Ryan Adams- To Be Without You
I've never been so alone, as when as I am with you. I've been alone for years, trapped in a demonic cycle of abuse and begging. You kept me dangling on the line for so long, and I let you. I fucking let it all happen. Because you managed to tap into my inherent feelings of worthlessness. And you found an effective way to manipulate them for your personal ends. I kept crawling back for one more crumb or some little scrap of love or affection. I was so starved I would have taken any bantam shred of putrid garbage you had to toss out. Like a pathetic junkie, I was addicted to the paltry high of your divided attention, willing to whore myself out for any taste of you.
My mind has been battered against the rocks, my heart has been stomped and splattered against the curb, and my body has been mangled and distorted beyond recognition. All for you. And I still find myself dragging myself through the grime for you. Like, why can't I understand you will never love me? Why I am such a dog with a bone for you, and this endless eddy of pain. I must really hate myself. I'm such a worthless piece of shit. That's why I take it. And that's why I get it. That's why abuse and heartache will always flow my way. Because there is nothing I can do to raise my pathetic status. I'm an untouchable; nothing but third-rate trash. My grandmother taught me that, and you more than confirmed it.
I made up everything. It was all a lie; a figment of my sorry imagination. We were never married. We never had a child. I never had a six-month long nervous breakdown. You never lied, or cheated, or betrayed me in any way. I made it all up. I did everything. By being an inadequate, unworthy swine before your beatific, archangelic presence. You were nothing but a saint; I a filthy sinner. You will surely be canonized upon your death. A sorrowful day the world over; flags will fly at half mast, and the world will never fully experience joy again, undoubtedly. I am not even a human worthy of kneeling before you. I am but a squalid fly upon your perfumed and cherished shit.
You're so right, supreme ruler of everything sacred and musical. Everything you did to me was harmless, because I am so meaningless, cheap and small. I am not deserving of any human emotions, let alone your consideration, because even that is too privileged for an animal; this insect. And certainly, no one would bat an eyelash if the king happened to step upon an ant on one of his stately parades. It is a necessity of your kingdom to brandish yourself to your adoring subjects. I am expendable; a mere servant, set upon this Earth to labor on the behalf of those greater than I. It is I who is ungrateful to you, kind sir, for taking in this wayward soul, and giving her life meaning by bestowing the great honor of serving at your feet. Of course Master gets angry! For he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Great men face great pressure, with an intensity that the likes of this wretched pissant could never possibly comprehend. God save the King!
I'm tired of crying through the aisles of the grocery store like an asshole. I'm sick of feeling like I don't exist. And I can't stand another day when you make me feel like I am insane for remembering the fucking truth; for understanding reality. Your constant negation of the past five years is enough for me to hate you forever, without ever having to dip into the events of those years for fuel for my contempt. I tried and tried and tired. Nothing ever fucking worked. I gave every fucking thing I had to you. I always went without so you could feel better. I took hit after hit for you. You would knock me down, you would fuck me over; dog me out, and I'd just swallow it all down, and wait on my knees for the next briny load. Like a beggarly crack whore. Sure, maybe I'd eventually make a halfhearted play at standing up for myself, but I never really followed through. You took all my strength. You were sure to suck that up first thing, with your vampiric forethought.
Then you started to unravel all of my outside relationships, to make sure I was good and alone; totally dependent on you. The day my father died was the best day of your life. No wonder you weren't worried when he was dying in the hospital. No wonder you didn't care to be there for me, or mourn his death. No wonder you went to work instead of being by my side. Not only did you hold me in the lowest reaches of your contempt, but you hated anyone that showed you up in the masculinity department, and especially any one that could have saved me from you. Boy, how he tried. You're still trying to undo his protections.
Then, I suppose it was easy to turn everyone against me, so I felt like not only did I have no where else to turn for friendship, but all that was out in the world were enemies. God, you sure gleaned every detail of manipulation your hulking gorilla-head could absorb from those cult leaders of yours. Hell, they did most of the work for you. Every deplorable, lascivious minion slithering out of the gutter, and slinking out of the shadows to avail themselves to your ultimate and ambivalent will. How the world just unfurls itself for your momentary pleasure. Too bad you'll never really experience it; as your total anhedonia prevents you from ever actually knowing pleasure. That must really fucking suck. Sure, I get kicked the fuck around, sliming around with the lowest of the low emotions, but as least I have the ability to feel pure euphoria if it ever chances by. All you'll ever feel is some cheap, artificially induced facsimile.
Is it any wonder that I needed someone to resuscitate my lifeless, tattered body? I know you think it was all some scheme to hurt you, or some kind of Sicilian vendetta revenge plot, but it was and continues to be about me and finding the power to break myself free of this addiction I've had for you since the moment I first laid my sad eyes upon you. I could feel the enslavement wash over my body, then begin to course through my veins; it didn't just become part of me, it became me. It consumed every part of who I was before I knew you existed, and laid waste to any memory of life before you. It became impossible to live without you. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't eat; I couldn't sleep. Before we even spoke, only exchanging electric glances, I was in love with you. I was living and breathing solely for you. I felt my heart sink into my shoes, when I thought you had gone, that bitter winter night. I was prepared to do anything it took to find out who you were. It turns out you were the devil all along.
Even as I write this scathing indictment of you and I, I am imagining a scenario where this fiery hell-pit of abuse and despair masquerading as a hopelessly romantic love affair could actually work the fuck out. Which just proves how permanently brain-damaged I am from this whole fucking charade. I'll never be the same. I'll never get over it. I am always going to be fucked up because of you and this cloven-footed union.
Some part of me is always going to be up for the masochism. Because some part of me is always going to feel like an insignificant, inadequate piece of shit that deserves every ounce of pain and hurt that happens my way. Just for being such a disgusting asshole taking up space and resources that could be better utilized for the good humans of the world; the worthwhile. I shouldn't even be allowed to breathe the same air as you, as my exhalations will only contaminate and besmirch the fineness and delicacy of real, deserving humans.
I can't unsee your blackened soul. I can't unfeel your fall from grace. I put you so high above me on that gilded throne, I would have done anything for you, and very nearly have. It is truly grotesque to imagine your once august body, now decrepit and gangly slamming to the petrous depths of Hell and surviving, surely because of some devil's bargain you struck long ago. You still trick me into feeling bad for you, as is the nature of demons, I suppose. I must cast you out of my soul; divorce by exorcism. I don't see another way out. But you are a sneaky, devilish fiend, and you'll always find a way to slither back into my soul. How can something that has caused me such sadness be so hard to let go of? It must be a diabolical illusion.
Tom Waits- Way Down in the Hole
