Boredom Killer

Boredom Killer Part 2

It's been months. Well it's been four months to be exact. Four months since I gave in and looked, that's not to say it's been that long since I thought about it. About the characters I so briefly became acquainted with. About the nearly larger than life ideas and themes that had confronted me in stark black letters against the harsh white of the computer screen. I'd even been thinking about the people behind it all, about the people giving life to those stories. I had actually gotten lost in my imagination for awhile about those people, mostly women I assumed, sitting behind their screens pouring their ideas and depictions of me into the electronic world. That was when I knew I had to walk away.

After stumbling onto that site I kept going back there in the early hours of every morning for nearly two weeks. I even signed up, creating an account and everything, and I managed to finish the stories I had started that first night before beginning a search for more stories to read. Then it happened. Very late one night I inexplicably found myself writing a private message to one of the author's I'd first read. The message had been long, verbose even, filled with questions about the story and how the author developed the plot and their writing process and then the message took a turn and became more, well, personal. Much more personal than I had intended, more personal than I had even noticed while writing it. Sitting back in my chair that night, rereading my words before hitting send, I noticed what was really happening and what I was really doing with that message. I tried to imagine for a moment what the person on the other end might feel upon reading my words. Would she find it friendly or creepy? Would she even bother to respond? How would those words make her feel? Would she suspect it was me? Before I knew what was happening my mind and my hand began to wander as I imagined her, her eyes caressing my carefully crafted words. As I read farther into my words I was slapped in the face with the innuendo and suggestions that had crept unknowingly from my fingertips and into that message. With a heavy sigh I highlighted the entire text and deleted it before shutting down my computer. I haven't been back to the site since. Honestly I was terrified of the way those stories made me feel and how I reacted without even the slightest bit of remorse for my actions. I hadn't even thought about watching porn in years and yet there I was reading through those stories, Wattpad had become my guilty pleasure, my porn. After I walked away that night I prayed. I asked for Jehovah's forgiveness and the strength to turn away from everything I knew was waiting for me with only a few clicks. I tried to stop thinking about the sequels I saw some of the stories had. I tried my best to stop wondering whatever became of those characters I had somehow become so invested in. What was almost more disturbing was when I started to wonder if I ever found true happiness in those storylines. The stories had cast a neon light on one of my greatest pains and that was something I simply could not face.

When I finally hit the road again it was so much easier. Being on the road is usually the best distraction for me. I've always chosen to tour when life was hard, it gave me distance from what ever the issue was usually. On stage I could just get lost in the moment. The feeling of the large VOX guitar slung over my left shoulder, fingers searching for the right sound to ring from the strings on my command, the band filling the empty space around my melodies, and the unbridled energy from the crowd flowing through my body. On stage I was in another place and even off stage on tour I was kept so busy I didn't even have a chance to think about those stories and that devilish site. The whole experience was always so intoxicating I completely lost all my day to day worries and concerns in the fast pace of life on the road. But as much as I sometimes wished tours could last forever, the peaceful oblivion of the ever changing day to day, they never did and here I am again, alone in the predawn hours of the morning. Christmas is just a few days away and everyone has gone their separate ways to be with friends and family, Sure I'd received my fair share of invites from different people to join them, but I had given up those celebrations years ago, and as much as people liked to tell me it wouldn't be weird if I came along, it would. They were all just being nice, being cordial with their boss. At least that's how it felt. That's how it always felt anymore. So here I am again.