Unfiltered reasoning behind why I wrote the previous vile, disgusting evil letter to Genny (early 93)

1.  2 day old liver -- dogshit

2   Like a Toy --

3   2nd fiddle, or 3rd

4   How long has it been?

5   I feel castrated

6   I have no worth, self-esteem

7   Guys like Matt, who obviously could give a shit

8   So I'm fucking immature

10 Do you know how I feel? Do you have any idea? Do you even care?

11 I don't like being teased

12 I should have went home

13 I don't like this or need this

14 I have a Goddamn Ego!

15 My whole thing is that I have no romantic life, no sex life, no lover, and it has me depressed. And then you come along and give me just a little, just enough to make me remember that I have a soul and feelings like everybody else and then at the last moment withdraw, take away or stop the flow of love and I just feel like shit. I mean you give me a little of what everyone longs for and you take it a away and give it to a guy like Matt.

16 Contradictions -- "I love you" but yet you'll have sex w/Matt casually but not me cause you're not sure what you want fuck that.

**TRIGGER WARNING**One of the most hateful, vile things I have ever committed to paper: why would I post it then? **EXPLICIT**

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Preliminary note from 2021

 

What follows is a glimpse inside a very sick mind. I, Andrew Golding (or the person residing in the body belonging to him at the time) did sink to some pretty hateful levels, cognitively. I never acted on these thoughts, nor did I ever send this letter. I doubt that I ever intended to send it. It sat for decades with all of my other unsent correspondence, drafts and journals. I am including it, not because I am proud of it, but precisely because I am not proud of it, and so I feel obligated to own up to it. 

 

I eschew the re-writing or redacting of history (usually done to cleanse the narrative of the sordid details of misdeeds by the author). I recoil when I read this now. I was truly lost. I am glad to say that I didn't remain in that frame of mind for long. However, I did think those thoughts, apparently, and I did write them down. 

 

So, as ugly as it makes me look, here it is: uncensored, unedited and unmodified from its original format. I purposely left all grammar and syntax errors in place. There is simply no making this look good, so why even try?

 

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                                                                                                                    2/18/93

OK, Goddammit! (like my tone so far?) Get the fuck out of my (for lack of a better word) life! Bitch! How's that? But before you do, here's a little of the poison which has been brewing in my evil black cauldron of hate -- a poison I credit you with supplying key ingredients to. God how I hate you. Learn your fucking lesson, naive one: NEVER NEVER cuddle with a psychopath. Never involve yourself in the affairs of a maniac. You are already lucky that among other potential serial killers I am but a wannabe. But if I could ever kill another human being in a fit of unjustifiable passion it would be you. Go on with your stupid game playing indecisive life and to hell with you. Fuck Matt, Fuck David, Fuck Robert, FUCK OFF. Move back to Michigan, change your name. Just leave me to live out my lonely sentence in my own miserable solitude! Bitch! I don't need your goddamn pity or your monthly sympathy calls. Fuck you and your goddamn gender. You all are sows. Bitches. Cunts. Hell with you all. Remember laughter? Remember reasonableness? Intelligent conversation? Not me. Fuck everything and especially fuck you. Do you have to torment me by existing? Why do I have the misfortune to be plagued by thoughts of you daily? What good does it do me to be reminded of what I loser I am? Of what I will never attain? Fuck all your positive thinking crap. I worship Satan. He suits my needs. I am going to hell after a nice 27 years of mental purgatory. I would have done anything for you once. If there is love then I loved you. I can't love anymore. Why the fuck should I? I wish I never would have met you. Or that I could cause you the kind of inner grief you cause me to this day. Satan, give me the strength to never forget what fucking pain women cause. Don't ever EVER call me again, if you know what's good for you, and learn your lesson, bitch. I am your monstrous creation and I resent my existence. I am mad. I could kill you. You are fortunate that I am a procrastinator. I just never get around to some of the things on my list.

