, and if just one little tiny sin happened right before a freak accident that killed me, I would spend a damned eternity in excruciating pain, alone, and separated from my disappointed family.

#guilt
(BTW, please understand that “Hell” is an invention of Man to control people and that a benevolent Creator would never create such a place... Cheers!)

When I started questioning and eventually losing my faith, at such an early age, I had to confront my own mortality. That sounds weird. Actually, it sounds absolutely absurd. But there was genuinely a time where I whole heartedly believed that Hell was real and if I didn’t believe hard enough I would be sent there when I die. This meant I had to very seriously consider my own death and ponder my own existence while trying to fall asleep. THOSE ARE COMPLEX THOUGHTS FOR A FUCKING CHILD.

Now that I think about, I should probably write an entry on that whole debacle. It’s probably one of the biggest “ordeals” from my life that has shaped who I am today.
Whatever.

What am I talking about again? Death? Mars? Future? (Fuck up some commas!)

I suppose I am just getting tired of not having the important conversations because someone “doesn’t like to think about that”.
I’m so fucking sick of that excuse.
What is the point of this irrational fear? We all know that we are all going to die, so what’s the hang up? Why do we have to let the only fact of life be off limits?

That’s so limiting.

I think I know why, I just don’t think I accept it.

It’s very hard for us to picture the world without us in it. We are incredibly selfish beings in that way. It’s scary to think about death, and we sort of think that life shouldn’t go on without us. This is why man creates thousands of flavors of religions and a million versions of an afterlife.

By any definition of the word, it’s not “fun” to talk about or even think about our death, but that’s not fucking good enough of a reason to not deal with shit.
It is absolutely necessary to make decisions now that will shape the future.

Just like how thinking about global warming, or an asteroid, or the AI overlords, or whatever the event is that actually destroys this planet, isn’t “fun”, but it is a fact, and we shouldn’t be ignoring it.
I’m not a “Doomsday-er”, but just like you, this planet will one day die. Ignoring that seems incredibly foolish to me. Especially when if we were to just confront and address these issues humanity can live on!
Wouldn’t it be fucking rad if we all grew the fuck up and made changes to ensure life kept going?
Isn’t that something to take pride in?
Isn’t that sort of an afterlife?

I don’t man, I just know I’m stoked I’m alive right now. I think that colonizing Mars is this beautiful example of human preservation. Humanity will literally SPREAD TO ANOTHER FUCKING PLANET and live on because of the shit that people alive RIGHT NOW are doing.

Long after you and I die, humans will be around... loving, changing, creating new shit, becoming more and more capable within this universe, and just being human! That’s how this shit works, folks! We get better and better every generation and we figure new shit out.

I find that to be the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine.
I get super excited, I am filled with joy, and I am proud to be a human. Or whatever.
It’s a complicated feeling.

This got a bit ‘Ranty’ and (ironically) a little ‘Preachy’, too.

Just please think about the future.
Like, really think about it.
Think about how bad ass you are because you’re a fucking human being who is alive right now, but then think about how that’s all going to end one day.
Embrace that.
Don’t dwell on it, but really understand that humanity will outlive you.
Don’t let your inevitable death cripple yours, or the lives of future generations.

-Matthew Preaches

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

8.10.2016

The desire to pack up and leave LA is strong.

I have been quietly debating on what I want to be doing and where I want to be doing it for a while now.

It’s no secret that I feel "unfulfilled” with my current situation. I think most people my age feel that way. We have insane ambitions and talents that exceed the previous generations. That’s how this world seems to work from what I can gather. Each generation wants more and more and they make better and better shit because of it. It’s progress based around this weird, but completely natural, selfish desire to be the best.
It’s just weird because my generation was told that we could do whatever we want in life and that we are all the best while ignoring the fact that we most likely aren’t. Not everyone can be the best. That’s not how math works.
Yet, we were coddled.
For Christ’s sake, participation awards started with us. We were over nurtured and we were sold on the idea that if we went to college and worked hard, all of our dreams would come true.

