As I am sitting in the tent, eating my supper, Yours Truly is considering the current situation. We had to set up an emergency camp on a mountain plateau, far from any suitable location. The plan was quite different but due to the deep and intractable snow and darkness we have been left with no choice but to sleep here and backtrack the entire trajectory thus far.
At times like these, one cannot but contemplate the vagaries of life. We had a plan; it was a good plan. But it completely desintegrated. (As the military folks are apt to point out, no plan survives contact with the enemy.)
Yours Truly also has some plans. If you have read my previous posts, you know that I am working on being a better me. It is not easy but – not unlike a shark – if I stop moving, that will be the end of the line. Eventually, the aim is to be the kind of person that would be successful in interpersonal relationships, and especially the romantic kind. So as I am biding my time in a cold tent in the middle of a mountain plateau, with high winds battering the sides of the tent, on the eve of the Ex’s birthday, I am striving to figure out how is it possible that an exceptionally bright and beautiful young woman, 13 years my junior, would show romantic interest in Yours Truly. To date, we have only gone out on a few dates (though snogging was involved) and she is amazing. She loves a lot of the same things I love and same goes for things we hate. We have a tremendous amount of things in common. And I don’t know how to react and what to do with myself. Am I still in love with the Ex? Am I ready for a relationship with someone new? Does she even want one? How do I not screw this up? This new girl – let us refer to her as T. – is by far more pleasant, far smarter, better writer, and more beautiful than the Ex. And yet I do still think about the Ex. To my credit, this does not happen as often as before and, since meeting T., the intensity of emotions has greatly declined. Will she be the one to help me out of my ennui and perhaps more? Or am investing too much, too early and am simply setting things up for a disappointment? The latter is most likely true. But I yearn for someone to hold me close and see me for who I truly am and what I can become. For now, though, I am stuck in a tent with two other guys, hundreds of miles/kilometres from home and T.
Category Archives: Anxiety
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Bollocks.
Yours Truly is so truly and incredibly fucked. I am currently trying to dig myself out of the whole I plunged into head first at work. Why? Because I am too preoccupied with my own condition. My shrinks say it is a good sign though one suspects that my employer would disagree.
The main issue in this mess, however, is that the only thing that got me to calm down today and be able to function, was to dig out the photos of my EX. The one. One suspects that my shrinks would not agree that this is a good sign.
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And Yet Another Letter…
Hello my dearest. It has been a long time since I have last written to you. Since the last time, I have not expected to write again and yet here we are.
It has been a year since you left me and, oh, what a rough year it has been. A stormy time when waves of anguish, squalls of despair, and clouds of darkness were my constant companions. Say what you will about the dark thoughts, at least they stay.
We have met face to face a couple of times since the worst of the storm has past. It was all very adult and civilised. Yet underneath my calm demeanour a vortex of the pyre of my love for you still burns as strongly as when I wrote that fateful letter that set you off so greatly.
Not many things have changed in my life in these past twelve months. Still as troubled as long before our lives intersected, I have made strides to improve my dreary existence, to believe in myself, to believe there is a better future for me. These last twelve months of extensive psychotherapy have also opened my eyes to see your actions in a more realistic light of not being all that ethical or worthy. And yet it remains a mystery to my therapists and to myself why I still love you. What poison have I drank to still be infected this way? What sin have I committed to still suffer the consequences? Or is love itself is my cardinal transgression?
The road ahead of me is dark and full of mysteries. One hopes that when I see the light, it will be the end of the tunnel and not the light of the oncoming train.
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Unsettled.
Sunday morning. I am on a set, filming inserts for the play that I am doing. There is a great cast of people associated with this production. I did my part in two takes and helped out on the set for other’s camera time. I should be feeling great!
And yet yours truly is unsettled. I still get constantly rattled by sudden pangs of memory of love lost. It is not helping, of course, that my favourite and most important day of the year is coming up (no, it is not my birthday) and last year I spent it with who I thought (and despite everything, frankly still feel) was the most wonderful human being in the world.
People in my life keep telling me that I am a great chap, that I have a lot of things going for me, that I am funny and interesting. So why don’t I feel it? Why do I not feel that I deserve good things? Why have I never felt that way in my entire life?
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The Inevitable. Part II.
(Continued from The Inevitable.)
It has been a few hours since The Encounter, if it can even be called that. I kept walking and it is doubtful she had even seen me. Granted, it was only a matter of time until our paths would cross; but it was shocking nevertheless.
And yet, that is not the full story for an ironic twist made the whole experience far worse. I was on my way to the theatre for sketch practice. The sketch we were working on was about unrequited love. Great! In the whole sketch I have only one word at the end of it. We were practicing doing things in different ways and basically just doing the sketch about unrequited love over, and over, and over again and, as much as I am looking forward to the full performance in a big show, the entire bloody time I was thinking that I would rather have been any-fucking-where else doing anything else but that bloody sketch.
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Time Is A-rolling…
Last night I was made to feel old and creepy. Not on purpose though, so there is that… Feeling confident, I was chatting up a girl at a bar and happened to have mentioned seeing a particular concert back in 2006. She responded by having mentioned that she was in primary school back in 2006. Mike drop.
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Say What?
I’m hanging out with a group of improv people. At this point only the girls are left and they are talking about contraceptives (pills and such). At this point the choice is going home or secreting estrogen.
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Me Like Me Long Time?
It is hard to remember sometimes (most of the time) that there are people in this world that like me and that are happy to see me. There are not a great many of them due to my natural propensity to be a miserable prick but I am working on learning to like myself. (That is something that came up in therapy a couple of sessions ago.) The idea being that being able to like myself will show others that I am a person worth their friendship.
In the meantime, I am practicing being that person, meaning that I am faking it. Regardless of how far I have come, Yours Truly is still mainly the same person. So until I can “know” that I am better than I think I am (that is a lot of “I’s”!), there is this practice period of pretending to know that I am a person I actually am. It is complicated. My mind technician assures me that it makes sense.
That noise – you know the one – the general din of a group of people in a bar, the sound of billiards balls hitting each other, the white noise of a sport event on the big screen. And over it all the inner voice reminding of all the reasons why I should leave and go home. So here I am – procrastinating – instead of going to the birthday party for my friends because social occasions still cause me tremendous anxiety and feeling of pointlessness because the future old me does not believe to be the person worth anyone’s company.
Oh, well. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.”
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Getting Old.
Getting old. There’s a lot more grey hair now than there was just a few months ago. Do I need this stress?
Forlorn Hope: A Diary Of A Broken Heart 