        Check TIRE PRESSURE

        BUY EGGS

        DO TAXES

        KILL GENNY

Thank you for making me aware of my true calling in life: To alienate as many people as possible. I've said all I care to. For now. I suggest you move. Then I won't be tempted to kill you while you sleep, perhaps cuddling with some other bozo. Anyway, FUCK OFF once again. See you in hell. Bye. Bitch!

        Andrew

Reduced to Ashes (2-17-93)

Reduced to Ashes

A jar of dust is all I am

All I have done, a memory

Nothing left of things unsaid

Now dust is all that’s left of me

Ashes, my friend

I took my chances when

I lived my life and then

Reduced to ashes in the end

I had a love back when

Hope was yet unspent

I opened up my heart 

Time and again

Can’t run away

And then came the day

Now it’s all turned grey

No more to say

Reduced to ashes

Reduced to ashes in the end

Dear Brain, would you please shut up now? (The Genny saga continues, overanalysis ad nauseam) Early 93 unsent

To analyze or not to analyze. Well, pro-wise, I believe that I need to discover what it is I'm feeling, if it's valid and what course of action I need to pursue. On the con side, sometimes it is best to leave well enough alone.

Problem: all is not well enough. Either I need to change my expectations, priorities and requirements, or I need to hold onto them (however foolish and unreasonable) and search for a person (perhaps mythical) that can fulfill my ideals. 

I will try not to overgeneralize. I am stuck between feelings of amorous affection for you and the desire to cut of any emotion at all so I won't be hurt when you finally tire of me. It is obvious that the feelings can never be mutual. Whatever stage of maturity you have or haven't reached, you are at least certain that you don't want a relationship. And am certain that I do.

I would be very willing to try to be the gallant sideline gentleman in your life, perhaps occasional intimate friend, who is always secretly hoping you'll come around one day and feel for me as I do for you. But I don't feel very mature. I am all fairy tales, hormones, daydreams and delusions. I can hardly handle a missed phone call; what would happen if you went away forever?

You have said that you are just not certain about anything. I find that I need a certain amount of certainty in my intimate friendships. I mean, I don't even like the idea of a non-committal relationship. You have been through a lot, and it has left you doubtful, pessimistic about relationships and even a bit paranoid to become involved.

You seem to have feelings for me at times, and then a sort of aversion at others. Whatever the cause, past relationships or whatever, you are at a place where you don't want to give your heart away. You are a very self-reliant individual. I don't think i is fair to either of us to deny our basic natures. 

I'd love to have a friend/lover who is as intelligent, beautiful, warm, honest and genuine as yourself. In fact, if you were not in the place in your relationship history that you are, you would be an ideal candidate. Thing is, I think you are like a field that needs a seven year rest. You have become emotionally drained by previous failed relationships and are burned out on the idea.

I do not take this personally. The fact that you've spent as much time with me as you have tells me that, in spite of your current state of mind, you at least see something interesting or attractive in me. Thank you for giving me some self-respect. I feel like less of a loser than before I met you. 

I still have a long way to go, and the problems I need to work on are not the kind of problems you have the time or emotional strength to deal with. You need to take some time and decide what you want and then find someone stable, who will provide you you with more than vast grief.

I can't help thinking that there must be someone out there that wants to commit to a long-term monogamous relationship. Which is a fancy way of saying I'd like the other person to love me. I have no delusion that this kind of thing is instant or magic. It takes work.

I am willing to do some waiting, but ultimately, my ideal is set. You may never be ready to commit to anyone again. It could take ten years. I don't have that kind of time to wait before I start working on my dream. I just can't handle too long in limbo.

We could commiserate together, but it would leave me more miserable at the end of the "co" part. I just have to let you go. It's not fair to place demands on someone emotionally. It can't be done. I'm finished. Bye.

Genny, Part Two (Love, depression, obsession ) Early 93

Dearest Genny,

Why I choose moments like this to write to you is a mystery to me. I write because I must; I am compelled to write or die. If I do not find a release for my emotions, I will implode and fall to pieces on the floor. I wish I knew God. I hear He's the one to talk to when you feel like you're going to die of heart sickness. 