It’s a little childish to even think that way now. It’s just not the case. Young people are more educated than the previous generations and there are fewer and fewer jobs. Too many people with dreams, not enough environments to make those dreams a reality. Most people work “filler jobs” just to survive. When you have a degree and a lifetime of being told that you’re the best and that all your dreams will come true, you can only work so hard serving food for minimum wage and some measly tips. Making barely enough to survive while working in a restaurant and getting yelled at for a hard 8 hours by ungrateful customers can really make you question, “Is this is all worth it?”

(Side note: Treat the people serving you better. If someone fucks up your order, don’t make a scene. Don’t act like it’s a mortal wound. Don’t raise your voice. Lose the fucking attitude and politely let them know about the situation and it will be resolved. Oh, and leave a tip!)

I’m not trashing being a server, by the way. I just assume that unless your dream is to advance in that restaurant, working there isn't ideal. It's a hard job and you have to put up with a lot of peoples' shit. So what’s the point of wasting time there? What’s the point of working hard at a job that you probably hate when hardly anyone appreciates it? There is none that I can see. In most cases it seems like it’s the only option. It’s like you have to kill time and make what little money you can just to survive until one day you may or may not be able to get lucky enough to find yourself in a situation that allows you to do what you feel you were meant to do. It’s a horribly depressing position to be in. I’ve been there.

Hell, I sort of am.

I mean, I use a camera for a living, so it’s in the ballpark of what I want to do, but it sure isn’t that rewarding yet.

(And to all the people who have a strong support system that allows you to avoid all of these tiring experiences, fuck you.
I'm just kidding.
But at least acknowledge how fucking lucky you really are. Also, treat the people serving you better. For some reason it seems like y’all are the worst at this.)

Getting a gig here in LA really comes down to who you know. I hate it. The whole system is so weird. You have to network and literally sell yourself every chance you can get. I know how to do it, I might even be good at it, but goddamn I fucking hate networking. I’m over it. I have no desire to go out and meet people and have these boring conversations whilst pretending I don’t want something from whoever I’ve latched on to. It makes my skin crawl. I truly despise it.

“You gotta play the game, Matt!”
Why? So I can get another job taking photos that ends up selling a product I may or may not even agree with? Is that an honorable or honest way to make a living? Is that what I’m on this planet to do? Am I supposed to be another replaceable cog in the machine that just constantly sells bullshit?

“Yeah, but if you play the game, eventually you can get to a point where they will come to you. Then you can be all smug and pretentious and choose the companies that you believe in!”
That’s one way to go about it. It just seems so fucking soul crushing until you get there.

Also, what if this is it? What if by some freak accident I die next week and my greatest accomplishments are selling non-sense for rich people?
What will people say?

If they were being truly honest, it would have to be something like: “Matt sure lived a short and unfulfilling life.”

God, that’s bleak.

Of all the people I know, I would say about 5-10 are truly living their dreams. The ones that come to mind are insanely lucky. Like, INSANELY lucky. It’s incredibly inspiring. They have bad days (we all do), and maybe sometimes they take their position in this world for granted (we all do), but mostly they are fulfilled.

I’m not even sure what my dreams are anymore? It’s a weird feeling.

I try my best to stay in the moment. I’ve come to realize that worrying about the future just wrecks the present, which really doesn’t help anything. I’ve wasted countless days of my life worrying about things that are out of my control. Things that haven’t happened yet, things that could happen, even things that probably won’t, but might happen. It’s not healthy.

So, I give it my best shot to live in the moment. It’s just incredibly hard to be accepting of a shit job if you feel like you're your wasting time. It’s unbelievably hard to stay Zen when you feel you have more to offer.

So, what if I just bailed?
What if I put my money where my mouth is and quit playing this disgusting game?
I could get a storage unit, or sell all my shit and just take off.
I could travel all of the 48 states in the continental US. I could go searching for whatever it is that makes me feel fulfilled. I could meet more people than I could ever dream of; People that won’t want anything from me and I wouldn’t want anything from them. I could take polls and do my own research to see what makes people happy.

I like to use the saying, “Recording Life”, when talking about what I do. But, that's not really true, is it? Most of the work I do is composed shots with the purpose of selling a product. Or, I shoot models and actors whose job is to literally pretend to be doing something else. That's not life.

