Fantasy excited to me because it was the only thing under my control. In my fantasies, I could be whatever I wanted to be and would not feel ridicule or indignation because of it.

I was a better lover than Valentenio.

I was a better Bond than James could ever be.

I was more powerful than Superman and more ruthless than J.R.

This proved to be invaluable, as the trappings of the “real” world could never provide me with something I could relate to. In the real world, I had too many labels that weighed upon me and burdened with the power to overcome them.

High school saw me as a nerd.

College saw me as an Oreo.

Graduation saw me as an Uncle Tom.

Now fantasy was the only thing that seemed to comfort me in my last remaining moments on this planet.

That’s right I said last remaining moments . . . because I didn’t want to live in a world that refused to accept my fantasies or me. Too many times I had played the role of the good person for the reason of doing well in this life so that I would have what gave be given back to me. Of course that was fantasy in itself because the world did not operate in that manner. The world took from you . . . the world bled you dry and all the players inside of it were on there own agenda.

I wanted my own place in the sun but too many times when I tried my best I frequently rolled snake eyes. I gave up on too many chances when I was younger because it got too difficult then tried to over compensate for other task that seemed more than Herculean.

The reason for that: I felt I was due.

Some have said that I needed to pray to GOD but for reasons that were only known to me I did not believe in the deity. I haven’t believed in GOD fully since Junior High . . . during that time I lived with an abusive father and a mother who seemed to give up trying to help the situation by wanting to stay in it.

I don’t forgive very easily and I have had a grudge against the almighty since that time that girl in eleventh grade told me that she did not want to go out with me because GOD told her I was not for her.

Strange.

I continued my love-hate relationship with the Lord when I found out that I wasn’t right for the last three women I told that I loved. I wondered if this was a personal thing or the fact I was just plain stupid.

Love was the one thing I never gave up on. I believed in it so strongly because I never got to see much of it at home. Love was something that people sung about and killed for but in my house it never got a second thought. For the most part I wanted to experience the things that R&B singers crooned about on the radio.

It always missed me and I blamed GOD for it.

My ex, always told me to be happy for what I had, my health, my sound mind and the fact that I was working when other people didn’t have the chance to do so. I couldn’t feel that way because what good what good health when I was lonely, what good was a sound mind when I didn’t have anybody to talk to and what good was having a job when the only person who was dependant on me was me.

Loneliness was something I hated more than anything in the world because it forced me to deal with the situation that I was less than the man I should have been.

Now I’m not lonely because I’m unattractive. No I’m fairly attractive with a good pair of clothes and decent haircut I could give that guy from the young and the restless a run for his money. I’m lonely because none of the women and other people I have known fit the mold of friendship and mateship I require. I have good friends and we converse frequently on the phone but most of them are living their own lives.

These are all women who are powerful and successful . . . in deep and meaningful relationships.

I am jealous of each and every one of them.

Thankfully they all live out of state.

So back to my vision of fantasy . . . it pales in comparison to the hateful sting of reality. Reality sees me alone, about to get kicked out of my apartment and all I can see is how I fucked it all up for myself. I can’t stop wallowing in self-pity and wanting to put myself in that same destructive hole that my father once did nine years ago.

OJ wasn’t a free man then but my father understood his pain and drank himself into a coma that lasted a week.

I don’t want to end up like that.

But the loneliness I feel is so painful that I want to just get out of here. The only way to do that is to put a bullet in my head.

So what keeps me from doing that, what keeps me from driving my car of a bridge, or taking pills or slitting my wrist.

Simple: I don’t want to live this world without making some sort of a mark. Because you see, the living forgets the dead, the more of a mark that you leave the more they will remember you.

And the only way you can do that is by being famous.

You think that people would have cared if that woman in that car crash in Paris was anybody else but Princess Diana? Do you think that people would have cared if that person in that plane crash in Massachusetts was anybody but JFK Jr.

People get remembered for being famous.

People get things done for being famous.

And people don’t end up like me because they are famous.

Or rich.

Now rich people get everything they want because money makes them more attractive. I have never seen a beautiful woman on the arms of a poor man and I have never seen Rich man on the arms of an ugly woman.

I guess my value system is all messed up because I’ve seen what it means to be “normal” and I hate it. When you are rich and famous, all of your quirks are not seen as weird . . . rather you are eccentric.

I haven’t felt good about myself in a year and I hate my life.

The fantasies in my head seem like a better place to dwell at times . . . but reality says I can’t make that possible.

The women in my life don’t seem to want to have nothing to do with me unless I have money and the women who do what to be with me I would end up cheating on upon the first opportunity.

I was happy a year ago.

Or at least content

I don’t like upheaval.

I want to go back to that moment of relative peace.

The peace only fantasy brings.

Which is something I can control.