Where do these feelings of utter despair come from? Why can't I let go, disengage the wheels of depression, which ceaselessly circulate painful thoughts through my head, like some horrific merry-go-round of madness?

OK, get a grip. Breathe. Count. It's OK.

No, it's not. Not OK. Nothing's OK. Everything hurts. It hurts to sit here. It hurts to think. It hurts to try to plan alleviation of my suffering because all it involves is the same old worn out remedies that don't work. 

Who the fuck am I? Where will I be in ten years? Will I always be this godforsaken depressed?

My rational mind, usually present to offer reason and good hope, has seemingly gone to sleep or left the room. Anyway, I'm in here with a big tangled ball of confused emotions and no one to tell me, "It will pass." God, I feel like I'm on an all night acid trip. No control. Well, some, but I'm just hanging on. 

So, why do I want to bum you out with all this? Cause you're my friend, and I need you. I hope I don't alienate you with what I'm about to lay on you. Please don't run and hide in the nearest bushes.

I am suffering from a scriptural malady: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but desire fulfilled is a tree of life." I keep hoping for the elusive "happy relationship" and fooling myself. 

In the past few days, since sleeping over at your house and your telling me that you love me, confiding in me that you think you are pregnant with Matt's child and, in general, spending more time with you than usual, I have come to a very painful conclusion: I am in damn-fool, head over heels, muddle headed, puppy dog love with you. 

I never got over you. I can see more things to like about you than I did before. Spending a few months getting to know you as a friend only made me feel even more deeply for you. And for a while I thought I was maturely accepting my status. I had to balance my supreme love of having you around with my fear of succumbing to my obsessional nature.

I never want to lose your friendship. It means too much to me. But, oh, Genny, the struggle!

When I saw your ad in the personals, I wanted to cry. How can you? How can you be looking for friends? It sounds so deceptive. I guess I just feel rejected because you told me, "I'm not the one" and "I can't date you." Oh, Genny, why not? Am I really that smothering?

All I want is a little of what I've been without all my life. A little affection, warmth, compassion. I swear I'd never put you through any trips. I just want someone to be in love with. Someone I like, feel comfortable with, who excites me, makes me feel wonderful -- to be specific: you. 

How does someone wind up with a girl like you? What are you looking for? Is there no possibility for a relationship between us?

I remember a night, not too long ago, when you told me some very naughty things, and I did not take you up on it at the time. Biggest mistake of my life. When the moment is there, it is like magic. But like most magic, the spell wears, off and I am left with a pumpkin. 

Cinderella spent too long dancing. She should have left the ball early and rode off into the night with her prince while they still had the carriage.  Would have saved the prince a lot of door knocking. And trying to fit a lot of smelly women's feet into a slipper that could only be filled by one beautiful Princess.

Oh, well. What this has to do with my life or yours is suspect. My analogies always have loose ends. 

But Genny, you mythical Goddess, I've never stopped regretting that we never made love. I reckon I'd probably die contented if we ever did. I do love you so much, in so many ways, it's hard to conceive. 

I was not kidding when I said I'd marry you in an instant and raise your child as if it were mine. God, Genny, if you are the prize, I don't care what Herculean feats I would have to perform, it would be worth it. 

If, on the other hand, I had to sit back and watch you find happiness with another, I'd still not want to lose you. But I'd have to be pretty stoic about it. I'm not a hard person to be friends with, just freaking impossible is all. 

I mean, I don't ask much, just that you spend the rest of your life with me. Be my love, we'll be partners. We'll live for today, plan for tomorrow and love every minute. That's about it.

Tell me please that I'm wrong or that I'm right, but please, put me out of my misery. I'll wait for you. Think it over. I'm always here for you. I'll always be a friend, maybe not a great one (I'm kind of moody). 

Well, I feel a little bit better, but only because writing takes up energy I'd have been spending freaking out, and now I'm tired. You must be, too. My letters are draining. If I don't send you this, it's cause I've gone past the crisis stage and am dealing with it on my own. If I do, then I really am crazy. 

I love you

Andrew (Drew) "Hoody" Golding