What if I just quit doing that and actually started Recording Life?
Would I just travel the country searching for something until I run out of money? Then what, would I be fucked? Would I have to be a grown man who moves back into his parent’s house?
Or, is there any money to be made doing that? Maybe I could get sponsors and make rewarding content for them on the road?
Well, that seems farfetched. I imagine someone with some a mount of fame could probably convince people to sponsor an endeavor like that. Who knows.

But wait, does money really even matter?
If I go broke and end up at my parent’s house, is that really a failure?
For most people ,I’m sure it is, but I can’t stop thinking: What if I find something out there that will benefit me beyond any monetary compensation?

I don’t even know if this is all just a fantasy or if I would really have the balls to do it, but it’s all I can think about right now.

Like I said, the desire to leave is strong.

I’ve even started planning how I would go about it..

I figure I could just sleep in my car or a tent.
I would pack light and wash where I could.
I could stay with friends in the cities where I have some.
I would document the entire thing by making videos every day while writing about the people I meet, the places I go, and the things I learn.
It would be my own personal adventure that I could share with anyone who cares to tune in.

I get really excited when I think about it. Almost like I might actually do it.

I just honestly can’t figure out if this desire is present because I’m trying to run from or towards something.

-Matthew Wonders

A Therapist Would Call Me "Guarded".

8.6.2016

Disclaimer: I’ve noticed some people from my past are annoyed that I’m asking anyone to read this blog by sharing it around. The only people I have specifically asked to read this are people I look up to and would benefit from getting their specific opinion and feedback. They are people I trust enough to be honest with me, call me out on my shit, and be critical when I need it. I don’t like this culture of confirmation bias and I don't need that in my life. I’m not drawing attention to myself. I’m not bragging. I’m just doing something I want to do, that does not affect you in any way.

So let me be clear: You don’t have to read anymore.
Stop!
If you don’t give a shit, and you don’t want to know/care what I have to say, stop reading now.

I’ve been asked multiple times to sort of justify why I’m writing at all.
First of all: What does it matter to you? No, seriously, why? Why does anything I do, that has no effect on your life, matter to you in the slightest? This whole concept is lost on me. I could go on for pages and pages about how it makes no sense to give a fuck about what other people are doing if it doesn’t affect you at all, but I won’t... today.

Why am I writing? I think I have some interesting things to say because I look at the world differently from you, just as you do from everyone else you know. We all have interesting things to say. I don’t think it’s arrogant to get my thoughts out and make them public.
If you, The Omnipresent Reader, doesn’t like the fact that I’m writing anything about myself or my life, just stop reading. This one’s a little personal. It’s all about me.

I don’t like opening up to people.

It’s been a huge problem in every relationship I’ve ever had.
It seems to be getting worse the older I get.
It’s debilitating and it holds me back from the greatest things in life. It makes me miserably lonely at times, and it’s just fucking stupid.

That’s a huge reason why I started this self-indulgent blog.
If I write about my life, it allows me to convey certain things I wouldn’t usually put out there.
This is, by all accounts, me letting people in.
Writing these is an exercise at getting my honest thoughts out... It’s an attempt at becoming more vulnerable. I’m offering myself through these words. I want to be able to grow as a person. I want to get better. For god sake, I want to be able to open up!

Even as I wrote that, in the back of my head, a not-so-subtle voice just poked me in the back of my eyeballs and said, “You fucking pussy!”

(Thanks Childhood.)

The truth is, there are a lot of reasons I don’t trust other people. Almost all of them are foolish and not worth holding on to, but I do anyways.

Friends:

Yesterday I woke up to an old friend posting a snarky comment on one of the billion social media platforms I have.
(I have multiple accounts with various names, hiding various things from various people... Guarded? Nahhhhh)
It was a post of an innocent joke that I made at my brother’s expense.
The comment was about something so completely ridiculous and nowhere near their business, and really out of character. (I think?) It insinuated that I was attempting to maliciously hurt him to draw attention to myself.
That fucked me up.
The entire day I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

First of all, anyone who knows my brother or me would know that this would never in a million years be offensive.

We have a great relationship. We are so fucking similar in all the best ways, and very different it all the non-important ones. This makes for great conversations. I look to him for advice, guidance, and most importantly, laughter. He’s fucking hilarious.

We will debate all the time, but it’s (almost) always intelligently done and respectful. If he presents a better idea that makes more logical sense, I will change my mind. He does the same. Or, if we do disagree, we don’t get butthurt about it.

That’s how people are supposed to communicate, btw. If someone presents facts and can back it up, adjust your views accordingly. Debating facts with beliefs is just fucking silly. Stop being such a team player to the losing team of non-sense. If someone proves you wrong, don’t cling to your incorrect original idea just because your ego can’t stand being wrong. That’s childish.

But I digress,

My brother is a goofball.
I am a goofball.
We joke around, a lot. We make fun of each other all the fucking time. It’s healthy. We don’t protect our egos like they are something to be valued. (Spoiler: no one’s ego is)
So when a friend sort of insinuated that I was doing a shitty thing for sharing a dumb joke, I got upset. I started second-guessing my self. For a brief moment I thought, “Am I a huge asshole for this?”... But then I realized it was obviously a fucking joke and should be treated as such.

This person knows me well. They know my brother well. We all grew up together. So what the fuck was the problem? When did making salty/snarky comments become an acceptable thing to do? What benefit does it have? And why was it this person doing it? It didn’t make sense to me. It kinda hurt.

So why am I still rambling about a comment on social media the next day? Because the way it fucked with me, helps lead into the reasons why I’m so shit at opening up to people.

It’s a perfect example that shows the roots of some of my issues.

I don’t truly trust many people.
Maybe five.
And even them, I still guard a lot.
I have a lot of friends that I genuinely love and will talk endlessly to about all sorts of things, but I always reserve a lot of important shit.

I protect certain things about myself and it doesn’t help me at all. It’s actually debilitating. Letting friends in and letting them help is a great benefit of the human experience that I don’t often take advantage of.

I don’t want to be viewed as vulnerable. I don’t want to be pitied. I don’t want to appear weak in any way. I don’t want to let people in, because when you let someone in, you give them the ability to rip your fucking heart out.
And sometimes, they do.

Any time I have ever been hurt by someone that I trusted, I put walls up. I shut down the flow of any personal information immediately. They will, for the rest of our lives, not have the chance to hurt me again. Even if I forgive them, and move past it, I am hugely reserved in sharing certain information. This isn’t something I like about myself. I have rarely been able to successfully forgive someone completely.

This is a problem. It’s a self defense mechanism, so it’s understandable and I can tell where it comes from, but it’s a real problem.

There are only a handful of instances where I have been betrayed by someone close, and then was able to move past it. It has never once been me attempting to move past it. I don’t seek to forgive. Their actions can change my mind, however.

Once, when I was in seventh grade I had two friends steal money out of my P.E. locker. I knew it was these two people immediately. It was my first thought. Followed shortly by series of thoughts that would set the groundwork for developing my future insecurities. Those thoughts were: Why the fuck would they steal from me? Do friends really do this to each other? Are they actually my friends?

I asked them immediately and nervously and they said it wasn’t them. They even tried over compensating by pretending to help me find out who did it. It was at school, so we even went to the principal together. They were, and still are, horrible liars.

This is a clear moment in my memory. I can remember details so vividly about this negative interaction that it sort of scares me. I can re-live this by closing my eyes and picturing my self as a child going through this with intense clarity. Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn. As I’m writing this, I can feel that horrible feeling. It’s loneliness. It’s anger. It’s sadness. It’s betrayal.

This was the defining incident that taught me two very cold, but necessary life lessons:

1. People will hurt you, so be careful who you give that ability.
2. People you trust can take advantage of you, so be careful who you trust.

Anyways, the school never found out who did it. I knew they did it, but I was too much of a coward to press the issue any further. My pain told me that just pretending it’s cool was better. So, my friends got away with it. I just quietly "let it go"

(I didn't let it go.)

Many years later in college, I told them one drunken night that I knew it was them. I can’t remember how it came up, but I remember thinking it would be funny and light-hearted. They looked at each other nervously. Like they were caught, or maybe even for a split-second looked at each other and internally debating on whether or not to keep lying? I could have just been paranoid.
My stomach started fluttering. My little “ha-ha” moment got serious on accident. They both came clean and apologized. For some reason, with my voice trembling from an unnecessary adrenaline rush from being incredibly nervous, I just spilled out, “Yeah that’s where a lot of my trust issues started haha!”

It was wildly uncomfortable, to say the least.

One of those friends I trust today. We have great conversations. I gain a lot from having him in my life. I learn a lot. I am thankful he is around. I have a lot of love and respect for him.

But it wasn’t me who sought out to forgive him. It was his actions, his character, and his honesty. I value that in people.
A lot.

The other friend, however, I don’t allow myself to trust very much. This isn’t necessarily an isolated occurrence to this person specifically, either. I do the same with 99.9% of all people in my life. He's not a bad person by any means, but I have walked in on him talking shit behind my back multiple times through out my life. That shit sucks. I’m sure I even did the same when we were younger to some how get back at him. Mature. There are, strangely, a lot of friends from high school that I’ve caught doing that as adults –not that long ago.

I’m not sure if it’s just that we all grew up together so there is a lot of weird history that you would expect from knowing someone for so long, or if it’s weird childish gossip-y tendencies that are somehow still acceptable amongst this group. To be honest, they may have grown out of it by now. I haven’t been around much the last few years. I know I was still doing shitty things three years ago that I would never dream of doing today. People change. People grow. That’s how life works.

Whatever the case, these things didn’t help much for my growing insecurities and trust issues at the time. I don’t hate any of them for doing any of these things. I don’t even really mind, much. In fact, I’m still (relatively) close to these people. I would consider them good, life-long friends. I just don’t really trust them. I’ve been burned too many times. Again, maybe it’s the product of knowing people for so long. Who knows?

I just know that I prefer the whole, “If you have a problem with me, have a conversation with me and let’s figure it out” type of situations. They seem to preserve trust better, and be a more honest/healthy way to go about these tricky situations.

Any one of the five people I trust would call me on my shit. That’s a HUGE reason why I trust them. If they have a problem with my actions (or me), they will let me know. That shows that they care about me. I need people around who are able to help me grow. If I’m doing something wrong, I trust that these people will be there for me and tell me what I’m doing is wrong.

So, I need to open up more to friends. I have a lot of amazing friends that I love to death. It’s strange when thinking how little some of them know about me. It’s not their fault, by any means. It’s mine. I will rant and talk about anything, but I never give much information that’s crucial to me.

I’m working on it.

Women:

Fuck.
Isn’t this too long already? I think blogs are supposed to be shorter than this.
I don’t really read many blogs. I’m trying to now, and most of them seem to be shorter.

Maybe I should just skip this section?
Yeah, that’s not cowardly.
This part is the real reason I wanted to write this post. But it’s fucking difficult! Every thing in my body screams, “Don’t share this! What do you stand to gain from sharing any of this?” And that voice in my head is still calling me a Pussy.

I want to be open to Love.

I have claimed to be “broken” many times, through various parts of my life.
I have shut down the possibility of letting a potential partner in, and at times, I don’t know how to reverse it.

I have been called:
Distant, emotionally unavailable, cold, bitter, angry, depressing, wild, untrustworthy, distracted, negative, uncaring, etc.

All of which have been true at one point or another.

This is a close second to what I despise most about myself.

I fancy myself a caring guy. I’m relatively happy. I try to become better every day. I make conscious efforts to be a good friend and be kind to anyone I come in contact with. I smile at people. I talk to strangers.

I’m obviously a really good/amazing/perfect guy... Maybe one of the best that has ever existed.

#overcompensation

Fuckin' Christ, can I avoid relationships like the plague.

The few times I have been in love, I have been called (usually in order): Romantic, caring, kind, loving, obsessive, complicated, jealous, angry, vindictive, competitive, cruel, etc.

This is the thing I despise most about myself.

I have given my heart away a few times.
Each time I fall ridiculously in love. I become obsessed. There is an intense physical feeling of joy. Dopamine, Serotonin, and all that other good shit starts pumping through my brain causing these amazing happy feelings. Every time I see, smell, or hear them, I get a fix. I become addicted. I become dependent on that feeling. It’s the greatest goddamn feeling in the world. Better than any drug I’ve ever done. Better than any amount of money. It’s even better than any other form of love I have ever experienced thus far.

“You fucking pussy!”

However, each time I have been hurt by someone in some small way (where I could have easily had a conversation about it and attempted to resolve it), I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I do the same thing that I did when my two friends stole money from me in middle school. I just pretend it will blow over. I pretend it’s easier to not start an argument.

In my experience, if I let someone know that I’ve been hurt, they try and deny it and it starts an argument. There is a break down in communication and feelings come out and it just gets ugly.

So, instead of doing the correct/healthy thing, I put the walls up. Slowly and incrementally, I build the walls around me and leave my partner out in the cold. The problem with that is that I always seem to leave my heart outside those walls in the protection of the one I love.
Rookie mistake.
What happens in a codependent relationship when one person shuts the other out, while the other one starts to get revenge by stabbing at that heart with comments and poking at their insecurities?
It turns into a fucking emotional blood bath.

I know what you’re thinking, “You’re not doing love right, Matt.”

I shouldn’t put the walls up, right? I should be more trusting, right? I shouldn't treat it like a competition, right?

Yeah. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, asshole.

Obviously all the relationships I’ve been in have ended. I haven’t been in many, and none have ended well.

I become devastated.
That supply of all those happy chemicals in my brain is depleted and intense grief fills my entire being.
I go through withdrawals.
I shut down.
I can’t function.
I can’t leave bed.
I act like a whiny little bitch.
I become incredibly vulnerable and it’s the worst feeling I’ve ever felt.

I swear, I fucking hate admitting that.

Every serious relationship I’ve been in has ended the same way. The break up is brutal and I become reduced to this ghostly, non-productive, unrecognizable, whiny little bitch version of myself that I wish didn’t exist. No matter how hard I close my eyes and pretend that part of me doesn’t exist, it does. I can’t avoid that. That fucking terrifies me.

It cripples me.

It doesn’t allow me to let people in and it shuts out the possibility of experiencing the greatest thing in life; Love.

Worst of all, it’s hurt people I genuinely care about.

There has been a few times in the not so distant past where I thought I would be able to get over this and work through it, but ended up not being able to. It’s not fair. It's incredibly uncool. It weighs on my conscience heavily.
I’m terribly sorry.

I feel horrible.
You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.
I’m just.. I’m just so fucking sorry.

I’m working on it.

Whoa,
I know that got a little depressing there for a few seconds (the whole time). I don’t want to bum anyone out that does in fact read this post, but this blog is me trying to work on this stuff.

I am working on these problems. I understand what’s happening now and therefore I can prevent myself from building any more walls.

(WALLS ARE NEVER A GOOD THING YOU ORANGE FUCK!)

Being honest is incredibly beneficial to me –Both by being unapologetically honest to others, and having them be the same to me.
Honesty prevents the walls.

And for the walls already in place?
Writing about all of this is my attempt at dealing with these ridiculous issues and taking those walls down brick by brick.

This is me letting people in.
This is me, being vulnerable.
This is me, recording my life.
And you knowing this about me is not information I would normally offer up. Until right now.

SO!
There’s hope! Everywhere I look there is hope! There is so much fucking Love in this world. Some times it’s overwhelming to think about. I, like you, have a lot to offer to other people. Let’s have a conversation. Let’s get to know each other. Let’s add more Love, because it’s the greatest fucking thing on the planet.

-Matthew Loves

P .S.
If I wrote about you and you are upset with me, please don’t be, but if you are, just know that these aren’t things I’m saying in a vindictive, malicious or cruel way.

These are things that I’ve mulled over many times and attempted to deliver in the most honest way that I can think of. If you want to talk about it, give me a call, shoot me an e-mail, send a raven, do whatever... just get a hold of me. I’m available.

(Though I’m notoriously horrible at texting.)